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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..992cc54 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51947 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51947) diff --git a/old/51947-0.txt b/old/51947-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f4b7c5d..0000000 --- a/old/51947-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13328 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg’s A Gray Eye or So, Complete, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you’ll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Gray Eye or So, Complete - In Three Volumes--Volume I, II and III: Complete - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51947] -Last Updated: November 15, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO, COMPLETE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -Author of “I Forbid The Banns,” “Dalreen,” “Sojourners Together,” - “Highways And High Seas,” Etc. - -In Three Volumes Complete: Volumes I, II and III - -Sixth Edition - -London: Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row - - -1893 - - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO, Volume I - - - - -CHAPTER I.--ON CERTAIN ABSTRACTIONS. - - -I WAS talking about woman in the abstract,” said Harold. - -The other, whose name was Edmund--his worst enemies had never -abbreviated it--smiled, lifted his eyes unto the hills as if in search -of something, frowned as if he failed to find it, smiled a cat’s-paw of -a smile--a momentary crinkle in the region of the eyes--twice his lips -parted as if he were about to speak; then he gave a laugh--the laugh of -a man who finds that for which he has been searching. - -“Woman in the abstract?” said he. “Woman in the abstract? My dear -Harold, there is no such thing as woman in the abstract. When you talk -about Woman enthusiastically, you are talking about the woman you love; -when you talk about Woman cynically, you are talking about the woman who -won’t love you.” - -“Maybe your honours never heard tell of Larry O’Leary?” said the -Third--for there was a Third, and his name was Brian; his duty was to -row the boat, and this duty he interpreted by making now and again an -elaborate pretence of rowing, which deceived no one. - -“That sounds well,” said Harold; “but do you want it to be applied? -Do you want a test case of the operation of your epigram--if it is an -epigram?” - -“A test case?” - -“Yes; I have heard you talk cynically about woman upon occasions. Does -that mean that you have been unloved by many?” - -Again the man called Edmund looked inquiringly up the purple slope of -the hill. - -“You’re a wonderful clever gentleman,” said Brian, as if communing with -himself, “a wonderful gentleman entirely! Isn’t he after casting his -eyes at the very spot where old Larry kept his still?” - -“No,” said Edmund; “I have never spoken cynically of women. To do so -would be to speak against my convictions. I have great hope of Woman.” - -“Yes; our mothers and sisters are women,” said Harold. “That makes -us hopeful of women. Now we are back in the wholesome regions of the -abstract once more, so that we have talked in a circle and are precisely -where we started, only that I have heard for the first time that you are -hopeful of Woman.” - -“That’s enough for one day,” said Edmund. - -“Quite,” said Harold. - -“You must know that in the old days the Excise police looked after the -potheen--the Royal Irish does it now,” said the Third. “Well, as I say, -in the old days there was a reward of five pounds given by the Excisemen -for the discovery of a private still. Now Larry had been a regular hero -at transforming the innocent smiling pratie into the drink that’s the -curse of the country, God bless it! But he was too wary a lad for the -police, and he rolled keg after keg down the side of Slieve Gorm. At -last the worm of his still got worn out--they do wear out after a dozen -years or so of stiff work--and people noticed that Larry was wearing out -too, just through thinking of where he’d get the three pound ten to buy -the new machinery. They tried to cheer him up, and the decent boys was -so anxious to give him heart that there wasn’t such a thing as a sober -man to be found in all the country side. But though the brave fellows -did what they could for him, it was no use. He never got within three -pound five of the three pound ten that he needed. But just as things was -at their worst, they mended. Larry was his old self again, and the word -went round that the boys might get sober by degrees. - -“Now what did our friend Larry do, if you please, but take his old -worn-out still and hide it among the heather of the hill fornenst -us--Slieve Glas is its name--and then he goes the same night to the -Excise officer, in the queer secret way. - -“‘I’m in a bad way for money, or it’s not me that would be after turning -informer,’ says he, when he had told the officer that he knew where the -still was concealed. - -“‘That’s the worst of you all,’ says the officer. ‘You’ll not inform on -principle, but only because you’re in need of money.’ - -“‘More’s the pity, sir,’ says Larry. - -“‘Where’s the still?’ says the officer. - -“‘If I bring you to it,’ says Larry, ‘it must be kept a dead secret, for -the owner is the best friend I have in the world.’ - -“‘You’re a nice chap to inform on your best friend,’ says the officer. - -“‘I’ll never be able to look at him straight in the face after, and -that’s the truth,’ says Larry. - -“Well, your honours, didn’t Larry lead the officer and a couple of the -Excisemen up the hill in the dark of the early morning, and sure enough -they came upon the old still, hid among the heather. It was captured, -and Larry got the five pound reward, and was able to buy a brand-new -still with the money, besides having thirty shillings to the good in his -pocket. After that, was it any wonder that he became one of the greatest -informers in the country? By the Powers, he made a neat thing out of -the business of leading the officers to his own stills and pocketing the -reward. He was thirty shillings to the good every time. Ah, Larry was a -boy!” - -“So I judge,” said the man called Edmund, with an unaffected laugh--he -had studied the art of being unaffected. “But you see, it was not of the -Man but of the Woman we were talking.” - -“That’s why I thought that the change would be good for your honours,” - remarked Brian. “When gentlemen that I’ve out in this boat with me, -begin to talk together in a way that has got no sense in it at all, I -know that they’re talking about a woman, and I tell them the story of -Larry O’Leary.” - -Neither the man called Edmund, nor the man called Harold, talked any -more that day upon Woman as a topic. - - - - -CHAPTER II.--ON A GREAT HOPE. - -I THINK you remarked that you had great hope of Woman,” said Harold, -the next day. The boat had drifted once again into the centre of the -same scene, and there seemed to be a likelihood of at least two of the -boat’s company drifting back to the topic of the previous afternoon. - -“Yes, you certainly admitted that you had great hope of Woman.” - -“And so I have. Woman felt, long ago; she is beginning to feel again.” - -“You don’t think that feeling is being educated out of her? I certainly -have occasional suspicions that this process is going on. Why, just -think of the Stafford girl. She can tell you at a moment’s notice -the exact difference between an atheist, an infidel, an agnostic, a -freethinker, and the Honest Doubter.” - -“She has been reading modern fiction--that’s all. No, I don’t think that -what is called education makes much difference to a woman. After all, -what does this thing called education mean? It simply means that a girl -can read all the objectionable passages of the ancient poets without the -need of a translation. I have hope of Woman because she is frequently so -intensely feminine.” - -“Maybe you never heard tell of how the Widdy MacDermott’s cabin came to -be a ruin,” said the Third. - -“Feeling and femininity will, shall I say, transform woman into our -ideal?” said Harold. - -“Transform is too strong a word,” said Edmund. “And as for our ideal, -well, every woman is the ideal of some man for a time.” - -“And that truth shows not only how lowly is the ideal of some men, but -also how unwise it is to attempt to speak of woman in the abstract. I -begin to think that what you said yesterday had a grain of truth in it, -though it was an epigram.” - -“The Widdy MacDermott--oh, the Widdy Mac-Dermott,” said the Third, as -though repeating the burden of a ballad. “They made a pome about her -in Irish, that was near as full of nonsense as if it had been in the -English. You see when Tim, her husband, went to glory he left the cow -behind him, taking thought for the need of his widdy, though she hadn’t -been a widdy when he was acquainted with her. Well, your honours, the -byre was a trifle too near the edge of the bog hole, so that when one -end fell out, there wasn’t much of the mud walls that stood. Then one -blessed morning the childer came running into the cabin to tell their -mother that the cow was sitting among the ruins of its home.” - -“A Marius of the farmyard,” remarked Edmund. - -“Likely enough, sir. Anyhow, there she sat as melancholy as if she was -a Christian. Of course, as the winter was well for’ard it wouldn’t do to -risk her life by leaving her to wander about the bogs, so they drove -her into the cabin--it was a tight fit for her, passing through the -door--she could just get in and nothing to spare; but when she was -inside it was warm and comfortable that the same cow made the cabin, -and the childer were wondering at the end of a month how they could -have been such fools as to shiver through the winter while the cow was -outside. - -“In another month some fine spring days came, and the cabin was a bit -close and stuffy with the cow inside, and the widdy herself turned the -animal’s head to the door and went to drive her out for exercise and -ventilation. But the way the beast had been fed and petted told upon -her, and by the Powers, if she didn’t stick fast in the doorway. - -“They leathered her in the cabin and they coaxed her from outside, but -it was all of no use. The craythur stood jammed in the door, while the -childer crawled in and out of the cabin among her hind legs--the fore -legs was half a cow’s length outside. That was the situation in the -middle of the day, and all the neighbours was standing round giving -advice, and calling in to the widdy herself--who, of course, was a -prisoner in the cabin--not to lose heart. - -“‘It’s not heart I’m afeard of losing--it’s the cow,’ says she. - -“Well, your honours, the evening was coming on, but no change in the -situation of affairs took place, and the people of the country-side was -getting used to the appearance of the half cow projecting beyond the -door of the cabin, and to think that maybe, after all, it was nothing -outside the ordinary course of events, when Barney M’Bratney, who does -the carpentering at the Castle, came up the road. - -“He took in the situation with the glance of the perfessional man, and -says he, ‘By the Powers, its a case of the cow or the cabin. Which would -ye rather be after losing, Widdy?’ - -“‘The cabin by all means,’ says she. - -“‘You’re right, my good woman,’ says he. ‘Come outside with you.’ - -“Well, your honours, the kindly neighbours hauled the widdy outside over -the back of the cow, and then with a crowbar Barney attacked the walls -on both sides of the door. In ten minutes the cow was free, but the -cabin was a wreck. - -“Of course his lardship built it up again stronger than it ever was, -but as he wouldn’t make the door wide enough to accommodate the cow--he -offered to build a byre for her, but that wasn’t the same--he has never -been so respected as he was before in the neighbourhood of Ballyboreen.” - -“That’s all very well as a story,” said Edmund; “but you see we were -talking on the subject of the advantages of the higher education of -woman.” - -“True for you, sir,” said Brian. “And if the Widdy MacDermott had been -born with eddication would she have let her childer to sleep with the -cow?” - -“Harold,” said Edmund, “there are many side lights upon the general -question of the advantages of culture in women.” - -“And the story of the Widdy MacDermott is one of them?” said Harold. - -“When I notice that gentlemen that come out in the boat with me begin -to talk on contentious topics, I tell them the story of how the Widdy -MacDermott’s cabin was wrecked,” said Brian. - - - - -CHAPTER III.--ON HONESTY AND THE WORKING MAN. - -DON’T you think,” remarked Edmund, the next day, as the boat drifted -under the great cliffs, and Brian was discharging with great ability -his normal duty of resting on his oars. “Don’t you think that you should -come to business without further delay?” - -“Come to business?” said Harold. - -“Yes. Two days ago you lured me out in this coracle to make a -communication to me that I judged would have some bearing upon your -future course of life. You began talking of Woman with a touch of -fervour in your voice. You assured me that you were referring only to -woman in the abstract, and when I convinced you--I trust I convinced -you--that woman in the abstract has no existence, you got frightened--as -frightened as a child would be, if the thing that it has always -regarded as a doll were to wink suddenly, suggesting that it had an -individuality, if not a distinction of its own--that it should no longer -be included among the vague generalities of rags and bran. Yesterday you -began rather more boldly. The effects of education upon the development -of woman, the probability that feeling would survive an intimate -acquaintance with Plato in the original. Why not take another onward -step today? In short, who is she?” - -Harold laughed--perhaps uneasily. - -“I’m not without ambition,” said he. - -“I know that. What form does your ambition take? A colonial judgeship, -after ten years of idleness at the bar? A success in literature that -shall compensate you for the favourable criticisms of double that -period? The ownership of the Derby winner? An American heiress, moving -in the best society in Monte Carlo? A co-respondency in brackets with a -Countess? All these are the legitimate aspirations of the modern man.” - -“Co-respondency as a career has, no doubt, much to recommend it to some -tastes,” said Harold. “It appears to me, however, that it would be easy -for an indiscreet advocate to over-estimate its practical value.” - -“You haven’t been thinking about it?” - -“You see, I haven’t yet met the countess.” - -“What, then, in heaven’s name do you hope for?” - -“Well, I would say Parliament, if I could be sure that that came within -the rather narrow restrictions which you assigned to my reply. You said -‘in heaven’s name.’” - -“Parliament! Parliament! Great Powers! is it so bad as that with you?” - -“I don’t say that it is. I may be able to get over this ambition as I’ve -got over others--the stroke oar in the Eight, for instance, the soul of -Sarasate, the heart of Miss Polly Floss of the Music Halls. Up to the -present, however, I have shown no sign of parting with the surviving -ambition of many ambitions.” - -“I don’t say that you’re a fool,” said the man called Edmund. He did not -speak until the long pause, filled up by the great moan of the Atlantic -in the distance and the hollow fitful plunge of the waters upon the -rocks of the Irish shore, had become awkwardly long. “I can’t say that -you’re a fool.” - -“That’s very good of you, old chap.” - -“No; I can’t conscientiously say that you’re a fool.” - -“Again? This is becoming cloying. If I don’t mistake, you yourself do a -little in the line I suggest.” - -“What would be wisdom--comparative wisdom--on my part, might be -idiotcy--” - -“Comparative idiotcy?” - -“Sheer idiotcy, on yours. I have several thousands a year, and I can -almost--not quite--but I affirm, almost, afford to talk honestly to the -Working man. No candidate for Parliament can quite afford to be honest -to the Working man.” - -“And the Working man returns the compliment, only he works it off on the -general public,” said Harold. - -The other man smiled pityingly upon him--the smile of the professor of -anatomy upon the student who identifies a thigh bone--the smile which -the _savant_ allows himself when brought in contact with a discerner of -the obvious. - -“No woman is quite frank in her prayers--no politician is quite honest -with the Working man.” - -“Well. I am prepared to be not quite honest with him too.” - -“You may believe yourself equal even to that; but it’s not so easy as -it sounds. There is an art in not being quite honest. However, that’s a -detail.” - -“I humbly venture so to judge it.” - -“The main thing is to get returned.” - -“The main thing is, as you say, to get the money.” - -“The money?” - -“Perhaps I should have said the woman.” - -“The woman? the money? Ah, that brings us round again in the same circle -that we traversed yesterday, and the day before. I begin to perceive.” - -“I had hope that you would--in time.” - -“I shouldn’t wonder if we heard the Banshee after dark,” said the Third. - -“You are facing things boldly, my dear Harold,” said Edmund. - -“What’s the use of doing anything else?” inquired Harold. “You know how -I am situated.” - -“I know your father.” - -“That is enough. He writes to me that he finds it impossible to continue -my allowance on its present scale. His expenses are daily increasing, he -says. I believe him.” - -“Too many people believe in him,” said Edmund. “I have never been among -them.” - -“But you can easily believe that his expenses are daily increasing.” - -“Oh, yes, I am easily credulous on that point. Does he go the length of -assigning any reason for the increase?” - -“It’s perfectly preposterous--he has no notion of the responsibilities -of fatherhood--of the propriety of its limitations so far as an exchange -of confidences is concerned. Why, if it were the other way--if I were to -write to tell him that I was in love, I would feel a trifle awkward--I -would think it almost indecent to quote poetry--Swinburne--something -about crimson mouths.” - -“I dare say; but your father--” - -“He writes to tell me that he is in love.” - -“In love?” - -“Yes, with some--well, some woman.” - -“Some woman? I wonder if I know her husband.” There was a considerable -pause. - -Brian pointed a ridiculous, hooked forefinger toward a hollow that from -beneath resembled a cave, half-way up the precipitous wall of cliffs. - -“That’s where she comes on certain nights of the year. She stands at the -entrance to that cave, and cries for her lover as she cried that night -when she came only to find his dead body,” said Brian, neutralizing the -suggested tragedy in his narrative by keeping exhibited that comical -crook in his index finger. “Ay, your honours, it’s a quare story of -pity.” Both his auditors looked first at his face, then at the crook in -his finger, and laughed. They declined to believe in the pity of it. - -“It is preposterous,” said Harold. “He writes to me that he never quite -knew before what it was to love. He knows it now, he says, and as it’s -more expensive than he ever imagined it could be, he’s reluctantly -compelled to cut down my allowance. Then it is that he begins to talk of -the crimson mouth--I fancy it’s followed by something about the passion -of the fervid South--so like my father, but like no other man in the -world. He adds that perhaps one day I may also know ‘what’tis to love.’” - -“At present, however, he insists on your looking at that form of -happiness through another man’s eyes? Your father loves, and you are to -learn--approximately--what it costs, and pay the expenses.” - -“That’s the situation of the present hour. What am I to do?” - -“Marry Helen Craven.” - -“That’s brutally frank, at any rate.” - -“You see, you’re not a working man with a vote. I can afford to be frank -with you. Of course, that question which you have asked me is the one -that was on your mind two days ago, when you began to talk about what -you called ‘woman in the abstract.’” - -“I dare say it was. We have had two stories from Brian in the meantime.” - -“My dear Harold, your case is far from being unique. Some of its -elements may present new features, but, taken as a whole, it is -commonplace. You have ambition, but you have also a father.” - -“So far I am in line with the commonplace.” - -“You cannot hope to realize your aims without money, and the only way by -which a man can acquire a large amount of money suddenly, is by a deal -on the Stock Exchange or at Monte Carlo, or by matrimony. The last is -the safest.” - -“There’s no doubt about that. But--” - -“Yes, I know what’s in your mind. I’ve read the scene between Captain -Absolute and his father in ‘The Rivals’--I read countless fictions up to -the point where the writers artlessly introduce the same scene, then I -throw away the books. With the examples we have all had of the -success of the _mariage de convenance_ and of the failure of the -_mariage d’amour_ it is absurd to find fault with the Johnsonian -dictum about marriages made by the Lord Chancellor.” - -“I suppose not,” said Harold. “Only I don’t quite see why, if Dr. -Johnson didn’t believe that marriages were made in heaven, there was any -necessity for him to run off to the other extreme.” - -“He merely said, I fancy, that a marriage arranged by the Lord -Chancellor was as likely to turn out happily as one that was--well, made -in heaven, if you insist on the phrase. Heaven, as a match-maker, has -much to learn.” - -“Then it’s settled,” said Harold, with an affectation of cynicism -that amused his friend and puzzled Brian, who had ears. “I’ll have to -sacrifice one ambition in order to secure the other.” - -“I think that you’re right,” said Edmund. “You’re not in love just -now--so much is certain.” - -“Nothing could be more certain,” acquiesced Harold, with a laugh. “And -now I suppose it is equally certain that I never shall be.” - -“Nothing of the sort. That cynicism which delights to suggest that -marriage is fatal to love, is as false as it is pointless. Let any man -keep his eyes open and he will see that marriage is the surest guarantee -that exists of the permanence of love.” - -“Just as an I O U is a guarantee--it’s a legal form. The money can be -legally demanded.” - -“You are a trifle obscure in your parallel,” remarked Edmund. - -“I merely suggested that the marriage ceremony is an I O U for the debt -which is love. Oh, this sort of beating about a question and making it -the subject of phrases can lead nowhere. Never mind. I believe that, on -the whole, the grain of advice which I have acquired out of your bushel -of talk, is good, and is destined to bear good fruit. I’ll have my -career in the world, that my father may learn ‘what’tis to love.’ My -mind is made up. Come, Brian, to the shore!” - -“Not till I tell your honour the story of the lovely young Princess -Fither,” said the boatman, assuming a sentimental expression that was -extremely comical. - -“Brian, Prince of Storytellers, let it be brief,” said Edmund. - -“It’s to his honour I’m telling this story, not to your honour, Mr. -Airey,” said Brian. “You’ve a way of wrinkling up your eyes, I notice, -when you speak that word ‘love,’ and if you don’t put your tongue in -your cheek when anyone else comes across that word accidental-like, you -put your tongue in your cheek when you’re alone, and when you think over -what has been said.” - -“Why, you’re a student of men as well as an observer of nature, O -Prince,” laughed Edmund. - -“No, I’ve only eyes and ears,” said Brian, in a deprecating tone. - -“And a certain skill in narrative,” said Harold. “What about the -beauteous Princess Fither? What dynasty did she belong to?” - -“She belonged to Cashelderg,” replied Brian. “A few stones of the ruin -may still be seen, if you’ve any imagination, on the brink of the cliff -that’s called Carrigorm--you can just perceive its shape above the cove -where his lordship’s boathouse is built.” - -“Yes; I see the cliff--just where a castle might at one time have been -built. And that’s the dynasty that she belonged to?” said Harold. - -“The same, sir. And on our side you may still see--always supposing that -you have the imagination--” - -“Of course, nothing imaginary can be seen without the aid of the -imagination.” - -“You may see the ruins of what might have been Cashel-na-Mara, where the -Macnamara held his court--Mac na Mara means Son of the Waves, you must -know.” - -“It’s a matter of notoriety,” said Edmund. - -“The Macnamaras and the Casheldergs were the deadliest of enemies, and -hardly a day passed for years--maybe centuries--without some one of the -clan getting the better of the other. Maybe that was how the surplus -population was kept down in these parts. Anyhow there was no talk, so -far as I’ve heard, of congested districts in them days. Well, sir, it -so happened that the Prince of the Macnamaras was a fine, handsome, and -brave young fellow, and the Princess Fither of Cashelderg was the most -beautiful of Irish women, and that’s saying a good deal. As luck would -have it, the young people came together. Her boat was lost in a fog one -night and drifting upon the sharp rocks beyond the headland. The cries -of the poor girl were heard on both sides of the Lough--the blessed -Lough where we’re now floating--but no one was brave enough to put out -to the rescue of the Princess--no one, did I say? Who is it that makes a -quick leap off the cliffs into the rolling waters beneath? He fights his -way, strong swimmer that he is! through the surge, and, unseen by any -eye by reason of the fog, he reaches the Princess’s boat. Her cries -cease. And a keen arises along the cliffs of Carrigorm, for her friends -think that she has been swallowed up in the cruel waves. The keen goes -on, but it’s sudden changed into a shout of joy; for a noble young -figure appears as if by magic on the cliff head, and places the precious -burden of her lovely daughter in the arms of her weeping mother, and -then vanishes.” - -“And so the feud was healed, and if they didn’t live happy, we may,” - said Edmund. - -“That’s all you know about the spirit of an ancient Irish family -quarrel,” said Brian pityingly. “No, sir. The brave deed of the young -Prince only made the quarrel the bitterer. But the young people had -fallen in love with each other, and they met in secret in that cave that -you see there just above us--the Banshee’s Cave, it’s called to this -day. The lovely Princess put off in her boat night after night, and -climbed the cliff face--there was no path in them days--to where her -lover was waiting for her in the cave. But at last some wretch unworthy -of the name of a man got to learn the secret and told it to the -Princess’s father. With half-a-dozen of the clan he lay in wait for the -young Prince in the cave, and they stabbed him in twelve places with -their daggers. And even while they were doing the murder, the song -of the Princess was heard, telling her lover that she was coming. -She climbed the face of the cliff and with a laugh ran into the -trysting-place. She stumbled over the body of her lover. Her father -stole out of the darkness of the cave and grasped her by the wrist. -Then there rang out over the waters the cry, which still sounds on some -nights from a cave--the cry of the girl when she learned the truth--the -cry of the girl as, with a superhuman effort, she released herself from -her father’s iron grasp, and sprang from the head of the cliff you see -there above, into the depths of the waters where we’re now floating.” - -There was a pause before Edmund remarked, “Your story of the -Montague-Macnamaras and the Capulet-Casheldergs is a sad one, Brian. And -you have heard the cry of the young Princess with your own ears, I dare -say?” - -“That I have, your honour. And it’s the story of the young Princess -Fither and her lover that I tell to gentlemen that put their tongues -in their cheeks when they’re alone, and thinking of the way the less -knowing ones talk of love and the heart of a woman.” - -Both Edmund and Harold began to think that perhaps the Irish boatman was -a shrewder and a more careful listener than they had given him. - - - - -CHAPTER IV.--ON FABLES. - -VERY amusing indeed was Edmund’s parody of the boatman’s -wildly-romantic story. The travesty was composed for the benefit of Miss -Craven, and the time of its communication was between the courses of the -very excellent dinner which Lord Innisfail had provided for his numerous -guests at his picturesque Castle overlooking Lough Suangorm--that -magnificent fjord on the West Coast of Ireland. Lord Innisfail was a -true Irishman. When he was away from Ireland he was ever longing to be -back in it, and when he was in Ireland he was ever trying to get away -from it. The result of his patriotism was a residence of a month in -Connaught in the autumn, and the rest of the year in Connaught Square or -Monte Carlo. He was accustomed to declare--in England--that Ireland -and the Irish were magnificent. If this was his conviction, his -self-abnegation, displayed by carefully avoiding both, except during a -month every year, was all the greater. - -And yet no one ever gave him credit for possessing the virtue of -self-abnegation. - -He declared--in England--that the Irish race was the finest on the face -of the earth, and he invariably filled his Castle with Englishmen. - -He was idolized by his Irish tenantry, and they occasionally left a few -birds for his guests to shoot on his moors during the latter days of -August. - -Lord Innisfail was a man of about fifty years of age. His wife was -forty and looked twenty-five: their daughter was eighteen and looked -twenty-four. - -Edmund Airey, who was trying to amuse Miss Craven by burlesquing the -romance of the Princess Fither, was the representative in Parlament of -an English constituency. His father had been in business--some people -said on the Stock Exchange, which would be just the opposite. He had, -however, died leaving his son a considerable fortune extremely well -invested--a fact which tended strongly against the Stock Exchange -theory. His son showed no desire to go on the turf or to live within -reach to the European gaming-table. If there was any truth in the Stock -Exchange theory, this fact tended to weaken the doctrine of heredity. - -He had never blustered on the subject of his independence of thought or -action. He had attached himself unobtrusively to the Government party -on entering Parlament, and he had never occasioned the Whips a moment’s -anxiety during the three years that had elapsed since the date of his -return. He was always found in the Government Lobby in a division, and -he was thus regarded by the Ministers as an extremely conscientious -man. This is only another way of saying that he was regarded by the -Opposition as an extremely unscrupulous man. - -His speeches were brief, but each of them contained a phrase which told -against the Opposition. He was wise enough to refrain from introducing -into any speech so doubtful an auxiliary as argument, in his attempts -to convince the Opposition that they were in the wrong. He had the good -sense to perceive early in his career that argument goes for nothing in -the House of Commons, but that trusted Governments have been turned out -of office by a phrase. This power of perception induced him to cultivate -the art of phrase-making. His dexterity in this direction had now -and again made the Opposition feel uncomfortable; and as making the -Opposition feel uncomfortable embodies the whole science of successful -party-government in England, it was generally assumed that, if the -Opposition could only be kept out of power after the General Election, -Edmund Airey would be rewarded by an Under-Secretaryship. - -He was a year or two under forty, tall, slender, and so -distinguished-looking that some people--they were not his friends--were -accustomed to say that it was impossible that he could ever attain to -political distinction. - -He assured Miss Craven that, sitting in the stern sheets of the boat, -idly rocking on the smooth swell that rolled through the Lough from the -Atlantic, was by far the most profitable way of spending two hours of -the afternoon. Miss Craven doubted if this was a fact. “Where did the -profit come in except to the boatman?” she inquired. - -Mr. Airey, who knew that Miss Craven was anxious to know if Harold had -been of the profitable boating-party, had no idea of allowing his powers -of travesty to be concealed by the account, for which the young woman -was longing, of Harold and the topics upon which he had conversed. He -assured her that it was eminently profitable for anyone interested in -comparative mythology, to be made acquainted with the Irish equivalent -to the Mantuan fable. - -“Fable!” almost shrieked Miss Craven. “Mantuan fable! Do you mean to -suggest that there never was a Romeo and Juliet?” - -“On the contrary, I mean to say that there have been several,” said Mr. -Airey. “They exist in all languages. I have come unexpectedly upon them -in India, then in Japan, afterwards they turned up, with some delicate -Maori variations, in New Zealand when I was there. I might have been -prepared for them at such a place as this You know how the modern -melodramas are made, Miss Craven?” - -“I have read somewhere, but I forget. And you sat alone in the boat -smoking, while the boatman droned out his stories?” remarked the young -woman, refusing a cold _entrée_. - -“I will tell you how the melodramas are made,” said Mr. Airey, refusing -to be led up to Harold as a topic. “The artist paints several effective -pictures of scenery and then one of the collaborateurs--the man who -can’t write, for want of the grammar, but who knows how far to go with -the public--invents the situation to work in with the scenery. Last of -all, the man who has grammar--some grammar--fills in the details of the -story.” - -“Really! How interesting! And that’s how Shakespeare wrote ‘Romeo and -Juliet’? What a fund of knowledge you have, Mr. Airey!” - -Mr. Airey, by the method of his disclaimer, laid claim to a much larger -fund than any that Miss Craven had attributed to him. - -“I only meant to suggest that traditional romance is evolved on the same -lines,” said he, when his deprecatory head-shakes had ceased. “Given the -scenic effects of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ the romance on the lines of ‘Romeo -and Juliet’ will be forthcoming, if you only wait long enough. When you -pay a visit to any romantic glen with a torrent--an amateurish copy of -an unknown Salvator Rosa--ask for the ‘Lover’s Leap’ and it will be -shown to you.” - -“I’ll try to remember.” - -“Given, as scenic details, the ruin of a Castle on one side of -the Lough, the ruin of a Castle on the other, and the names of the -hereditary enemies, the story comes naturally--quite as naturally--not -to say overmuch about it--as the story of the melodrama follows the -sketch of the scenic effects in the theatre. The transition from -Montague to Macnamara--from Capulet to Cashelderg is easy, and there -you are.” - -“And here we are,” laughed Miss Craven. “How delightful it is to be able -to work out a legend in that way, is it not, Mr. Durdan?” and she turned -to a man sitting at her left. - -“It’s quite delightful, I’m sure,” said Mr. Durdan. “But Airey is only -adapting the creed of his party to matters of everyday life. What people -say about his party is that they make a phrase first and then look out -for a policy to hang upon it. Government by phrase is what the country -is compelled to submit to.” - -Mr. Durdan was a prominent member of the Opposition. - - - - -CHAPTER V.--ON A PERILOUS CAUSEWAY. - -MISS CRAVEN laughed and watched Mr. Airey searching for a reply beneath -the frill of a Neapolitan ice. She did not mean that he should find -one. Her aim was that he should talk about Harold Wynne. The dinner had -reached its pianissimo passages, so to speak. It was dwindling away into -the _marrons glacés_ and _fondants_ stage, so she had not much time left -to her to find out if it was indeed with his friend Edmund Airey that -Harold had disappeared every afternoon. - -Edmund Airey knew what her aim was. He was a clever man, and he -endeavoured to frustrate it. Ten minutes afterwards he was amazed to -find that he had told her all that she wanted to know, and something -over, for he had told her that Harold was at present greatly interested -in the question of the advisability of a man’s entering public life by -the perilous causeway--the phrase was Edmund Airey’s--of matrimony. - -As he chose a cigar for himself--for there was a choice even among -Lord Innisfail’s cigars--he was actually amazed to find that the girl’s -purpose had been too strong for his resolution. He actually felt as if -he had betrayed his friend to the enemy--he actually put the matter in -this way in his moment of self-reproach. - -Before his cigar was well alight, however, he had become more reasonable -in his censorship of his own weakness. An enemy? Why, the young woman -was the best friend that Harold Wynne could possibly have. She was -young--that is, young enough--she was clever--had she not got the better -of Edmund Airey?--and, best of all, she was an heiress. - -“The perilous causeway of matrimony”--that was the phrase which had come -suddenly into his mind, and, in order to introduce it, he had sent the -girl away feeling that she was cleverer than he was. - -“The perilous causeway of matrimony,” he repeated. “With a handrail of -ten thousand a year--there is safety in that.” - -He looked down the long dining-hall, glistening with silver, to where -Harold stood facing the great window, the square of which framed a dim -picture of a mountain slope, purple with heather, that had snared the -last light of the sunken sun. The sea horizon cut upon the slope not far -from its summit, and in that infinity of Western distance there was a -dash of drifting crimson. - -Harold Wynne stood watching that picture of the mountain with the -Atlantic beyond, and Edmund watched him. - -There was a good deal of conversation flying about the room. The smokers -of cigarettes talked on a topic which they would probably have called -Art. The smokers of pipes explained in a circumstantial way, that -carried suspicion with it to the ears of all listeners, their splendid -failures to secure certain big fish during the day. The smokers of -cigars talked of the Horse and the House--mostly of the Horse. There -was a rather florid judge present--he had talked himself crimson to the -appreciative woman who had sat beside him at dinner, on the subject of -the previous racing-season, and now he was talking himself purple on the -subject of the future season. He had been at Castle Innisfail for three -days, and he had steadily refused to entertain the idea of talking -on any other subject than the Horse from the standpoint of a possible -backer. - -This was the judge, who, during the hearing of a celebrated case a few -months before--a case that had involved a reference to an event known -as the City and Suburban, inquired if that was the name of a Railway -Company. Hearing that it was a race, he asked if it was a horse race or -a dog race. - -Harold remained on his feet in front of the window, and Edmund remained -watching him until the streak of crimson had dwindled to a flaming Rahab -thread. The servants entered the room with coffee, and brought out many -subtle gleams from the old oak by lighting the candles in the silver -sconces. - -Every time that the door was opened, the sound of a human voice (female) -trying, but with indifferent success, to scale the heights of a -song that had been saleable by reason of its suggestions of -passion--drawing-room passion--saleable passion--fought its way through -the tobacco smoke of the dining-hall. Hearing it fitfully, such men as -might have felt inclined to leave half-smoked cigars for the sake of the -purer atmosphere of the drawingroom, became resigned to their immediate -surroundings. - -A whisper had gone round the table while dinner was in progress, that -Miss Stafford had promised--some people said threatened--to -recite something in the course of the evening. Miss Stafford was a -highly-educated young woman. She spoke French, German, Italian -and Spanish. This is only another way of saying that she could -be uninteresting in four languages. In addition to the ordinary -disqualifications of such young women, she recited a little--mostly -poems about early childhood, involving a lisp and a pinafore. She wished -to do duty as an object lesson of the possibility of combining with an -exhaustive knowledge of mathematical formulæ, the strongest instincts of -femininity. Mathematics and motherhood were not necessarily opposed to -one another, her teachers had assured the world, through the medium -of magazine articles. Formulæ and femininity went hand in hand, they -endeavoured to prove, through the medium of Miss Stafford’s recitations; -so she acquired the imaginary lisp of early childhood, and tore a -pinafore to shreds in the course of fifteen stanzas. - -It was generally understood among men that one of these recitations -amply repaid a listener for a careful avoidance of the apartment where -it took place. - -The threat that had been whispered round the dinner-table formed an -excuse for long tarrying in front of the coffee cups and Bénédictine. - -“Boys,” at length said Lord Innisfail, endeavouring to put on an -effective Irish brogue--he thought it was only due to Ireland to put on -a month’s brogue. “Boys, we’ll face it like men. Shall it be said in the -days to come that we ran away from a lisp and a pinafore?” Then suddenly -remembering that Miss Stafford was his guest, he became grave. “Her -father was my friend,” he said. “He rode straight. What’s the matter -with the girl? If she does know all about the binomial-theorem and -German philosophy, has she not some redeeming qualities? You needn’t -tell me that there’s not some good in a young woman who commits to -memory such stuff as that--that what’s its name--the little boy that’s -run over by a ‘bus or something or other and that lisps in consequence -about his pap-pa. No, you needn’t argue with me. It’s extremely kind of -her to offer to recite, and I will stand up for her, confound her! And -if anyone wants to come round with the Judge and me to the stables while -she’s reciting, now’s the time. Will you take another glass of claret, -Wynne?” - -“No, thank you,” said Harold. “I’m off to the drawing-room.” - -He followed the men who were straggling into the great square hall where -a billiard table occupied an insignificant space. The skeleton of an -ancient Irish elk formed a rather more conspicuous object in the hall, -and was occasionally found handy for the disposal of hats, rugs, and -overcoats. - -“She is greatly interested in the Romeo and Juliet story,” remarked -Edmund, strolling up to him. - -“She--who?” asked Harold. - -“The girl--the necessary girl. The--let us say, alternative. The--the -handrail.” - -“The handrail?” - -“Yes. Oh, I forgot: you were not within hearing. There was something -said about the perilous causeway of matrimony.” - -“And that suggested the handrail idea to you? No better idea ever -occurred even to you, O man of many ideas, and of still more numerous -phrases.” - -“She is responsive--she is also clever--she is uncommonly clever--she -got the better of me.” - -“Say no more about her cleverness.” - -“I will say no more about it. A man cannot go a better way about -checking an incipient passion for a young woman than by insisting on -her cleverness. We do not take to the clever ones. Our ideal does not -include a power of repartee.” - -“Incipient passion!” - -There was a suspicion of bitterness in Harold’s voice, as he repeated -the words of his friend. - -“Incipient passion! I think we had better go into the drawing-room.” - -They went into the drawing-room. - - - - -CHAPTER VI.--ON THE INFLUENCE OF AN OCEAN. - -MISS CRAVEN was sitting on a distant sofa listening, or pretending to -listen, which is precisely the same thing, with great earnestness to the -discourse of Mr. Durdan, who, besides being an active politician, had a -theory upon the question of what Ibsen meant by his “Master Builder.” - -Harold said a few words to Miss Innisfail, who was trying to damp her -mother’s hope of getting up a dance in the hall, but Lady Innisfail -declined to be suppressed even by her daughter, and had received -promises of support for her enterprise in influential quarters. Finding -that her mother was likely to succeed, the girl hastened away to entreat -one of her friends to play a “piece” on the pianoforte. - -She knew that she might safely depend upon the person to whom she -applied for this favour, to put a stop to her mother’s negotiations. -The lady performed in the old style. Under her hands the one instrument -discharged the office of several. The volume of sound suggested that -produced by the steam orchestra of a switchback railway. - -Harold glanced across the room and perceived that, while the performer -was tearing notes by the handful and flinging them about the place--up -in the air, against the walls--while her hands were worrying the bass -notes one moment like rival terrier puppies over a bone, and at other -times tickling the treble rather too roughly to be good fun--Miss -Craven’s companion had not abandoned the hope of making himself audible -if not intelligible. He had clearly accepted the challenge thrown down -by the performer. - -Harold perceived that a man behind him had furtively unlatched one of -the windows leading to the terrace, and was escaping by that means, and -not alone. From outside came the hearty laughter of the judge telling an -open-air story to his host. People looked anxiously toward the -window. Harold shook his head as though suggesting that that sort of -interruption must be put a stop to at once, and that he was the man to -do it. - -He went resolutely out through the window. - -“‘Which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court,’” said -Edmund, in the ear of Lady Innisfail. - -He spoke too soon. The judge’s laugh rolled along like the breaking of -a tidal wave. It was plain that Harold had not gone to remonstrate with -the judge. - -He had not. He had merely strolled round the terrace to the entrance -hall. Here he picked up one of the many caps which were hanging there, -and putting it on his head, walked idly away from the castle, hearing -only the floating eulogy uttered by the judge of a certain well-known -jockey who was, he said, the kindliest and most honourable soul that had -ever pulled the favourite. - -A longing had come to him to hurry as far as he could from the Castle -and its company--they were hateful to him just at that instant. The -shocking performance of the woman at the pianoforte, the chatter of his -fellow-guests, the delicate way in which his friend Edmund Airey made -the most indelicate allusions, the _nisi prius_ jocularity of the -judge--he turned away from all with a feeling of repulsion. - -And yet Lord Innisfail’s cook was beyond reproach as an artist. - -Harold Wynne had accepted the invitation of Lady Innisfail in cold -blood. She had asked him to go to Castle Innisfail for a few weeks in -August, adding, “Helen Craven has promised to be among our party. You -like her, don’t you?” - -“Immensely,” he had replied. - -“I knew it,” she had cried, with an enthusiasm that would have shocked -her daughter. “I don’t want a discordant note at our gathering. If you -look coldly on Helen Craven I shall wish that I hadn’t asked you; but if -you look on her in--well, in the other way, we shall all be happy.” - -He knew exactly what Lady Innisfail meant to convey. It had been hinted -to him before that, as he was presumably desirous of marrying a girl -with a considerable amount of money, he could not do better than -ask Miss Craven to be his wife. He had then laughed and assured Lady -Innisfail that if their happiness depended upon the way he looked upon -Miss Craven, it would be his aim to look upon her in any way that Lady -Innisfail might suggest. - -Well, he had come to Castle Innisfail, and for a week he had given -himself up to the vastness of the Western Cliffs--of the Atlantic -waves--of the billowy mountains--of the mysterious sunsets. It was -impossible to escape from the overwhelming influence of the Atlantic in -the region of Castle Innisfail. Its sound seemed to go out to all the -ends of the earth. At the Castle there was no speech or language where -its voice was not heard. It was a sort of background of sound that -had to be arranged for by anyone desirous of expressing any thought or -emotion in that region. Even the judge had to take it into consideration -upon occasions. He never took into consideration anything less important -than an ocean. - -For a week the influence of the Atlantic had overwhelmed Harold. He had -given himself up to it. He had looked at Miss Craven neither coldly nor -in the other way--whatever it was--to which Lady Innisfail had referred -as desirable to be adopted by him. Miss Craven had simply not been in -his thoughts. Face to face with the Infinite one hesitates to give up -one’s attention to a question of an income that may be indicated by five -figures only. - -But at the end of a week, he received a letter from his father, who -was Lord Fotheringay, and this letter rang many changes upon the -five-figure-income question. The question was more than all the -Infinities to Lord Fotheringay, and he suggested as much in writing to -his son. - -“Miss Craven is all that is desirable,” the letter had said. “Of -course she is not an American; but one cannot expect everything in this -imperfect world. Her money is, I understand, well invested--not in land, -thank heaven! She is, in fact, a CERTAINTY, and certainties are becoming -rarer every day.” - -Here the letter went on to refer to some abstract questions of the opera -in Italy--it was to the opera in Italy that Lord Fotheringay w as, -for the time being, attached. The progress made by one of its -ornaments--gifted with a singularly flexible soprano--interested him -greatly, and Harold had invariably found that in proportion to the -interest taken by his father in the exponents of certain arts--singing, -dancing, and the drama--his own allowance was reduced. He knew that his -father was not a rich man, for a peer. His income was only a trifle -over twelve thousand a year; but he also knew that only for his father’s -weaknesses, this sum should be sufficient for him to live on with some -degree of comfort. The weaknesses, however, were there, and they had to -be calculated on. Harold calculated on them; and after doing the sum in -simple subtraction with the sound of the infinite ocean around him, he -had asked his friend Edmund Airey to pass a few hours in the boat with -him. Edmund had complied for three consecutive afternoons, with the -result that, with three ridiculous stories from the Irish boatman, -Harold had acquired a certain amount of sound advice from the friend who -was in his confidence. - -He had made up his mind that, if Miss Craven would marry him, he would -endeavour to make her the wife of a distinguished man. - -That included everything, did it not? - -He felt that he might realize the brilliant future predicted for him by -his friends when he was the leader of the party of the hour at -Oxford. The theory of the party was--like everything that comes from -Oxford--eminently practical. The Regeneration of Humanity by means of -Natural Scenery was its foundation. Its advocates proved to their own -satisfaction that, in every question of morality and the still more -important question of artistic feeling, heredity was not the dominant -influence, but natural scenery. - -By the party Harold was regarded as the long-looked-for Man--what the -world wanted was a Man, they declared, and he was destined to be the -Man. - -He had travelled a good deal on leaving the University, and in a year -he had forgotten that he had ever pretended that he held any theory. A -theory he had come to believe to be the paper fortress of the Immature. -But the Man--that was a different thing. He hoped that he might yet -prove himself to be a man, so that, after all, his friends--they had -also ceased to theorize--might not have predicted in vain. - -Like many young men without experience, he believed that Parliament was -a great power. If anyone had told him that the art of gerrymandering -is greater than the art of governing, he would not have known what his -informant meant. - -His aspirations took the direction of a seat in the House of Commons. In -spite of the fact of his being the son of Lord Fotheringay, he believed -that he might make his mark in that Assembly. The well-known love of the -Voter for social purity--not necessarily in Beer--and his intolerance of -idleness--excepting, of course, when it is paid for by an employer--had, -he knew, to be counted on. Lord Fotheringay was not, he felt, the -ideal of the Working man, but he hoped he might be able to convince -the Working man--the Voter--that Lord Fotheringay’s most noted -characteristics had not descended to his son. - -From his concern on this point it will be readily understood how -striking a figure was the Voter, in his estimation. - -It is not so easy to understand how, with that ideal Voter--that stern -unbending moralist--before his eyes, he should feel that there was a -great need for him to be possessed of money before offering himself to -any constituency. The fact remained, however, that everyone to whom -he had confided his Parliamentary aspirations, had assured him at the -outset that money had to be secured before a constituency could be -reckoned on. His friend Edmund Airey had still further impressed upon -him this fact; and now he had made up his mind that his aspirations -should not be discouraged through the lack of money. - -He would ask Helen Craven that very night if she would have the goodness -to marry him. - - - - -CHAPTER VII.--ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A FULL MOON. - -WHY the fact of his having made up his mind to ask Miss Craven who, -without being an American, still possessed many qualities which are -generally accepted as tending to married happiness, should cause him to -feel a great longing to leave Castle Innisfail, its occupants, and its -occupations behind him for evermore, it is difficult to explain on any -rational grounds. That feeling was, however, upon him, and he strode -away across the billowy moorland in the direction of the cliffs of the -fjord known as Lough Suangorm. - -The moon was at its full. It had arisen some little way up the sky -and was showering its red gold down the slopes of the two cone-shaped -mountains that guard the pass of Lamdhu; the deep glen was flooded with -moonlight--Harold could perceive in its hollows such objects as were -scarcely visible on the ordinary gray days of the West of Ireland. Then -he walked until he was on the brink of the great cliffs overhanging the -lough. From the high point on which he stood he could follow all the -curves of the lough out to the headlands at its entrance seven miles -away. Beyond those headlands the great expanse of sea was glittering -splendidly in the moonlight, though the moon had not risen high enough -to touch the restless waters at the base of the cl iffs on which he -stood. The waters were black as they struggled within their narrow -limits and were strangled in the channel. Only a white thread of surf -marked the breaking place of the waves upon the cliffs. - -He went down the little track, made among the rocks of the steep slope, -until he reached the natural cavern that bore the name of the Banshee’s -Cave. - -It was scarcely half-way up the face of the cliff. From that hollow in -the rocks the descent to the waters of the lough was sheer; but the cave -was easily accessible by a zig-zag path leading up from a small ledge of -rocks which, being protected by a reef that started up abruptly half a -dozen yards out in the narrow channel, served as a landing place for the -fishing boats, of which there were several owned in the tiny village of -Carrigorm. - -He stood at the entrance to the cavern, thinking, not upon the scene -which, according to the boatman’s story, had been enacted at the place -several hundreds--perhaps thousands (the chronology of Irish legends is -vague)--of years before, but upon his own prospects. - -“It is done,” he said, looking the opposite cliffs straight in the -face, as though they were Voters--(candidates usually look at the Voters -straight in the face the first time they address them). “It is done; -I cast it to the winds--to the seas, that are as indifferent to -man’s affairs as the winds. I must be content to live without it. The -career--that is enough!” - -What it was that he meant to cast to the indifference of the seas and -the winds was nothing more than a sentiment--a vague feeling that he -could not previously get rid of--a feeling that man’s life without -woman’s love was something incomplete and unsatisfactory. - -He had had his theory on this subject as well as on others long ago--he -had gone the length of embodying it in sonnets. - -Was it now to go the way of the other impracticable theories? - -He had cherished it for long. If it had not been dear to him he would -not have subjected himself to the restriction of the sonnet in writing -about it. He would have adopted the commonplace and facile stanza. But a -sonnet is a shrine. - -He had felt that whatever might happen to him, however disappointed he -might become with the world and the things of the world, that great and -splendid love was before him, and he felt that to realize it would be to -forget all disappointments--to forget all the pangs which the heart of -man knows when its hour of disillusion comes. - -Love was the reward of the struggle--the deep, sweet draught that -refreshes the heart of the toiler, he felt. In whatever direction -illusion may lie, love was not in that direction. - -That had been his firm belief all his life, and now he was standing at -the entrance to the cavern--the cavern that was associated with a story -of love stronger than death--and he had just assured himself that he -had flung to the seas and the winds all his hopes of that love which had -been in his dreams. - -“It is gone--it is gone!” he cried, looking down at that narrow part of -the lough where the boat had been tumbling during the afternoon. - -What had that adviser of his said? He remembered something of his -words--something about marriage being a guarantee of love. - -Harold laughed grimly as he recalled the words. He knew better. The love -that he had looked for was not such as was referred to by his friend Mr. -Airey. It was---- - -But what on earth was the good of trying to recall what it was? The -diamonds that Queen Guinevere flung into the river, made just the same -splash as common stones would have done under the same circumstances: -and the love which he had cherished was, when cast to the winds, no more -worthy of being thought precious than the many other ideas which he had -happily rid himself of in the course of his walk through the world. - -This was how he repressed the thought of his conversation with his -friend; and after a while the recollections that he wished to suppress -yielded to his methods. - -Once more the influences of the place--the spectacle of the infinite -mountains, the voice of the infinite sea--asserted themselves as they -had done during the first week of his arrival at the Castle. The story -of the legendary Prince and Princess came back to him as though it were -the embodiment of the influences of the region of romance in the midst -of which he was standing. - -What had Brian the boatman said? The beautiful girl had crossed the -narrow channel of the lough night after night and had climbed the face -of the cliffs to her lover at their dizzy trysting-place--the place -where he was now standing. - -Even while he thought upon the details, as carefully narrated by the -boatman, the moon rose high enough to send her rays sweeping over the -full length of the lough. For a quarter of an hour a single thin crag of -the Slieve Gorm mountains had stood between the moon and the narrowing -of the lough. The orb rose over the last thin peak of the crag. The -lough through all its sinuous length flashed beneath his eyes like a -Malayan crease, and in the waters just below the cliffs which a moment -before had been black, he saw a small boat being rowed by a white -figure. - -“That is the lovely Princess of the story,” said he. “She is in -white--of course they are all in white, these princesses. It’s -marvellous what a glint of moonlight can do. It throws a glamour over -the essentially commonplace, the same way that--well, that that fancy -known as love does upon occasions, otherwise the plain features of a -woman would perish from the earth and not be perpetuated. The lumpy -daughter of the village who exists simply to show what an artist was -Jean François Millet, appears down there to float through the moonlight -like the restless spirit of a princess. Is she coming to meet the spirit -of her lover at their old trysting-place? Ah, no, she is probably about -to convey a pannikin of worms for bait to one of the fishing boats.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII.--ON THE ZIG-ZAG TRACK. - -HAROLD WYNNE was in one of those moods which struggle for expression -through the medium of bitter phrases. He felt that he did well to be -cynical. Had he not outlived his belief in love as a necessity of life? - -He watched with some degree of interest the progress of the tiny boat -rowed by the white figure. He had tried to bring himself to believe that -the figure was that of a rough fisher-girl--the fisher-girls are not -rough, however, on that part of the coast, and he knew it, only his mood -tended to roughness. He tried to make himself believe that a coarse jest -shrieked through the moonlight to reach the ears of an appreciatively -coarse fisherman, would not be inconsistent with the appearance of that -white figure. He felt quite equal to the act of looking beneath the -glory and the glamour of the moonlight and of seeing there only the -commonplace. He was, he believed, in a mood to revel in the disillusion -of a man. - -And yet he watched the progress of the boat through the glittering -waters, without removing his eyes from it. - -The white figure in the boat was so white as to seem the centre of -the light that flashed along the ripples and silvered the faces of the -cliffs--so much was apparent to him in spite of his mood. As the boat -approached the landing-place at the ledge of rock a hundred feet below -him, he also perceived that the rower handled her oars in a scientific -way unknown to the fisher-girls; and the next thing that he noticed -was that she wore a straw hat and a blouse of a pattern that the -fisher-girls were powerless to imitate, though the skill was -easily available to the Mary Anns and the Matilda Janes who steer -(indifferently) perambulators through the London parks. He was so -interested in what he saw, that he had not sufficient presence of mind -to resume his cynical mutterings, or to inquire if it was possible -that the fashion of the year as regards sailor hats and blouses, was a -repetition of that of the period of the Princess Fither. - -He was more than interested--he was puzzled--as the boat was skilfully -run alongside the narrow landing ledge at the foot of the cliffs, and -when the girl--the figure was clearly that of a girl--landed---she wore -yachting shoes--carrying with her the boat’s painter, which she made -fast in a business-like way to one of the iron rings that had been sunk -in the face of the cliff for the mooring of the fishing boats, he was -more puzzled still. In another moment the girl was toiling up the little -zig-zag track that led to the summit of the cliffs. - -The track passed within a yard or two of the entrance to the cavern. He -thought it advisable to step hack out of the moonlight, so that the girl -should not see him. She was doubtless, he thought, on her way to the -summit of the cliffs, and she would probably be startled if he were to -appear suddenly before her eyes. He took a step or two back into the -friendly shadow of the cavern, and waited to hear her footsteps on the -track above him. - -He waited in vain. She did not take that zigzag track that led to the -cliffs above the cave. He heard her jump--it was almost a feat--from the -track by which she had ascended, on to a flat rock not a yard from the -entrance to the cavern. He shrunk still further back into the darkness, -and then there came before the entrance the most entrancing figure of a -girl that he had ever seen. - -She stood there delightfully out of breath, with the moonlight bringing -out every gracious curve in her shape. So he had seen the limelight -reveal the graces of a breathless _danseuse_, when taking her “call.” - -“My dear Prince,” said the girl, with many a gasp. “You have treated me -very badly. It’s a pull--undeniably a pull--up those rocks, and for the -third time I have kept my tryst with you, only to be disappointed.” - -She laughed, and putting a shapely foot--she was by no means careful to -conceal her stocking above the ankle--upon a stone, she quietly and in a -matter-of-fact way, tied the lace of her yachting shoe. - -The stooping was not good for her--he felt that, together with a few -other matters incidental to her situation. He waited for the long breath -he knew she would draw on straightening herself. - -It came. He hoped that her other shoe needed tying; but it did not. - -He watched her as she stood there with her back to him. She was sending -her eyes out to the Western headlands. - -“No, my Prince; on the whole I’m not disappointed,” she said. “That -picture repays me for my toil by sea and land. What a picture! But what -would it be to be here with--with--love!” - -That was all she said. - -He thought it was quite enough. - -She stood there like a statue of white marble set among the black rocks. -She was absolutely motionless for some minutes; and then the sigh that -fluttered from her lips was, he knew, a different expression altogether -from that which had come from her when she had straightened herself on -fastening her shoe. - -His father was a connoisseur in sighs; Harold did not profess to -have the same amount of knowledge on the subject, but still he knew -something. He could distinguish roughly on some points incidental to the -sigh as a medium of expression. - -After that little gasp which was not quite a gasp, she was again silent; -then she whispered, but by no means gently, the one word “Idiot!” and -in another second she had sent her voice into the still night in a wild -musical cry--such a cry as anyone gifted with that imaginative power -which Brian had declared to be so necessary for archæological research, -might attribute to the Banshee--the White Lady of Irish legends. - -She repeated the cry an octave higher and then she executed what is -technically known as a “scale” but ended with that same weird cry of the -Banshee. - -Once again she was breathless. Her blouse was turbulent just below her -throat. - -“If Brian does not cross himself until he feels more fatigue than he -would after a pretence at rowing, I’ll never play Banshee again,” said -the girl. “_Ta, ta, mon Prince; a rivederci_.” - -He watched her poise herself for the leap from the rock where she was -standing, to the track--her grace was exquisite--it suggested that of -the lithe antelope. The leap took her beyond his sight, and he did not -venture immediately to a point whence he could regain possession of her -with his eyes. But when he heard the sound of her voice singing a snatch -of song--it was actually “_L’amour est un oiseau rebelle_”--the Habanera -from “Carmen”--he judged that she had reached the second angle of the -zig-zag downward, and he took a step into the moonlight. - -There she went, lilting the song and keeping time with her feet, until -she reached the ledge where the boat was moored. She unfastened the -painter, hauled the boat close, and he heard the sound of the plunge -of the bows as she jumped on one of the beams, the force of her jump -sending the boat far from shore. - -She sat for some minutes on the beam amidship, listlessly allowing the -boat to drift away from the rocks, then she put out her hands for the -oars. Her right hand grasped one, but there was none for the left to -grasp. Harold perceived that one of the oars had disappeared. - -There was the boat twenty yards from the rock drifting away beyond the -control of the girl. - - - - -CHAPTER IX.--ON THE HELPLESSNESS OF WOMAN. - -THE girl had shown so much adroitness in the management of the little -craft previously, he felt--with deep regret--that she would be quite -equal to her present emergency. He was mistaken. She had reached the end -of her resources in navigation when she had run the boat alongside the -landing place. He saw--with great satisfaction--that with only one oar -she was helpless. - -What should he do? - -That was what he asked himself when he saw her dip her remaining oar -into the water and paddle a few strokes, making the boat describe an -awkward circle and bringing it perilously close to a jagged point of the -reef that did duty as a natural breakwater for the mooring place of the -boats. He came to the conclusion that if he allowed her to continue that -sort of paddling, she would run the boat on the reef, and he would be -morally responsible for the disaster and its consequences, whatever they -might be. He had never felt more conscientious than at that moment. - -He ran down the track to the landing ledge, but before he had reached -the latter, the girl had ceased her efforts and was staring at him, her -hands still resting on the oar. - -He had an uneasy feeling that he was scarcely so picturesquely -breathless as she had been, and this consciousness did not tend to make -him fluent as he stood upon the rocky shelf not a foot above the ridges -of the silver ripples. - -He found himself staring at her, just as she was staring at him. - -Quite a minute had passed before he found words to ask her if he could -be of any help to her. - -“I don’t know,” she replied, in a tone very different from that in which -she had spoken at the entrance to the cavern. “I don’t really know. -One of the oars must have gone overboard while the boat was moored. I -scarcely know what I am to do.” - -“I’m afraid you’re in a bad way!” said he, shaking his head. The change -in the girl’s tone was very amusing to him. She had become quite demure; -but previously, demureness had been in the background. “Yes, I’m afraid -your case is a very bad one.” - -“So bad as that?” she asked. - -“Well, perhaps not quite, but still bad enough,” said he. “What do you -want to do?” - -“To get home as soon as possible,” she replied, without the pause of a -second. - -Her tone was expressive. It conveyed to him the notion that she had just -asked if he thought that she was an idiot. What could she want to do if -not to go home? - -“In that case,” said he, “I should advise you to take the oar to the -sculling place in the centre of the stern. The boat is a stout one and -will scull well.” - -“But I don’t know how to scull,” said she, in a tone of real distress; -“and I don’t think I can begin to learn just now.” - -“There’s something in that,” said he. “If I were only aboard I could -teach you in a short time.” - -“But--” - -She had begun her reply without the delay of a second, but she did not -get beyond the one word. He felt that she did not need to do so: it was -a sentence by itself. - -“Yes,” said he, “as you say, I’m not aboard. Shall I get aboard?” - -“How could you?” she inquired, brightening up. - -“I can swim,” he replied. - -She laughed. - -“The situation is not so desperate as that,” she cried. - -He also laughed. - -They both laughed together. - -She stopped suddenly and looked up the cliffs to the Banshee’s Cave. - -Was she wondering if he had been within hearing when she had been--and -not in silence--at the entrance to the cave? - -He felt that he had never seen so beautiful a girl. Even making a -liberal allowance for that glamour of the moonlight, which he had tried -to assure himself was as deceptive as the glamour of love, she was, he -felt, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. - -He crushed down every suggestion that came to him as to the best way of -helping her out of her difficulty. It was his opportunity. - -Then she turned her eyes from the cliff and looked at him again. - -There was something imploring in her look. - -“Keep up your heart,” said he. “Whose boat is that, may I ask?” - -“It belongs to a man named Brian--Brian something or other--perhaps -O’Donal.” - -“In that case I think it almost certain that you will find a fishing -line in the locker astern--a fishing line and a tin bailer--the line -will help you out of the difficulty.” - -Before he had quite done speaking she was in the stern sheets, groping -with one hand in the little locker. - -She brought out, first, a small jar of whiskey, secondly, a small -pannikin that served a man’s purpose when he wished to drink the whiskey -in unusually small quantities, and was also handy in bailing out the -boat, and, thirdly, a fishing line-wound about a square frame. - -She held up the last-named so that Harold might see it. - -“I thought it would be there,” said he. “Now if you can only cast one -end of that line ashore, I will catch it and the boat will be alongside -the landing-place in a few minutes. Can you throw?” - -She was silent. She examined the hooks on the whale-bone cross-cast. - -He laughed again, for he perceived that she was reluctant to boast of -the possession of a skill which was denied to all womankind. - -“I’ll explain to you what you must do,” he said. “Cut away the cast of -hooks.” - -“But I have no knife.” - -“Then I’ll throw mine into the bottom of your boat. Look out.” - -Being a man, he was able to make the knife alight within reasonable -distance of the spot at which he aimed. He saw her face brighten as she -picked up the implement and, opening it, quickly cut away the cast of -hooks. - -“Now make fast the leaden sinker to the end of the fishing line, unwind -it all from the frame, and then whirl the weight round and sling it -ashore--anywhere ashore.” - -She followed his instructions implicitly, and the leaden weight fled -through the air, with the sound of a shell from a mortar. - -“Well thrown!” he cried, as it soared above his head; and it was well -thrown--so well that it carried overboard every inch of the line and the -frame to which it was attached. - -“How stupid of me!” she said. - -“Of me, you mean,” said he. “I should have told you to make it fast. -However, no harm is done. I’ll recover the weight and send it back to -you.” - -He had no trouble in effecting his purpose. He threw the weight as -gently as possible into the bow of the boat, she picked it up, and -the line was in her hands as he took in the slack and hauled the boat -alongside the shelf of rock. - -It cannot have escaped notice that the system of hauling which he -adopted had the result of bringing their hands together. They scarcely -touched, however. - -“Thank you,” said she, with profound coldness, when the boat was -alongside. - -“Your case was not so desperate, after all,” he remarked, with just a -trifle less frigidity in his tone, though he now knew that she was the -most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had talked of the glamour of -moonlight. How could he have been so ridiculous? - -“No, my case was not so very desperate,” she said. “Thank you so much.” - -Did she mean to suggest that he should now walk away? - -“I can’t go, you know, until I am satisfied that your _contretemps_ is -at an end,” said he. “My name is Wynne--Harold Wynne. I am a guest of -Lord Innisfail’s. I dare say you know him.” - -“No,” she replied. “I know nobody.” - -“Nobody?” - -“Nobody here. Of course I daily hear something about Lord Innisfail and -his guests.” - -“You know Brian--he is somebody--the historian of the region. Did you -ever hear the story of the Banshee?” - -She looked at him, but he flattered himself that his face told her -nothing of what she seemed anxious to know. - -“Yes,” she said, after a pause. “I do believe that I heard the story -of the Banshee--a princess, was she not--a sort of princess--an Irish -princess?” - -“Strictly Irish. It is said that the cry of the White Lady is sometimes -heard even on these nights among the cliffs down which the Princess -flung herself.” - -“Really?” said she, turning her eyes to the sea. “How strange!” - -“Strange? well--perhaps. But Brian declares that he has heard the cry -with his own ears. I have a friend who says, very coarsely, that if lies -were landed property Brian would be the largest holder of real estate in -the world.” - -“Your friend does not understand Brian.” There was more than a trace of -indignation in her voice. “Brian has imagination--so have all the people -about here. I must get home as soon as possible. I thank you very much -for your trouble. Goodnight.” - -“I have had no trouble. Good-night.” - -He took off his cap, and moved away--to the extent of a single step. She -was still standing in the boat. - -“By the way,” he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him; “do -you intend going overland?” - -The glamour of the moonlight failed to conceal the troubled look that -came to her eyes. He regained the step that he had taken away from her, -and remarked, “If you will be good enough to allow me, I will scull you -with the one oar to any part of the coast that you may wish to reach. It -would be a pleasure to me. I have nothing whatever to do. As a matter of -fact, I don’t see that you have any choice in the matter.” - -“I have not,” she said gravely. “I was a fool--such a fool! But--the -story of the Princess--” - -“Pray don’t make any confession to me,” said he. “If I had not heard the -story of the Princess, should I be here either?” - -“My name,” said she, “is Beatrice Avon. My father’s name you may have -heard--most people have heard his name, though I’m afraid that not so -many have read his books.” - -“But I have met your father,” said he. “If he is Julius Anthony Avon, I -met him some years ago. He breakfasted with my tutor at Oxford. I have -read all his hooks.” - -“Oh, come into the boat,” she cried with a laugh. “I feel that we have -been introduced.” - -“And so we have,” said he, stepping upon the gunwale so as to push off -the boat. “Now, where is your best landing place?” - -She pointed out to him a white cottage at the entrance to a glen on the -opposite coast of the lough, just below the ruins--they could be seen -by the imaginative eye--of the Castle of Carrigorm. The cottage was -glistening in the moonlight. - -“That is where we have been living--my father and I--for the past -month,” said she. “He is engaged on a new work--a History of Irish -Patriotism, and he has begun by compiling a biographical dictionary of -Irish Informers. He is making capital progress with it. He has already -got to the end of the seventh volume and he has very nearly reached the -letter C--oh, yes, he is making rapid progress.” - -“But why is he at this place? Is he working up the Irish legends as -well?” - -“It seems that the French landed here some time or other, and that was -the beginning of a new era of rebellions. My father is dealing with the -period, and means to have his topography strictly accurate.” - -“Yes,” said Harold, “if he carefully avoids everything that he is told -in Ireland his book may tend to accuracy.” - - - - -CHAPTER X.--ON SCIENCE AND ART. - -A BOAT being urged onwards--not very rapidly--by a single oar resting -in a hollow in the centre of the stern, and worked from side to side -by a man in evening dress, is not a sight of daily occurrence. This may -have suggested itself to the girl who was seated on the midship beam; -but if she was inclined to laugh, she succeeded in controlling her -impulses. - -He found that he was more adroit at the science of marine propulsion -than he had fancied he was. The boat was making quite too rapid progress -for his desires, across the lough. - -He asked the girl if she did not think it well that she should become -acquainted with at least the scientific principle which formed the -basis of the marine propeller. It was extremely unlikely that such -an emergency as that which had lately arisen should ever again make a -demand upon her resources, but if such were ever to present itself, it -might be well for her to be armed to overcome it. - -Yes, she said, it was extremely unlikely that she should ever again be -so foolish, and she hoped that her father would not be uneasy at her -failure to return at the hour at which she had told him to expect her. - -He stopped rocking the oar from side to side in order to assure her that -she could not possibly be delayed more than a quarter of an hour through -the loss of the oar. - -She said that she was very glad, and that she really thought that the -boat was making more rapid progress with his one oar than it had done in -the opposite direction with her two oars. - -He began to perceive that his opportunities of making her acquainted -with the science of the screw propeller were dwindling. He faced the oar -boldly, however, and he felt that he had at least succeeded in showing -her how effective was the application of a scientific law to the -achievement of his end--assuming that that end was the driving of the -boat through the waters. - -He was not a fool. He knew very well that there is nothing which so -appeals to the interest of a woman as seeing a man do something that she -cannot do. - -When, after five minutes’ work, he turned his head to steer the boat, he -found that she was watching him. - -She had previously been watching the white glistening cottage, with the -light in one window only. - -The result of his observation was extremely satisfactory to him. He -resumed his toil without a word. - -And this was how it happened that the boat made so excellent a passage -across the lough. - -It was not until the keel grated upon the sand that the girl spoke. She -made a splendid leap from the bows, and, turning, asked him if he would -care to pay a visit to her father. - -He replied that he feared that he might jeopardize the biography of some -interesting informer whose name might occur at the close of the letter -B. He hoped that he would be allowed to borrow the boat for his return -to the cliffs, and to row it back the next day to where it was at the -moment he was speaking. - -His earnest sculling of the boat had not made all thought for the morrow -impracticable. He had been reflecting through the silence, how he might -make the chance of meeting once more this girl whose face he had seen -for the first time half an hour before. - -She had already given him an absurd amount of trouble, she said. The -boat was one that she had borrowed from Brian, and Brian could easily -row it across next morning. - -But he happened to know that Brian was to be in attendance on Mr. Durdan -all the next day. Mr. Durdan had come to the West solely for the purpose -of studying the Irish question on the spot. He had, consequently, spent -all his time, deep-sea fishing. - -“So you perceive that there’s nothing for it but for me to bring back -the boat, Miss Avon,” said he. - -“You do it so well,” she said, with a tone of enthusiasm in her voice. -“I never admired anything so much--your sculling, I mean. And perhaps I -may learn something about--was it the scientific principle that you were -kind enough to offer to teach me?” - -“The scientific principle,” said he, with an uneasy feeling that the -girl had seen through his artifice to prolong the crossing of the lough. -“Yes, you certainly should know all about the scientific principle.” - -“I feel so, indeed. Good-night.” - -“Good-night,” said he, preparing to push the boat off the sand where it -had grounded. “Goodnight. By the way, it was only when we were out with -Brian in the afternoon that he told us the story of the Princess and her -lover. He added that the cry of the White Lady would probably be heard -when night came.” - -“Perhaps you may hear it yet,” said she. “Goodnight.” - -She had run up the sandy beach, before he had pushed off the boat, and -she never looked round. - -He stood with one foot on the gunwale of the boat in act to push into -deep water, thinking that perhaps she might at the last moment look -round. - -She did not. - -He caught another glimpse of her beyond the furze that crowned a ridge -of rocks. But she had her face steadfastly set toward the white cottage. - -He threw all his weight upon the oar which he was using as a pole, and -out the boat shot into the deep water. - -“Great heavens!” said Edmund Airey. “Where have you been for the past -couple of hours?” - -“Where?” repeated Miss Craven in a tone of voice that should only be -assumed when the eyes, of the speaker are sparkling. But Miss Craven’s -eyes were not sparkling. Their strong point was not in that direction. -“I’m afraid you must give an account of yourself, Mr. Wynne,” she -continued. She was standing by the side of Edmund Airey, within the -embrace of the mighty antlers of the ancient elk in the hall. The sound -of dance music was in the air, and Miss Craven’s face was flushed. - -“To give an account of myself would be to place myself on a level of -dulness with the autobiographers whose reminiscences we yawn over.” - -“Then give us a chance of yawning,” cried Miss Craven. - -“You do not need one,” said he. “Have you not been for some time by the -side of a Member of Parliament?” - -“He has been over the cliffs,” suggested the Member of Parliament. -He was looking at Harold’s shoes, which bore tokens of having been -ill-treated beyond the usual ill-treatment of shoes with bows of ribbon -above the toes. - -“Yes,” said Harold. “Over the cliffs.” - -“At the Banshee’s Cave, I’m certain,” said Miss Craven. - -“Yes, at the Banshee’s Cave.” - -“How lovely! And you saw the White Lady?” she continued. - -“Yes, I saw the White Lady.” - -“And you heard her cry at the entrance to the cave?” - -“Yes, I heard her cry at the entrance to the cave.” - -“Nonsense!” said she. - -“Utter nonsense!” said he. “I must ask Lady Innisfail to dance.” - -He crossed the hall to where Lady Innisfail was seated. She was fanning -herself and making sparkling replies to the inanities of Mr. Durdan, who -stood beside her. She had been engaged in every dance, Harold knew, from -the extra gravity of her daughter. - -“What does he mean?” Miss Craven asked of Edmund Airey in a low--almost -an anxious, tone. - -“Mean? Why, to dance with Lady Innisfail. He is a man of determination.” - -“What does he mean by that nonsense about the Banshee’s Cave?” - -“Is it nonsense?” - -“Of course it is. Does anyone suppose that the legend of the White Lady -is anything but nonsense? Didn’t you ridicule it at dinner?” - -“At dinner; oh, yes: but then you must remember that no one is -altogether discreet at dinner. That cold _entrée_--the Russian salad--” - -“A good many people are discreet neither at dinner nor after it.” - -“Our friend Harold, for instance? Oh, I have every confidence in him. -I know his mood. I have experienced it myself. I, too, have stood in a -sculpturesque attitude and attire, on a rock overhanging a deep sea, -and I have been at the point of dressing again without taking the plunge -that I meant to take.” - -“You mean that he--that he--oh, I don’t know what you mean.” - -“I mean that if he had been so fortunate as to come upon you suddenly at -the Banshee’s Cave or wherever he was to-night, he would have--well, he -would have taken the plunge.” - -He saw the girl’s face become slightly roseate in spite of the fact -of her being the most self-controlled person whom he had ever met. He -perceived that she appreciated his meaning to a shade. - -He liked that. A man who is gifted with the power of expressing his -ideas in various shades, likes to feel that his power is appreciated. -He knew that there are some people who fancy that every question is -susceptible of being answered by yea or nay. He hated such people. - -“The plunge?” said Miss Craven, with an ingenuousness that confirmed -his high estimate of her powers of appreciation. “The plunge? But the -Banshee’s Cave is a hundred feet above the water.” - -“But men have taken headers--” - -“They have,” said she, “and therefore we should finish our waltz.” - -They did finish their waltz. - - - - -CHAPTER XI.--ON HEAVEN AND THE LORD CHANCELLOR. - -MR. DURDAN was explaining something--he usually was explaining -something. When he had been a member of the late Government his process -of explaining something was generally regarded as a fine effort at -mystification. In private his explanations were sometimes intelligible. -As Harold entered the room where a straggling breakfast was -proceeding--everything except dinner had a tendency to be straggling -at Castle Innisfail--Mr. Dur dan was explaining how Brian had been -bewildered. - -It was a profitable theme, especially for a man who fondly believed that -he had the power of reproducing what he imagined to be the Irish brogue -of the boatman. - -Harold gathered that Mr. Durdan had already had a couple of hours of -deep-sea fishing in the boat with Brian--the servants were all the -morning carrying into the dining-room plates of fish of his catching -(audibly sneered at by the fly-fishers, who considered their supreme -failures superior to the hugest successes of the deep-sea fishers). - -But the fishing was not to the point. What Mr. Durdan believed to be -very much to the point were the “begorras,” the “acushlas,” the “arrahs” - which he tried to make his auditors believe the boatman had uttered in -telling him how he had been awakened early in the night by hearing the -cry of the Banshee. - -Every phrase supposed to have been employed by the boatman was -reproduced by the narrator; and his auditors glanced meaningly at one -another. It would have required a great deal of convincing to make them -fancy for a moment that the language of Brian consisted of an -imaginary Irish exclamation preceding a purely Cockney--occasionally -Yorkshire--idiom. But the narrator continued his story, and seemed -convinced that his voice was an exact reproduction of Brian’s brogue. - -Harold thought that he would try a little of something that was not -fish--he scarcely minded what he had, provided it was not fish, he -told the servant. And as there was apparently some little-difficulty in -procuring such a comestible, Harold drank some coffee and listened -to Mr. Durdan’s story--he recommenced it for everyone who entered the -breakfast-room. - -Yes, Brian had distinctly heard the cry of the Banshee, he said; but a -greater marvel had happened, for he found one of his boats that had been -made fast on the opposite shore of the lough in the early part of the -night, moored at the landing-ledge at the base of the cliffs beneath the -Banshee’s Cave. By the aid of many a gratuitous “begorra,” Mr. Durdan -indicated the condition of perplexity in which the boatman had been -all the time he was baiting the lines. He explained that the man had -attributed to “herself”--meaning, of course, the White Lady--the removal -of the boat from the one side of the lough to the other. It was plain -that the ghost of the Princess was a good oarswoman, too, for a single -paddle only was found in the boat. It was so like a ghost, he had -confided to Mr. Durdan, to make a cruise in a way that was contrary--the -accent on the second syllable--to nature. - -“He has put another oar aboard and is now rowing the boat back to its -original quarters,” said Mr. Durdan, in conclusion. “But he declares -that, be the Powers!”--here the narrator assumed once more the hybrid -brogue--“if the boat was meddled with by ‘herself’ again he would call -the priest to bless the craft, and where would ‘herself’ be then?” - -“Where indeed?” said Lord Innisfail. - -Harold said nothing. He was aware that Edmund was looking at him -intently. Did he suspect anything, Harold wondered. - -He gave no indication of being more interested in the story than anyone -present, and no one present seemed struck with it--no one, except -perhaps, Miss Craven, who had entered the room late, and was thus -fortunate enough to obtain the general drift of what Mr. Durdan was -talking about, without having her attention diverted by his loving -repetition of the phrases of local colour. - -Miss Craven heard the story, laughed, glanced at her plate, and remarked -with some slyness that Mr. Durdan was clearly making strides -in his acquaintance with the Irish question. She then -glanced--confidentially--at Edmund Airey, and finally--rather -less confidentially--at Harold. - -He was eating of that which was not fish, and giving a good deal of -attention to it. - -Miss Craven thought he was giving quite too much attention to it. She -suspected that he knew more about the boat incident than he cared to -express, or why should he be giving so much attention to his plate? - -As for Harold himself, he was feeling that it would be something of a -gratification to him if a fatal accident were to happen to Brian. - -He inwardly called him a meddlesome fool. Why should he take it upon -him to row the boat across the lough, when he, Harold, had been looking -forward during the sleepless hours of the night, to that exercise? When -he had awakened from an early morning slumber, it was with the joyous -feeling that nothing could deprive him of that row across the lough. - -And yet he had been deprived of it, therefore he felt some regret that, -the morning being a calm one, Brian’s chances of disaster when crossing -the lough were insignificant. - -All the time that the judge was explaining in that lucid style which was -the envy of his brethren on the Bench, how impossible it would be for -the Son of Porcupine to purge himself of the contempt which was heaped -upon him owing to his unseemly behaviour at a recent race meeting--the -case of the son of so excellent a father as Porcupine turning out badly -was jeopardizing the future of Evolution as a doctrine--Harold was -trying to devise some plan that should make him independent of the -interference of the boatman. He did not insist on the plan being -legitimate or even reasonable; all that he felt was that he must cross -the lough. - -He thought of the girl whom he had seen in that atmosphere of moonlight; -and somehow he came to think of her as responsible for her exquisite -surroundings. There was nothing commonplace about her--that was what he -felt most strongly as he noticed the excellent appetites of the young -women around him. Even Miss Stafford, who hoped to be accepted as an -Intellect embodied in a mere film of flesh--she went to the extreme -length of cultivating a Brow--tickled her trout with the point of her -fork much less tenderly than the fisherman who told her the story--with -an impromptu bravura passage or two--of its capture, had done. - -But the girl whom he had seen in the moonlight--whom he was yearning to -see in the sunlight--was as refined as a star. “As refined as a star,” - he actually murmured, when he found himself with an unlighted cigar -between his fingers on that part of the terrace which afforded a fine -view of the lough--the narrow part as well--his eyes were directed to -the narrow part. “As refined as a star--a--” - -He turned himself round with a jerk. “A star?” - -His father’s letter was still in his pocket. It contained in the course -of its operatic clauses some references to a Star--a Star, who, alas! -was not refined--who, on the contrary, was expensive. - -He struck a match very viciously and lit his cigar. - -Miss Craven had just appeared on the terrace. - -He dropped his still flaming match on the hard gravel walk and put his -foot upon it. - -“A star!” - -He was very vicious. - -“She is not a particularly good talker, but she is a most fascinating -listener,” said Edmund Airey, who strolled up. - -“I have noticed so much--when you have been the talker,” said Harold. -“It is only to the brilliant talker that the fascinating listener -appeals. By the way, how does ‘fascinated listener’ sound as a phrase? -Haven’t I read somewhere that the speeches of an eminent politician were -modelled on the principle of catching birds by night? You flash a lamp -upon them and they may be captured by the score. The speeches were -compared to the lantern and the public to the birds.” - -“Gulls,” said Edmund. “My dear Harold, I did not come out here to -exchange opinions with you on the vexed question of vote-catching -or gulls--it will be time enough to do so when you have found a -constituency.” - -“Quite. And meantime I am to think of Miss Craven as a fascinating -listener? That’s what you have come to impress upon me.” - -“I mean that you should give yourself a fair chance of becoming -acquainted with her powers as a listener--I mean that you should talk to -her on an interesting topic.” - -“Would to heaven that I had your capacity of being interesting on all -topics.” - -“The dullest man on earth when talking to a woman on love as a topic, -is infinitely more interesting to her than the most brilliant man when -talking to her on any other topic.” - -“You suggest a perilous way to the dull man of becoming momentarily -interesting.” - -“Of course I know the phrase which, in spite of being the composition -of a French philosopher, is not altogether devoid of truth--yes, ‘_Qui -parle d’amour fait l’amour’_.” - -“Only that love is born, not made.” - -“Great heavens! have you learned that--that, with your father’s letter -next your heart?” - -Harold laughed. - -“Do you fancy that I have forgotten your conversation in the boat -yesterday?” said he. “Heaven on one side and the Lord Chancellor on the -other.” - -“And you have come to the conclusion that you are on the side of heaven? -You are in a perilous way.” - -“Your logic is a trifle shaky, friend. Besides, you have no right to -assume that I am on the side of heaven.” - -“There is a suggestion of indignation in your voice that gives me hope -that you are not in so evil a case as I may have suspected. Do you think -that another afternoon in the boat--” - -“Would make me on the side of the Lord Chancellor? I doubt it. But that -is not equivalent to saying that I doubt the excellence of your advice.” - -“Yesterday afternoon I flattered myself that I had given you such advice -as commended itself to you, and yet now you tell me that love is born, -not made. The man who believes that is past being advised. It is, I say, -the end of wisdom. What has happened since yesterday afternoon?” - -“Nothing has happened to shake my confidence in the soundness of your -advice,” said Harold, but not until a pause had occurred--a pause of -sufficient duration to tell his observant friend that something had -happened. - -“If nothing has happened--Miss Craven is going to sketch the Round Tower -at noon,” said Edmund--the Round Tower was some distance through the -romantic Pass of Lamdhu. - -“The Round Tower will not suffer; Miss Craven is not one of the -landscape libellers,” remarked Harold. - -Just then Miss Innisfail hurried up with a face lined with anxiety. - -Miss Innisfail was the sort of girl who always, says, “It is I.” - -“Oh, Mr. Airey,” she cried, “I have come to entreat of you to do your -best to dissuade mamma from her wild notion--the wildest she has ever -had. You may have some restraining influence upon her. She is trying to -get up an Irish jig in the hall after dinner--she has set her heart on -it.” - -“I can promise you that if Lady Innisfail asks me to be one of the -performers I shall decline,” said Edmund. - -“Oh, she has set her heart on bringing native dancers for the purpose,” - cried the girl. - -“That sounds serious,” said Edmund. “Native dances are usually very -terrible visitations. I saw one at Samoa.” - -“I knew it--yes, I suspected as much,” murmured the girl, shaking her -head. “Oh, we must put a stop to it. You will help me, Mr. Airey?” - -“I am always on the side of law and order,” said Mr. Airey. “A mother is -a great responsibility, Miss Innisfail.” - -Miss Innisfail smiled sadly, shook her head again, and fled to find -another supporter against the latest frivolity of her mother. - -When Edmund turned about from watching her, he saw that his friend -Harold Wynne had gone off with some of the yachtsmen--for every day -a yachting party as well as deep-sea-fishing, and salmon-fishing -parties--shooting parties and even archæological parties were in the -habit of setting-out from Castle Innisfail. - -Was it possible that Harold intended spending the day aboard the cutter, -Edmund asked himself. - -Harold’s mood of the previous evening had been quite intelligible -to him--he had confessed to Miss Craven that he understood and even -sympathized with him. He was the man who was putting off the plunge as -long as possible, he felt. - -But he knew that that attitude, if prolonged, not only becomes -ridiculous, but positively verges on the indecent. It is one thing to -pause for a minute on the brink of the deep water, and quite another to -remain shivering on the rock for half a day. - -Harold Wynne wanted money in order to realize a legitimate ambition. But -it so happened that he could not obtain that money unless by marrying -Miss Craven--that was the situation of the moment. But instead of -asking Miss Craven if she would have the goodness to marry him, he was -wandering about the coast in an aimless way. - -Lady Innisfail was the most finished artist in matchmaking that Edmund -had ever met. So finished an artist was she that no one had ever -ventured to suggest that she was a match-maker. As a matter of fact, her -reputation lay in just the opposite direction. She was generally looked -upon as a marrer of matches. This was how she had achieved some of -her most brilliant successes. She was herself so fascinating that she -attracted the nicest men to her side; but, somehow, instead of making -love to her as they meant to do, they found themselves making love to -the nice girls with whom she surrounded herself. When running upon the -love-making track with her, she switched them on, so to speak, to the -nice eligible girls, and they became engaged before they quite knew what -had happened. - -This was her art, Edmund knew, and he appreciated it as it deserved. - -She appreciated him as he deserved, he also acknowledged; for she had -never tried to switch him on to any of her girls. By never making love -to her he had proved himself to be no fit subject for the exercise of -her art. - -If a man truly loves a woman he will marry anyone whom she asks him to -marry. - -This, he knew, was the precept that Lady Innisfail inculcated upon the -young men--they were mostly very young men--who assured her that they -adored her. It rarely failed to bring them to their senses, she had -admitted to Edmund in the course of a confidential lapse. - -By bringing them to their senses she meant inducing them to ask the -right girls to marry them. - -Edmund felt that it was rather a pity that his friend Harold had never -adored Lady Innisfail. Harold had always liked her too well to make love -to her. This was rather a pity, Edmund felt. It practically disarmed -Lady Innisfail, otherwise she would have taken care that he made -straightforward love to Miss Craven. - -As for Harold, he strolled off with the yachtsmen, giving them to -understand that he intended sailing with them. The cutter was at her -moorings in the lough about a mile from the Castle, and there was a -narrow natural dock between the cliffs into which the dingey ran to -carry the party out to the yacht. - -It was at this point that Harold separated himself from the -yachtsmen--not without some mutterings on their part and the delivery of -a few reproaches with a fresh maritime flavour about them. - -“What was he up to at all?” they asked of one another. - -He could scarcely have told these earnest inquirers what he was up to. -But his mood would have been quite intelligible to them had they known -that he had, within the past half hour made up his mind to let nothing -interfere with his asking Helen Craven if she would be good enough to -marry him. - - - - -CHAPTER XII.--ON THE MYSTERY OF MAN. - -HE meant to ask her at night. He had felt convinced, on returning after -his adventure in his dinner dress, that nothing could induce him to -think of Miss Craven as a possible wife. While sitting at breakfast, -he had felt even more confident on this point; and yet now his mind was -made up to ask her to marry him. - -It must be admitted that his mood was a singular one, especially as, -with his mind full of his resolution to ask Miss Craven to marry him, -he was wandering around the rugged coastway, wondering by what means he -could bring himself by the side of the girl with whom he had crossed the -lough on the previous night. - -His mood will be intelligible to such persons as have had friends who -occasionally have found it necessary to their well-being to become -teetotallers. It is well known that the fascination of the prospect of -teetotalism is so great for such persons that the very thought of it -compels them to rush off in the opposite direction. They indulge in an -outburst of imbibing that makes even their best friends stand aghast, -and then they ‘take the pledge’ with the cheerfulness of a child. - -Harold Wynne felt inclined to allow his feelings an outburst, previous -to entering upon a condition in which he meant his feelings to be kept -in subjection. - -To engage himself to marry Miss Craven was, he believed, equivalent -to taking the pledge of the teetotaller so far as his feelings were -concerned. - -Meantime, however, he remained unpledged and with an unbounded sense of -freedom. - -And this was why he laughed loud and long when he saw in the course of -his stroll around the cliffs, a small oar jammed in a crevice of the -rocks a hundred feet below where he was walking. - -He laughed again when he had gone--not so cautiously as he might have -done--down to the crevice and released the oar. - -It was, he knew, the one that had gone adrift from the boat the previous -night. - -He climbed the cliff to the Banshee’s Cave and deposited the piece of -timber in the recesses of that place. Then he lay down on the coarse -herbage at the summit of the cliff until it was time to drift to the -Castle for lunch. Life at the Castle involved a good deal of drifting. -The guests drifted out in many directions after breakfast and -occasionally drifted back to lunch, after which they drifted about until -the dinner hour. - -While taking lunch he was in such good spirits as made Lady Innisfail -almost hopeless of him. - -Edmund Airey had told her the previous night that Harold intended asking -Miss Craven to marry him. Now, however, perceiving how excellent were -his spirits, she looked reproachfully across the table at Edmund. - -She was mutely asking him--and he knew it--how it was possible to -reconcile Harold’s good spirits with his resolution to ask Helen Craven -to marry him? She knew--and so did Edmund--that high spirits and the -Resolution are rarely found in association. - -An hour after lunch the girl with the Brow entreated Harold’s critical -opinion on the subject of a gesture in the delivery of a certain poem, -and the discussion of the whole question occupied another hour. The -afternoon was thus pretty far advanced before he found himself seated -alone in the boat which had been at the disposal of himself and Edmund -during the two previous afternoons. The oar that he had picked up was -lying at his feet along the timbers of the boat. - -The sun was within an hour of setting when Brian appeared at the Castle -bearing a letter for Lady Innisfail. It had been entrusted to him for -delivery to her ladyship by Mr. Wynne, he said. Where was Mr. Wynne? -That Brian would not take upon him to say; only he was at the opposite -side of the lough. Maybe he was with Father Conn, who was the best -of good company, or it wasn’t a bit unlikely that it was the District -Inspector of the Constabulary he was with. Anyhow it was sure that the -gentleman had took a great fancy to the queer places along the coast, -for hadn’t he been to the thrubble to give a look in at the Banshee’s -Cave, the previous night, just because he was sthruck with admiration of -the story of the Princess that he, Brian, had told him and Mr. Airey in -the boat? - -The letter that Lady Innisfail received and glanced at while drinking -tea on one of the garden seats outside the Castle, begged her ladyship -to pardon the writer’s not appearing at dinner that night, the fact -being that he had unexpectedly found an old friend who had taken -possession of him. - -“It was very nice of him to write, wasn’t it, my dear?” Lady Innisfail -remarked to her friend Miss Craven, who was filtering a novel by a -popular French author for the benefit of Lady Innisfail. “It was very -nice of him to write. Of course that about the friend is rubbish. The -charm of this neighbourhood is that no old friend ever turns up.” - -“You don’t think that--that--perhaps--” suggested Miss Craven with the -infinite delicacy of one who has been employed in the filtration of Paul -Bourget. - -“Not at all--not at all,” said Lady Innisfail, shaking her head. “If it -was his father it would be quite another matter.” - -“Oh!” - -“Lord Fotheringay is too great a responsibility even for me, and I don’t -as a rule shirk such things,” said Lady Innisfail. “But Harold is--well, -I’ll let you into a secret, though it is against myself: he has never -made love even to me.” - -“That is inexcusable,” remarked Miss Craven, with a little movement -of the eyebrows. She did not altogether appreciate Lady Innisfail’s -systems. She had not a sufficient knowledge of dynamics and the -transference of energy to be able to understand the beauty of the -“switch” principle. “But if he is not with a friend--or--or--the -other--” - -“The enemy--our enemy?” - -“Where can he be--where can he have been?” - -“Heaven knows! There are some things that are too wonderful for me. I -fancied long ago that I knew Man. My dear Helen, I was a fool. Man is -a mystery. What could that boy mean by going to the Banshee’s Cave last -night, when he might have been dancing with me--or you?” - -“Romance?” - -“Romance and rubbish mean the same thing to such men as Harold Wynne, -Helen--you should know so much,” said Lady Innisfail. “That is, of -course, romance in the abstract. The flutter of a human white frock -would produce more impression on a man than a whole army of Banshees.” - -“And yet the boatman said that Mr. Wynne had spent some time last -night at the Cave,” said Miss Craven. “Was there a white dress in the -question, do you fancy?” - -Lady Innisfail turned her large and luminous eyes upon her companion. -So she was accustomed to turn those orbs upon such young men as declared -that they adored her. The movement was supposed to be indicative of -infinite surprise, with abundant sympathy, and a trace of pity. - -Helen Craven met the luminous gaze with a smile, that broadened as she -murmured, “Dearest Lilian, we are quite alone. It is extremely unlikely -that your expression can be noticed by any of the men. It is practically -wasted.” - -“It is the natural and reasonable expression of the surprise I feel at -the wisdom of the--the--” - -“Serpent?” - -“Not quite. Let us say, the young matron, lurking beneath the -harmlessness of the--the--let us say the _ingenue_. A white dress! Pray -go on with ‘_Un Cour de Femme’._” - -Miss Craven picked up the novel which had been on the ground, flattened -out in a position of oriental prostration and humility before the wisdom -of the women. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII.--ON THE ART OF COLOURING. - -THE people of the village of Ballycruiskeen showed themselves quite -ready to enter into the plans of their pastor in the profitable -enterprise of making entertainment for Lady Innisfail and her guests. -The good pastor had both enterprise and imagination. Lady Innisfail had -told him confidentially that day that she wished to impress her English -visitors with the local colour of the region round about. Local colour -was a phrase that she was as fond of as if she had been an art critic; -but it so happened that the pastor had never heard the phrase before; -he promptly assured her, however, that he sympathized most heartily with -her ladyship’s aspirations in this direction. Yes, it was absolutely -necessary that they should be impressed with the local colour, and if, -with this impression, there came an appreciation of the requirements of -the chapel in the way of a new roof, it would please him greatly. - -The roof would certainly be put on before the winter, even if the work -had to be carried out at the expense of his Lordship, Lady Innisfail -said with enthusiasm; and if Father Constantine could only get up a wake -or a dance or some other festivity for the visitors, just to show them -how picturesque and sincere were the Irish race in the West, she would -take care that the work on the roof was begun without delay. - -Father Constantine--he hardly knew himself by that name, having -invariably been called Father Conn by his flock--began to have a -comprehensive knowledge of what was meant by the phrase “local colour.” - Did her ladyship insist on a wake, he inquired. - -Her ladyship said she had no foolish prejudices in the matter. She was -quite willing to leave the whole question of the entertainment in the -hands of his reverence. He knew the people best and he would be able to -say in what direction their abilities could be exhibited to the greatest -advantage. She had always had an idea, she confessed, that it was at -a wake they shone; but, of course, if Father Constantine thought -differently she would make no objection, but she would dearly like a -wake. - -The priest did not even smile for more than a minute; but he could not -keep that twinkle out of his eyes even if the chapel walls in addition -to the roof depended on his self-control. - -He assured her ladyship that she was perfectly right in her ideas. He -agreed with her that the wake was the one festivity that was calculated -to bring into prominence the varied talents of his flock. But the -unfortunate thing about it was its variableness. A wake was something -that could not be arranged for beforehand--at least not without -involving a certain liability to criminal prosecution. The elements of -a wake were simple enough, to be sure, but simple and all as they were, -they were not always forthcoming. - -Lady Innisfail thought this very provoking. Of course, expense was no -consideration--she hoped that the pastor understood so much. She hoped -he understood that if he could arrange for a wake that night she would -bear the expense. - -The priest shook his head. - -Well, then, if a wake was absolutely out of the question--she didn’t see -why it should be, but, of course, he knew best--why should he not get up -an eviction? She thought that on the whole the guests had latterly heard -more about Irish evictions than Irish wakes. There was plenty of local -colour in an eviction, and so far as she could gather from the -pictures she had seen in the illustrated papers, it was extremely -picturesque--yes, when the girls were barefooted, and when there was -active resistance. Hadn’t she heard something about boiling water? - -The twinkle had left the priest’s eyes as she prattled away. He had an -impulse to tell her that it was the class to which her ladyship belonged -and not that to which he belonged, who had most practice in that form of -entertainment known as the eviction. But thinking of the chapel roof, he -restrained himself. After all, Lord Innisfail had never evicted a family -on his Irish estate. He had evicted several families on his English -property, however; but no one ever makes a fuss about English evictions. -If people fail to pay their rent in England they know that they must go. -They have not the imagination of the Irish. - -“I’ll tell your ladyship what it is,” said Father Conn, before she had -quite come to the end of her prattle: “if the ladies and gentlemen who -have the honour to be your ladyship’s guests will take the trouble to -walk or drive round the coast to the Curragh of Lamdhu after supper--I -mean dinner--to-night, I’ll get up a celebration of the Cruiskeen for -you all.” - -“How delightful!” exclaimed her ladyship. “And what might a celebration -of the Cruiskeen be?” - -It was at this point that the imagination of the good father came to his -assistance. He explained, with a volubility that comes to the Celt -only when he is romancing, that the celebration of the Cruiskeen was -a prehistoric rite associated with the village of Ballycruiskeen. -Cruiskeen was, as perhaps her ladyship had heard, the Irish for a vessel -known to common people as a jug--it was, he explained, a useful vessel -for drinking out of--when it held a sufficient quantity. - -Of course Lady Innisfail had heard of a jug--she had even heard of a -song called “The Cruiskeen Lawn”--did that mean some sort of jug? - -It meant the little full jug, his reverence assured her. Anyhow, the -celebration of the Cruiskeen of Ballycruiskeen had taken place -for hundreds--most likely thousands--of years at the Curragh of -Lamdhu--Lamdhu meaning the Black Hand--and it was perhaps the most -interesting of Irish customs. Was it more interesting than a wake? Why, -a wake couldn’t hold a candle to a Cruiskeen, and the display of candles -was, as probably her ladyship knew, a distinctive feature of a wake. - -Father Conn, finding how much imaginary archæology Lady Innisfail would -stand without a protest, then allowed his imagination to revel in -the details of harpers--who were much more genteel than fiddlers, he -thought, though his flock preferred the fiddle--of native dances and -of the recitals of genuine Irish poems--probably prehistoric. All these -were associated with a Cruiskeen, he declared, and a Cruiskeen her -ladyship and her ladyship’s guests should have that night, if there was -any public spirit left in Ballycruiskeen, and he rather thought that -there was a good deal still left, thank God! - -Lady Innisfail was delighted. Local colour! Why, this entertainment was -a regular Winsor and Newton Cabinet. - -It included everything that people in England were accustomed to -associate with the Irish, and this was just what the guests would -relish. It was infinitely more promising than the simple national dance -for which she had been trying to arrange. - -She shook Father Conn heartily by the hand, but stared at him when he -made some remark about the chapel roof--she had already forgotten all -about the roof. - -The priest had not. - -“God forgive me for my romancing!” he murmured, when her ladyship had -departed and he stood wiping his forehead. “God forgive me! If it wasn’t -for the sake of the slate or two, the ne’er a word but the blessed truth -would have been forced from me. A Cruiskeen! How was it that the notion -seized me at all?” - -He hurried off to an ingenious friend and confidential adviser of his, -whose name was O’Flaherty, and who did a little in the horse-dealing -line--a profession that tends to develop the ingenuity of those -associated with it either as buyers or sellers--and Mr. O’Flaherty, -after hearing Father Conn’s story, sat down on the side of one of the -ditches, which are such a distinctive feature of Ballycruiskeen and the -neighbourhood, and roared with laughter. - -“Ye’ve done it this time, and no mistake, Father Conn,” he cried, when -he had partially recovered from his hilarity. “I always said you’d do it -some day, and ye’ve done it now. A Cruiskeen! Mother of Moses! A -Cruiskeen! Oh, but it’s yourself has the quare head, Father Conn!” - -“Give over your fun, and tell us what’s to be done--that’s what you’re -to do if there’s any good in you at all,” said the priest. - -“Oh, by my soul, ye’ll have to carry out the enterprise in your own way, -my brave Father Conn,” said Mr. O’Flaherty. “A Cruiskeen! A----” - -“Phinny O’Flaherty,” said the priest solemnly, “if ye don’t want to have -the curse of the Holy Church flung at that red head of yours, ye’ll rise -and put me on the way of getting up at least a jig or two on the Curragh -this night.” - -After due consideration Mr. O’Flaherty came to the conclusion that it -would be unwise on his part to put in motion the terrible machinery -of the Papal Interdict--if the forces of the Vatican were to be -concentrated upon him he might never again be able to dispose of a -“roarer” as merely a “whistler” to someone whose suspicions were -susceptible of being lulled by a brogue. Mr. Phineas O’Flaherty -consequently assured Father Conn that he would help his reverence, even -if the act should jeopardize his prospects of future happiness in -another world. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV.--ON AN IRISH DANCE. - -LADY INNISFAIL’S guests--especially those who had been wandering over -the mountains with guns all day--found her rather too indefatigable -in her search for new methods of entertaining them. The notion of an -after-dinner stroll of a few miles to the village of Ballycruiskeen -for the sake of witnessing an entertainment, the details of which Lady -Innisfail was unable to do more than suggest, and the attractions of -which were rather more than doubtful, was not largely relished at the -Castle. - -Lord Innisfail announced his intention of remaining where he had dined; -but he was one of the few men who could afford to brave Lady Innisfail’s -disdain and to decline to be chilled by her cold glances. The other men -who did not want to be entertained on the principles formulated by Lady -Innisfail, meanly kept out of her way after dinner. They hoped that they -might have a chance of declaring solemnly afterwards, that they had been -anxious to go, but had waited in vain for information as to the hour of -departure, the costume to be worn, and the password--if a password were -needed--to admit them to the historic rites of the Cruiskeen. - -One of the women declined to go, on the ground that, so far as she could -gather, the rite was not evangelical. Her views were evangelical. - -One of the men--he was an Orangeman from Ulster--boldly refused to -attend what was so plainly a device planned by the Jesuits for the -capture of the souls--he assumed that they had souls--of the Innisfail -family and their guests. - -Miss Craven professed so ardently to be looking forward to the -entertainment, that Mr. Airey, with his accustomed observance of the -distribution of high lights in demeanour as well as in conversation. -felt certain that she meant to stay at the Castle. - -His accuracy of observation was proved when the party were ready to -set out for Ballycruiskeen. MIss Craven’s maid earned that lady’s -affectionate regards to her hostess; she had been foolish enough to sit -in the sun during the afternoon with that fascinating novel, and as she -feared it would, her indiscretion had given her a headache accompanied -by dizziness. She would thus be unable to go with the general party -to the village, but if she possibly could, she would follow them in an -hour--perhaps less. - -Edmund Airey smiled the smile of the prophet who lives to see his -prediction realized--most of the prophets died violent deaths before -they could have that gratification. - -“Yes, it was undoubtedly an indiscretion,” he murmured. - -“Sitting in the sun?” said Lady Innisfail. - -“Reading Paul Bourget,” said he. - -“Of course,” said Lady Innisfail. “Talking of indiscretions, has anyone -seen--ah, never mind.” - -“It is quite possible that the old friend whom you say he wrote about, -may be a person of primitive habits--he may be inclined to retire -early,” said Mr. Airey. - -Lady Innisfail gave a little puzzled glance at him--the puzzled -expression vanished in a moment, however, before the ingenuousness of -his smile. - -“What a fool I am becoming!” she whispered. “I really never thought of -that.” - -“That was because you never turned your attention properly to the -mystery of the headache,” said he. - -Then they set off in the early moonlight for their walk along the cliff -path that, in the course of a mile or so, trended downward and through -the Pass of Lamdhu, with its dark pines growing half-way up the slope on -one side. The lower branches of the trees stretched fantastic arms over -the heads of the party walking on the road through the Pass. In -the moonlight these fantastic arms seemed draped. The trees seemed -attitudinizing to one another in a strange pantomime of their own. - -The village of Ballycruiskeen lay just beyond the romantic defile, -so that occasionally the inhabitants failed to hear the sound of the -Atlantic hoarsely roaring as it was being strangled in the narrow part -of the lough. They were therefore sometimes merry with a merriment -impossible to dwellers nearer the coast. - -It did not appear to their visitors that this was one of their merry -nights. The natives were commanded by their good priest to be merry for -“the quality,” under penalties with which they were well acquainted. But -merriment under a penalty is no more successful than the smile which is -manufactured in a photographer’s studio. - -Father Conn made the mistake of insisting on all the members of his -flock washing their faces. They had washed all the picturesqueness out -of them, Mr. Airey suggested. - -The Curragh of Ballycruiskeen was a somewhat wild moorland that -became demoralized into a bog at one extremity. There was, however, a -sufficiently settled portion to form a dancing green, and at one side -of this patch the shocking incongruity of chairs--of a certain sort--and -even a sofa--it was somewhat less certain--met the eyes of the visitors. - -“Mind this, ye divils,” the priest was saying in an affectionate way to -the members of his flock, as the party from the Castle approached. “Mind -this, it’s dancing a new roof on the chapel that ye are. Every step ye -take means a slate, so it does.” - -This was clearly the peroration of the pastor’s speech. - -The speech of Mr. Phineas O’Flaherty, who was a sort of unceremonious -master of the ceremonies, had been previously delivered, fortunately -when the guests were out of hearing. - -At first the entertainment seemed to be a very mournful one. It was -too like examination day at a village school to convey an idea of -spontaneous mirth. The “quality” sat severely on the incongruous -chairs--no one was brave enough to try the sofa--and some of the -“quality” used double eye-glasses with handles, for the better inspection -of the performers. This was chilling to the performers. - -In spite of the efforts of Father Conn and his stage manager, Mr. -O’Flaherty, the members of the cast for the entertainment assumed a -huddled appearance that did themselves great injustice. They declined to -group themselves effectively, but suggested to Mr. Durdan--who was -not silent on the subject--one of the illustrations to Foxe’s Book of -Martyrs--a scene in which about a score of persons about to be martyred -are shown to be awaiting, with an aspect of cheerful resignation that -deceived no one, their “turn” at the hands of the executioner. - -The merry Irish jig had a depressing effect at first. The priest was -well-meaning, but he had not the soul of an artist. When a man has -devoted all his spare moments for several years to the repression of -unseemly mirth, he is unwise to undertake, at a moment’s notice, the -duties of stimulating such mirth. Under the priest’s eye the jig was -robbed of its jiguity, so to speak. It was the jig of the dancing class. - -Mr. O’Flaherty threatened to scandalize Father Conn by a few -exclamations about the display of fetlocks--the priest had so little -experience of the “quality” that he fancied a suggestion of slang -would be offensive to their ears. He did not know that the hero of the -“quality” in England is the costermonger, and that a few years ago the -hero was the cowboy. But Edmund Airey, perceiving with his accustomed -shrewdness, how matters stood, managed to draw the priest away from -the halfhearted exponents of the dance, and so questioned him on the -statistics of the parish--for Father Conn was as hospitable with his -statistics as he was with his whiskey punch upon occasions--that half an -hour had passed before they returned together to the scene of the dance, -the priest with a five-pound note of Mr. Airey’s pressed against his -heart. - -“Murder alive! what’s this at all at all?” cried Father Conn, becoming -aware of the utterance of whoop after whoop by the dancers. - -“It’s the jig they’re dancin’ at last, an’ more power to thim!” cried -Phineas O’Flaherty, clapping his hands and giving an encouraging whoop -or two. - -He was right. The half dozen couples artistically dishevelled, and -rapidly losing the baleful recollections of having been recently tidied -up to meet the “quality”--rapidly losing every recollection of the -critical gaze of the “quality”--of the power of speech possessed by -the priest--of everything, clerical and lay, except the strains of the -fiddle which occupied an intermediate position between things lay and -clerical, being wholly demoniac--these half dozen couples were dancing -the jig with a breadth and feeling that suggested the youth of the world -and the reign of Bacchus. - -Black hair flowing in heavy flakes over shoulders unevenly bare--shapely -arms flung over heads in an attitude of supreme self-abandonment--a -passionate advance, a fervent retreat, then an exchange of musical cries -like wild gasps for breath, and ever, ever, ever the demoniac music of -the fiddle, and ever, ever, ever the flashing and flying from the ground -like the feet of the winged Hermes--flashing and flashing with the -moonlight over all, and the fantastic arms of the hill-side pines -stretched out like the fringed arms of a grotesque Pierrot--this was the -scene to which the priest returned with Edmund Airey. - -He threw up his hands and was about to rush upon the half-frenzied -dancers, when Edmund grasped him by the arm, and pointed mutely to the -attitude of the “quality.” - -Lady Innisfail and her friends were no longer sitting frigidly on their -chairs--the double eye-glasses were dropped, and those who had held them -were actually joining in the whoops of the dancers. Her ladyship was -actually clapping her hands in the style of encouragement adopted by Mr. -O’Flaherty. - -The priest stood in the attitude in which he had been arrested by the -artful Edmund Airey. His eyes and his mouth were open, and his right -hand was pressed against the five-pound note that he had just received. -There was a good deal of slate-purchasing potentialities in a five-pound -note. If her ladyship and her guests were shocked--as the priest, -never having heard of the skirt dance and its popularity in the -drawing-room--believed they should be, they were not displaying -their indignation in a usual way. They were almost as excited as the -performers. - -Father Conn seated himself without a word of protest, in one of the -chairs vacated by the Castle party. He felt that if her ladyship liked -that form of entertainment, the chapel roof was safe. The amount of -injury that would be done to the Foul Fiend by the complete re-roofing -of the chapel should certainly be sufficient to counteract whatever sin -might be involved in the wild orgy that was being carried on beneath the -light of the moon. This was the consolation that the priest had as he -heard whoop after whoop coming from the dancers. - -Six couples remained on the green dancing-space. The fiddler was a -wizened, deformed man with small gleaming eyes. He stood on a stool and -kept time with one foot. He increased the time of the dance so gradually -as to lead the dancers imperceptibly on until, without being aware of -it, they had reached a frenzied pitch that could not be maintained for -many minutes. But still the six couples continued wildly dancing, the -moonlight striking them aslant and sending six black quivering shadows -far over the ground. Suddenly a man dropped out of the line and lay -gasping on the grass. Then a girl flung herself with a cry into the arms -of a woman who was standing among the onlookers. Faster still and faster -went the grotesquely long arms of the dwarf fiddler--his shadow cast by -the moonlight was full of horrible suggestions--and every now and again -a falsetto whoop came from him, his teeth suddenly gleaming as his lips -parted in uttering the cry. - -The two couples, who now remained facing one another, changing feet with -a rapidity that caused them to appear constantly off the ground, were -encouraged by the shouts and applause of their friends. The air was full -of cries, in which the spectators from the Castle joined. Faster still -the demoniac music went, every strident note being clearly heard above -the shouts. But when one of the two couples staggered wildly and fell -with outstretched arms upon the grass, the shriek of the fiddle sounded -but faintly above the cries. - -The priest could restrain himself no longer. He sprang to his feet -and kicked the stool from under the fiddler, sending the misshapen man -sprawling in one direction and his instrument with an unearthly shriek -in another. - -Silence followed that shriek. It lasted but a few seconds, however. -The figure of a man--a stranger--appeared running across the open space -between the village and the Curragh, where the dance was being held. - -He held up his right hand in so significant a way, that the priest’s -foot was arrested in the act of implanting another kick upon the -stool, and the fiddler sat up on the ground and forgot to look for his -instrument through surprise at the apparition. - -“It’s dancin’ at the brink of the grave, ye are,” gasped the man, as he -approached the group that had become suddenly congested in anticipation -of the priest’s wrath. - -“Why, it’s only Brian the boatman, after all,” said Lady Innisfail. -“Great heavens! I had such a curious thought as he appeared. Oh, that -dancing! He did not seem to be a man.” - -“This is no doubt part of the prehistoric rite,” said Mr. Airey. - -“How simply lovely!” cried Miss Stafford. - -“In God’s name, man, tell us what you mean,” said the priest. - -“It’s herself,” gasped Brian. “It’s the one that’s nameless. Her wail is -heard over all the lough--I heard it with my ears and hurried here for -your reverence. Don’t we know that she never cries except for a death?” - -“He means the Banshee,” said Lady Innisfail. - -“The people, I’ve heard, think it unlucky to utter her name.” - -“So lovely! Just like savages!” said Miss Stafford. - -“I dare say the whole thing is only part of the ceremony of the -Cruiskeen,” said Mr. Durdan. - -“Brian O’Donal,” said the priest; “have you come here to try and terrify -the country side with your romancin’?” - -“By the sacred Powers, your reverence, I heard the cry of her myself, -as I came by the bend of the lough. If it’s not the truth that I’m after -speaking, may I be the one that she’s come for.” - -“Doesn’t he play the part splendidly?” said Lady Innisfail. “I’d -almost think that he was in earnest. Look how the people are crossing -themselves.” - -Miss Stafford looked at them through her double eye-glasses with the -long handle. - -“How lovely!” she murmured. “The Cruiskeen is the Oberammergau of -Connaught.” - -Edmund Airey laughed. - -“God forgive us all for this night!” said the priest. “Sure, didn’t I -think that the good that would come of getting on the chapel roof would -cover the shame of this night! Go to your cabins, my children. You -were not to blame. It was me and me only. My Lady”--he turned to the -Innisfail party--“this entertainment is over. God knows I meant it for -the best.” - -“But we haven’t yet heard the harper,” cried Lady Innisfail. - -“And the native bards,” said Miss Stafford. “I should so much like to -hear a bard. I might even recite a native poem under his tuition.” - -Miss Stafford saw a great future for native Irish poetry in English -drawing-rooms. It might be the success of a season. - -“The entertainment’s over,” said the priest. - -“It’s that romancer Brian, that’s done it all,” cried Phineas -O’Flaherty. - -“Mr. O’Flaherty, if it’s not the truth may I--oh, didn’t I hear her -voice, like the wail of a girl in distress?” cried Brian. - -“Like what?” said Mr. Airey. - -“Oh, you don’t believe anything--we all know that, sir,” said Brian. - -“A girl in distress--I believe in that, at any rate,” said Edmund. - -“Now!” said Miss Stafford, “don’t you think that I might recite -something to these poor people?” She turned to Lady Innisfail. “Poor -people! They may never have heard a real recitation--‘The Dove Cote,’ -‘Peter’s Blue Bell’--something simple.” - -There was a movement among her group. - -“The sooner we get back to the Castle the better it will be for all of -us,” said Lady Innisfail. “Yes, Father Constantine, we distinctly looked -for a native bard, and we are greatly disappointed. Who ever heard of a -genuine Cruiskeen without a native bard? Why, the thing’s absurd!” - -“A Connaught Oberammergau without a native bard! _Oh, Padre mio--Padre -mio!_” said Miss Stafford, daintily shaking her double eye-glasses at -the priest. - -“My lady,” said he, “you heard what the man said. How would it be -possible for us to continue this scene while that warning voice is in -the air?” - -“If you give us a chance of hearing the warning voice, we’ll forgive you -everything, and say that the Cruiskeen is a great success,” cried Lady -Innisfail. - -“If your ladyship takes the short way to the bend of the lough you may -still hear her,” said Brian. - -“God forbid,” said the priest. - -“Take us there, and if we hear her, I’ll give you half a sovereign,” - cried her ladyship, enthusiastically. - -“If harm comes of it don’t blame me,” said Brian. “Step out this way, my -lady.” - -“We may still be repaid for our trouble in coming so far,” said one of -the party. “If we do actually hear the Banshee, I, for one, will feel -more than satisfied.” - -Miss Stafford, as she hurried away with the party led by Brian, wondered -if it might not be possible to find a market for a Banshee’s cry in a -London drawing-room. A new emotion was, she understood, eagerly awaited. -The serpentine dance and the costermonger’s lyre had waned. It was -extremely unlikely that they should survive another season. If she were -to be first in the field with the Banshee’s cry, introduced with a few -dainty steps of the jig incidental to a poem with a refrain of “Asthore” - or “Mavourneen,” she might yet make a name for herself. - - - - -CHAPTER XV.--ON THE SHRIEK. - -IN a space of time that was very brief, owing to the resolution with -which Lady Innisfail declined to accept the suggestion of short cuts -by Brian, the whole party found themselves standing breathless at the -beginning of the line of cliffs. A mist saturated with moonlight had -drifted into the lough from the Atlantic. It billowed below their eyes -along the surface of the water, and crawled along the seared faces of -the cliffs, but no cold fingers of the many-fingered mist clasped the -higher ridges. The sound of the crashing of the unseen waves about the -bases of the cliffs filled the air, but there was no other sound. - -“Impostor!” said Edmund Airy, turning upon Brian. “You heard no White -Lady to-night. You have jeopardized our physical and your spiritual -health by your falsehood.” - -“You shall get no half sovereign from me,” said Lady Innisfail. - -“Is it me that’s accountable for her coming and going?” cried Brian, -with as much indignation as he could afford. Even an Irishman cannot -afford the luxury of being indignant with people who are in the habit -of paying him well, and an Irishman is ready to sacrifice much to -sentiment. “It’s glad we should all be this night not to hear the voice -of herself.” - -Lady Innisfail looked at him. She could afford to be indignant, and -she meant to express her indignation; but when it came to the point she -found that it was too profound to be susceptible of expression. - -“Oh, come away,” she said, after looking severely at Brian for nearly a -minute. - -“Dear Lady Innisfail,” said Mr. Durdan, “I know that you feel indignant, -fancying that we have been disappointed. Pray do not let such an idea -have weight with you for a moment.” - -“Oh, no, no,” said Miss Stafford, who liked speaking in public quite -as well as Mr. Durdan. “Oh, no, no; you have done your best, dear Lady -Innisfail. The dance was lovely; and though, of course, we should have -liked to hear a native bard or two, as well as the Banshee--” - -“Yet bards and Banshees we know to be beyond human control,” said Mr. -Airey. - -“We know that if it rested with you, we should hear the Banshee every -night,” said Mr. Durdan. - -“Yes, we all know your kindness of heart, dear Lady Innisfail,” resumed -Miss Stafford. - -“Indeed you should hear it, and the bard as well,” cried Lady Innisfail. -“But as Mr. Airey says--and he knows all about bard and Banshees and -such like things Great heaven! We are not disappointed after all, thank -heaven!” - -Lady Innisfail’s exclamation was uttered after there floated to the -cliffs where she and her friends were standing, from the rolling white -mist that lay below, the sound of a long wail. It was repeated, only -fainter, when she had uttered her thanksgiving, and it was followed by a -more robust shout. - -“Isn’t it lovely?” whispered Lady Innisfail. - -“I don’t like it,” said Miss Stafford, with a shudder. “Let us go -away--oh, let us go away at once.” - -Miss Stafford liked simulated horrors only. The uncanny in verse was -dear to her; but when, for the first time, she was brought face to face -with what would have formed the subject of a thrilling romance with a -suggestion of the supernatural, she shuddered. - -“Hush,” said Lady Innisfail; “if we remain quiet we may hear it again.” - -“I don’t want to hear it again,” cried Miss Stafford. “Look at the man. -He knows all about it. He is one of the natives.” - -She pointed to Brian, who was on his knees on the rock muttering -petitions for the protection of all the party. - -He knew, however, that his half sovereign was safe, whatever might -happen. Miss Stafford’s remark was reasonable. Brian should know all -about the Banshee and its potentialities of mischief. - -“Get up, you fool!” said Edmund Airey, catching the native by the -shoulder. “Don’t you know as well as I do that a boat with someone -aboard is adrift in the mist?” - -“Oh, I know that you don’t believe in anything.” said Brian. - -“I believe in your unlimited laziness and superstition,” said Edmund. -“I’m very sorry, my dear Lady Innisfail, to interfere with your -entertainment, but it’s perfectly clear to me that someone is in -distress at the foot of the cliffs.” - -“How can you be so horrid--so commonplace?” said Lady Innisfail. - -“He is one of the modern iconoclasts,” said another of the group. -“He would fling down our most cherished beliefs. He told me that he -considered Madame Blavatsky a swindler.” - -“Dear Mr. Airey,” said Miss Stafford, who was becoming less timid as the -wail from the sea had not been repeated. “Dear Mr. Airey, let us entreat -of you to leave us our Banshee whatever you may take from us.” - -“There are some things in heaven and earth that refuse to be governed by -a phrase,” sneered Mr. Durdan. - -“Mules and the members of the Opposition are among them,” said Edmund, -preparing to descend the cliffs by the zig-zag track. - -He had scarcely disappeared in the mist when there was a shriek from -Miss Stafford, and pointing down the track with a gesture, which for -expressiveness, she had never surpassed in the most powerful of her -recitations, she flung herself into Lady Innisfail’s arms. - -“Great heavens!” cried Lady Innisfail. “It is the White Lady herself’!” - -“We’re all lost, and the half sovereign’s nothing here or there,” said -Brian, in a tone of complete resignation. - -Out of the mist there seemed to float a white figure of a girl. She -stood for some moments with the faint mist around her, and while the -group on the cliff watched her--some of them found it necessary to cling -together--another white figure floated through the mist to the side of -the first, and then came another figure--that of a man--only he did not -float. - -“I wish you would not cling quite so close to me, my dear; I can’t see -anything of what’s going on,” said Lady Innisfail to Miss Stafford, -whose head was certainly an inconvenience to Lady Innisfail. - -With a sudden, determined movement she shifted the head from her bosom -to her shoulder, and the instant that this feat was accomplished she -cried out, “Helen Craven!” - -“Helen Craven?” said Miss Stafford, recovering the use of her head in a -moment. - -“Yes, it’s Helen Craven or her ghost that’s standing there,” said Lady -Innisfail. - -“And Harold Wynne is with her. Are you there, Wynne?” sang out Mr. -Durdan. - -“Hallo?” came the voice of Harold from below. “Who is there?” - -“Why, we’re all here,” cried Edmund, emerging from the mist at his side. -“How on earth did you get here?--and Miss Craven--and--he looked at the -third figure--he had never seen the third figure before. - -“Oh, it’s a long story,” laughed Harold. “Will you give a hand to Miss -Craven?” - -Mr. Airey said it would please him greatly to do so, and by his kindly -aid Miss Craven was, in the course of a few minutes, placed by the side -of Lady Innisfail. - -She took the place just vacated by Miss Stafford on Lady Innisfail’s -bosom, and was even more embarrassing to Lady Innisfail than the other -had been. Helen Craven was heavier, to start with. - -But it was rather by reason of her earnest desire to see the strange -face, that Lady Innisfail found Helen’s head greatly in her way. - -“Lady Innisfail, when Miss Craven is quite finished with you, I shall -present to you Miss Avon,” said Harold. - -“I should be delighted,” said Lady Innisfail. “Dearest Helen, can you -not spare me for a moment?” - -Helen raised her head. - -It was then that everyone perceived how great was the devastation done -by the mist to the graceful little curled fringes of her forehead. -Her hair was lank, showing that she had as massive a brow as Miss -Stafford’s, if she wished to display it. - -“It is a great pleasure to me to meet you, Miss Avon; I’m sure that I -have often heard of you from Mr. Wynne and--oh, yes, many other people,” - said Lady Innisfail. “But just now--well, you can understand that we are -all bewildered.” - -“Yes, we are all bewildered,” said Miss Avon. “You see, we heard the cry -of the White Lady--” - -“Of course,” said Harold; “we heard it too. The White Lady was Miss -Craven. She was in one of the boats, and the mist coming on so suddenly, -she could not find her way back to the landing place. Luckily we were -able to take her boat in tow before it got knocked to pieces. I hope -Miss Craven did not over-exert herself.” - -“I hope not,” said Lady Innisfail. “What on earth induced you to go out -in a boat alone, Helen--and suffering from so severe a headache into the -bargain?” - -“I felt confident that the cool air would do me good,” said Miss Craven. -somewhat dolefully. - -Lady Innisfail looked at her in silence for some moments, then she -laughed. - -No one else seemed to perceive any reason for laughter. - -Lady Innisfail then turned her eyes upon Miss Avon. The result of her -observation was precisely the same as the result of Harold’s first sight -of that face had been. Lady Innisfail felt that she had never seen so -beautiful a girl. - -Then Lady Innisfail laughed again. - -Finally she looked at Harold and laughed for the third time. The space -of a minute nearly was occupied by her observations and her laughter. - -“I think that on the whole we should hasten on to the Castle,” said she -at length. “Miss Craven is pretty certain to be fatigued--we are, at -any rate. Of course you will come with us, Miss Avon.” - -The group on the cliff ceased to be a group when she had spoken; but -Miss Avon did not move with the others. Harold also remained by her -side. - -“I don’t know what I should do,” said Miss Avon. “The boat is at the -foot of the cliff.” - -“It would be impossible for you to find your course so long as the mist -continues,” said Harold. “Miss Avon and her father--he is an old friend -of mine--we breakfasted together at my college--are living in the White -House--you may have heard its name--on the opposite shore--only a mile -by sea, but six by land,” he added, turning to Lady Innisfail. - -“Returning to-night is out of the question,” said Lady Innisfail. “You -must come with us to the Castle for to-night. I shall explain all to -your father to-morrow, if any explanation is needed.” Miss Avon shook -her head, and murmured a recognition of Lady Innisfail’s kindness. - -“There is Brian,” said Harold. “He will confront your father in the -morning with the whole story.” - -“Yes, with the whole story,” said Lady Innisfail, with an amusing -emphasis on the words. “I already owe Brian half a sovereign.” - -“Oh, Brian will carry the message all for love,” cried the girl. - -Lady Innisfail did her best to imitate the captivating freshness of the -girl’s words. - -“All for love--all for love!” she cried. - -Harold smiled. He remembered having had brought under his notice a toy -nightingale that imitated the song of the nightingale so closely that -the Jew dealer, who wanted to sell the thing, declared that no one on -earth could tell the difference between the two. - -The volubility of Brian in declaring that he would do anything out of -love for Miss Avon was amazing. He went down the cliff face to bring the -boats round to the regular moorings, promising to be at the Castle in -half an hour to receive Miss Avon’s letter to be put into her father’s -hand at his hour of rising. - -By the time Miss Avon and Harold had walked to the Castle with Lady -Innisfail, they had acquainted her with a few of the incidents of the -evening--how they also had been caught by the mist while in their boat, -and had with considerable trouble succeeded in reaching the craft in -which Miss Craven was helplessly drifting. They had heard Miss Craven’s -cry for help, they said, and Harold had replied to it. But still they -had some trouble picking up her boat. - -Lady Innisfail heard all the story, and ventured to assert that all was -well that ended well. - -“And this is the end,” she cried, as she pointed to the shining hall -seen through the open doors. - -“Yes, this is the end of all--a pleasant end to the story,” said the -girl. - -Harold followed them as they entered. - -He wondered if this was the end of the story, or only the beginning. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI.--ON THE VALUE OF A BAD CHARACTER. - -IT was said by some people that the judge, during his vacation, had -solved the problem set by the philosopher to his horse. He had learned -to live on a straw a day, only there was something perpetually at the -end of his straw--something with a preposterous American name in a -tumbler to match. - -He had the tumbler and the straw on a small table by his side while he -watched, with great unsteadiness, the strokes of the billiard players. - -From an hour after dinner he was in a condition of perpetual dozing. -This was his condition also from an hour after the opening of a case in -court, which required the closest attention to enable even the most -delicately appreciative mind to grasp even its simplest elements. - -He had, he said, been the most widely awake of counsel for thirty years, -so that he rather thought he was entitled to a few years dozing as a -judge. - -Other people--they were his admirers--said that his dozing represented -an alertness far beyond that of the most conscientiously wakeful and -watchful of the judicial establishment in England. - -It is easy to resemble Homer--in nodding--and in this special Homeric -quality the judge excelled; but it was generally understood that it -would not be wise to count upon his nodding himself into a condition of -unobservance. He had already delivered judgment on the character of the -fine cannons of one of the players in the hall, and upon the hazards of -the other. He had declined to mark the game, however, and he had -thereby shown his knowledge of human nature. There had already been -four disputes as to the accuracy of the marking. (It was being done by a -younger man). - -“How can a man expect to make his favourite break after some hours on -a diabolical Irish jaunting car?” one of the players was asking, as he -bent over the table. - -The words were uttered at the moment of Harold’s entrance, close behind -Lady Innisfail and Miss Avon. - -Hearing the words he stood motionless before he had taken half-a-dozen -steps into the hall. - -Lady Innisfail also stopped at the same instant, and looked over her -shoulder at Harold. - -Through the silence there came the little click of the billiard balls. - -The speaker gave the instinctive twist of the practised billiard player -toward the pocket that he wished the ball to approach. Then he took a -breath and straightened himself in a way that would have made any close -observer aware of the fact that he was no longer a young man. - -There was, however, more than a suggestion of juvenility in his manner -of greeting Lady Innisfail. He was as effusive as is consistent with the -modern spirit of indifference to the claims of hostesses and all other -persons. - -He was not so effusive when he turned to Harold; but that was only to be -expected, because Harold was his son. - -“No, my boy,” said Lord Fotheringay, “I didn’t fancy that you would -expect to see me here to-night--I feel surprised to find myself here. It -seems like a dream to me--a charming dream-vista with Lady Innisfail at -the end of the vista. Innisfail always ruins his chances of winning a -game by attempting a screw back into the pocket. He leaves everything -on. You’ll see what my game is now.” - -He chalked his cue and bent over the table once more. - -Harold watched him make the stroke. “You’ll see what my game is,” said -Lord Fotheringay, as he settled himself down to a long break. - -Harold questioned it greatly. His father’s games were rarely -transparent. - -“What on earth can have brought him?--oh, he takes one’s breath away,” - whispered Lady Innisfail to Harold, with a pretty fair imitation of a -smile lingering about some parts of her face. - -Harold shook his head. There was not even the imitation of a smile about -his face. - -Lady Innisfail gave a laugh, and turned quickly to Miss Avon. - -“My husband will be delighted to meet you, my dear,” said she. “He is -certain to know your father.” - -Harold watched Lord Innisfail shaking hands with Miss Avon at the -side of the billiard table, while his father bent down to make another -stroke. When the stroke was played he saw his father straighten himself -and look toward Miss Avon. - -The look was a long one and an interested one. Then the girl disappeared -with Lady Innisfail, and the look that Lord Fotheringay cast at his son -was a short one, but it was quite as intelligible to that soft as the -long look at Miss Avon had been to him. - -Harold went slowly and in a singularly contemplative mood to his -bedroom, whence he emerged in a space, wearing a smoking-jacket and -carrying a pipe and tobacco pouch. - -The smoking-jackets that glowed through the hall towards the last hour -of the day at Castle Innisfail were a dream of beauty. - -Lady Innisfail had given orders to have a variety of sandwiches and -other delicacies brought to the hall for those of her guests who had -attended the festivities at Ballycruiskeen; and when Harold found his -way downstairs, he perceived in a moment that only a few of the feeble -ones of the house-party--the fishermen who had touches of rheumatism and -the young women who cherished their complexions--were absent from the -hall. - -He also noticed that his father was seated by the side of Beatrice Avon -and that he was succeeding in making himself interesting to her. - -He knew that his father generally succeeded in making himself -interesting to women. - -In another part of the hall Lady Innisfail was succeeding in making -herself interesting to some of the men. She also was accustomed to -meet with success in this direction. She was describing to such as -had contrived to escape the walk to Ballycruiskeen, the inexhaustibly -romantic charm of the scene on the Curragh while the natives were -dancing, and the descriptions certainly were not deficient in colour. - -The men listened to her with such an aspect of being enthralled, she -felt certain that they were full of regret that they had failed to -witness the dance. It so happened, however, that the result of her -account of the scene was to lead those of her audience who had remained -at the Castle, to congratulate themselves upon a lucky escape. - -And all this time, Harold noticed that his father was making himself -interesting to Beatrice Avon. - -The best way for any man to make himself interesting to a woman is to -show himself interested in her. He knew that his father was well aware -of this fact, and that he was getting Beatrice Avon to tell him all -about herself. - -But when Lady Innisfail reached the final situation in her dramatic -account of the dance, and hurried her listeners to the brink of the -cliff--when she reproduced in a soprano that was still vibratory, the -cry that had sounded through the mist--when she pointed to Miss Avon -in telling of the white figure that had emerged from the mist--(Lady -Innisfail did not think it necessary to allude to Helen Craven, who had -gone to bed)--the auditors’ interest was real and not simulated. They -looked at the white figure as Lady Innisfail pointed to her, and their -interest was genuine. - -They could at least appreciate this element of the evening’s -entertainment, and as they glanced at Harold, who was eating a number of -sandwiches in a self-satisfied way, they thought that they might -safely assume that he was the luckiest of the _dramatis personae_ of the -comedy--or was it a tragedy?--described by Lady Innisfail. - -And all this time Harold was noticing that his father, by increasing -his interest in Beatrice, was making himself additionally interesting to -her. - -But the judge had also--at the intervals between his Homeric nods--been -noticing the living things around him. He put aside his glass and its -straw--he had been toying with it all the evening, though the liquid -that mounted by capillary attraction up the tube was something noisome, -without a trace of alcohol--and seated himself on the other side of the -girl. - -He assured her that he had known her father. Lord Fotheringay did not -believe him; but this was not to the point, and he knew it. What was to -the point was the fact that the judge understood the elements of the art -of interesting a girl almost as fully as Lord Fotheringay did, without -having quite made it the serious business of his life. The result was -that Miss Avon was soon telling the judge all about herself--this -was what the judge professed to be the most anxious to hear--and Lord -Fotheringay lit a cigar. - -He felt somewhat bitterly on the subject of the judge’s intrusion. But -the feeling did not last for long. He reflected upon the circumstance -that Miss Avon could never have heard that he himself was a very wicked -man. - -He knew that the interest that attaches to a man with a reputation for -being very wicked is such as need fear no rival. He felt that should his -power to interest a young woman ever be jeopardized, he could still fall -back upon his bad character and be certain to attract her. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII.--ON PROVIDENCE AS A MATCH-MAKER. - -OF course,” said Lady Innisfail to Edmund Airey the next day. “Of -course, if Harold alone had rescued Helen from her danger last night, -all would have been well. You know as well as I do that when a man -rescues a young woman from a position of great danger, he can scarcely -do less than ask her to marry him.” - -“Of course,” replied Edmund. “I really can’t see how, if he has any -dramatic appreciation whatever, he could avoid asking her to marry him.” - -“It is beyond a question,” said Lady Innisfail. “So that if Harold had -been alone in the boat all would have been well. The fact of Miss Avon’s -being also in the boat must, however, be faced. It complicates matters -exceedingly.” - -Edmund shook his head gravely. - -“I knew that you would see the force of it,” resumed Lady Innisfail. -“And then there is his father--his father must be taken into account.” - -“It might be as well, though I know that Lord Fotheringay’s views are -the same as yours.” - -“I am sure that they are; but why, then, does he come here to sit by the -side of the other girl and interest her as he did last evening?” - -“Lord Fotheringay can never be otherwise than interesting, even to -people who do not know how entirely devoid of scruple he is.” - -“Of course I know all that; but why should he come here and sit beside -so very pretty a girl as this Miss Avon?” - -“There is no accounting for tastes, Lady Innisfail. - -“You are very stupid, Mr. Airey. What I mean is, why should Lord -Fotheringay behave in such a way as must force his son’s attention to be -turned in a direction that--that--in short, it should not be turned in? -Heaven knows that I want to do the best for Harold--I like him so well -that I could almost wish him to remain unmarried. But you know as well -as I do, that it is absolutely necessary for him to marry a girl with a -considerable amount of money.” - -“That is as certain as anything can be. I gave him the best advice in -my power on this subject, and he announced his intention of asking Miss -Craven to marry him.” - -“But instead of asking her he strolled round the coast to that wretched -cave, and there met, by accident, the other girl--oh, these other girls -are always appearing on the scene at the wrong moment.” - -“The world would go on beautifully if it were not for the Other Girl.” - said Edmund. “If you think of it, there is not an event in history that -has not turned upon the opportune or inopportune appearance of the Other -Girl. Nothing worth speaking of has taken place, unless by the agency of -the Other Girl.” - -“And yet Lord Fotheringay comes here and sits by the side of this -charming girl, and his son watches him making himself interesting to her -as, alas! he can do but too easily. Mr. Airey, I should not be surprised -if Harold were to ask Miss Avon to-day to marry him--I should not, -indeed.” - -“Oh, I think you take too pessimistic a view of the matter altogether, -Lady Innisfail. Anyhow, I don’t see that we can do more than we have -already done. I think I should feel greatly inclined to let Providence -and Lord Fotheringay fight out the matter between them.” - -“Like the archangel and the Other over the body of Moses?” - -“Well, something like that.” - -“No, Mr. Airey; I don’t believe in Providence as a match-maker.” - -Mr. Airey gave a laugh. He wondered if it was possible that Harold -had mentioned to her that he, Edmund, had expressed the belief that -Providence as a match-maker had much to learn. - -“I don’t see how we can interfere,” said he. “I like Harold Wynne -greatly. He means to do something in the world, and I believe he will -do it. He affords a convincing example of the collapse of heredity as a -principle. I like him if only for that.” - -Lady Innisfail looked at him in silence for a few moments. - -“Yes,” she said, slowly. “Harold does seem to differ greatly from his -father. I wonder if it is the decree of Providence that has kept him -without money.” - -“Do you suggest that the absence of money--?” - -“No, no; I suggest nothing. If a man must be wicked he’ll be wicked -without money almost as readily as with it. Only I wonder, if Harold had -come in for the title and the property--such as it was--at the same age -as his father was when he inherited all, would he be so ready as you say -he is to do useful work on the side of the government of his country?” - -“That is a question for the philosophers,” said Edmund. - -In this unsatisfactory way the conversation between Lady Innisfail and -Mr. Airey on the morning after Lord Fotheringay’s arrival at the Castle, -came to an end. No conversation that ends in referring the question -under consideration to the philosophers, can by any possibility be -thought satisfactory. But the conversation could not well be continued -when Miss Craven, by the side of Miss Avon, was seen to be approaching. - -Edmund Airey turned his eyes upon the two girls, then they rested upon -the face of Beatrice. - -As she came closer his glance rested upon the eyes of Beatrice. The -result of his observation was to convince him that he had never before -seen such beautiful eyes. - -They were certainly gray; and they were as full of expression as gray -eyes can be. They were large, and to look into them seemed like looking -into the transparent depths of an unfathomed sea--into the transparent -heights of an inexhaustible heaven. - -A glimpse of heaven suggests the bliss of the beatified. A glimpse of -the ocean suggests shipwreck. - -He knew this perfectly well as he looked at her eyes; but only for an -instant did it occur to him that they conveyed some message to him. - -Before he had time to think whether the message promised the bliss of -the dwellers in the highest heaven, or the disaster of those who go down -into the depths of the deepest sea, he was inquiring from Helen Craven -if the chill of which she had complained on the previous night, had -developed into a cold. - -Miss Craven assured him that, so far from experiencing any ill effects -from her adventure, she had never felt better in all her life. - -“But had it not been for Miss Avon’s hearing my cries of despair, -goodness knows where I should have been in another ten minutes,” she -added, putting her arm round Miss Avon’s waist, and looking, as Edmund -had done, into the mysterious depths of Miss Avon’s gray eyes. - -“Nonsense!” said Miss Avon. “To tell you the plain truth, I did not hear -your cries. It was Mr. Wynne who said he heard the White Lady wailing -for her lover.” - -“How could he translate the cry so accurately?” said Edmund. “Do you -suppose that he had heard the Banshee’s cry at the same place?” - -He kept his eyes upon Miss Avon’s face, and he saw in a moment that she -was wondering how much he knew of the movements of Harold Wynne during -the previous two nights. - -Helen Craven looked at him also pretty narrowly. She was wondering if he -had told anyone that he had suggested to her the possibility of Harold’s -being in the neighbourhood of the Banshee’s Cave during the previous -evening. - -Both girls laughed in another moment, and then Edmund Airey laughed -also--in a sort of way. Lady Innisfail was the last to join in the -laugh. But what she laughed at was the way in which Edmund had laughed. - -And while this group of four were upon the northern terrace, Harold was -seated the side of his father on one of the chairs that faced the south. -Lord Fotheringay was partial to a southern aspect. His life might be -said to be a life of southern aspects. He meant that it should never be -out of the sun, not because some of the incidents that seemed to him to -make life worth preserving were such as could best stand the searching -light of the sun, but simply because his was the nature of the -butterfly. He was a butterfly of fifty-seven--a butterfly that found it -necessary to touch up with artificial powders the ravages of years upon -the delicate, downy bloom of youth--a butterfly whose wings had now and -again been singed by contact with a harmful flame--whose still shapely -body was now and again bent with rheumatism. Surely the rheumatic -butterfly is the most wretched of insects! - -He had fluttered away from a fresh singeing, he was assuring his son. -Yes, he had scarcely strength left in his wings to carry him out of the -sphere of influence of the flame. He had, he said in a mournful tone, -been very badly treated. She had treated him very badly. The Italian -nature was essentially false--he might have known it--and when an -Italian nature is developed with a high soprano, very shrill in its -upper register, the result was--well, the result was that the flame had -singed the wings of the elderly insect who was Harold’s father. - -“Talk of money!” he cried, with so sudden an expression of emotion that -a few caked scraps of sickly, roseate powder fluttered from the -crinkled lines of his forehead--Talk of money! It was not a matter of -hundreds--he was quite prepared for that--but when the bill ran up to -thousands--thousands--thousands--oh, the whole affair was sickening. -(Harold cordially agreed with him, though he did not express himself to -this effect). Was it not enough to shake one’s confidence in woman--in -human nature--in human art (operatic)--in the world? - -Yes, it was the Husband. - -The Husband, Lord Fotheringay was disposed to regard in pretty much -the same light as Mr. Airey regarded the Other Girl. The Husband was not -exactly the obstacle, but the inconvenience. He had a habit of turning -up, and it appeared that in the latest of Lord Fotheringay’s experiences -his turning up had been more than usually inopportune. - -“That is why I followed so close upon the heels of my letter to you,” - said the father. “The crash came in a moment--it was literally a -crash too, now that I think upon it, for that hot-blooded ruffian, her -husband, caught one corner of the table cloth--we were at supper--and -swept everything that was on the table into a corner of the room. Yes, -the bill is in my portmanteau. And she took his part. Heavens above! -She actually took his part. I was the scoundrel--_briccone!_--the coarse -Italian is still ringing in my ears. It was anything but a charming -duetto. He sang a basso--her upper register was terribly shrill--I had -never heard it more so. Artistically the scene was a failure; but I had -to run for all that. Humiliating, is it not, to be overcome by something -that would, if subjected to the recognized canons of criticism, be -pronounced a failure? And he swore that he would follow me and have my -life. Enough. You got my letter. Fortune is on your side, my boy. You -saved her life last night.” - -“Whose life did I save?” asked the son. “Whose life? Heavens above! Have -you been saving more than one life?” - -“Not more than one--a good deal less than one. Don’t let us get into -a sentimental strain, pater. You are the chartered--ah, the chartered -sentimentalist of the family. Don’t try and drag me into your strain. -I’m not old enough. A man cannot pose as a sentimentalist nowadays until -he is approaching sixty.” - -“Really? Then I shall have to pause for a year or two still. Let us put -that question aside for a moment. Should I be exceeding my privileges -if I were to tell you that I am ruined?--Financially ruined, I mean, -of course; thank heaven, I am physically as strong as I was--ah, three -years ago.” - -“You said something about my allowance, I think.” - -“If I did not I failed in my duty as a father, and I don’t often do -that, my boy--thank God, I don’t often do that.” - -“No,” said Harold. “If the whole duty of a father is comprised in -acquainting his son with the various reductions that he says he finds -it necessary to make in his allowance, you are the most exemplary of -fathers, pater.” - -“There is a suspicion of sarcasm--or what is worse, epigram in that -phrase,” said the father. “Never mind, you cannot epigram away the stern -fact that I have now barely a sufficient income to keep body and soul -together. I wish you could.” - -“So do I,” said Harold. “But yours is a _ménage à trois_. It is not -merely body and soul with your but body, soul, and sentiment--it is the -third element that is the expensive one.” - -“I dare say you are right. Anyhow, I grieve for your position, my boy. -If it had pleased Heaven to make me a rich man, I would see that your -allowance was a handsome one.” - -“But since it has pleased the other Power to make you a poor one--” - -“You must marry Miss Craven--that’s the end of the whole matter, and an -end that most people would be disposed to regard as a very happy one, -too. She is a virtuous young woman, and what is better, she dresses -extremely well. What is best of all, she has several thousands a year.” - -There was a suggestion of the eighteenth century phraseology in Lord -Fotheringay’s speech, that made him seem at least a hundred years old. -Surely people did not turn up their eyes and talk of virtue since the -eighteenth century, Harold thought. The word had gone out. There was -no more need for it. The quality is taken for granted in the nineteenth -century. - -“You are a trifle over-vehement,” said he. - -“Have I ever refused to ask Miss Craven to marry me?” - -“Have you ever asked her--that’s the matter before us?” - -“Never. But what does that mean? Why, simply that I have before me -instead of behind me a most interesting quarter of an hour--I suppose -a penniless man can ask a wealthy woman inside a quarter of an hour, to -marry him. The proposition doesn’t take longer in such a case than an -honourable one would.” - -“You are speaking in a way that is not becoming in a son addressing his -father,” said Lord Fotheringay. “You almost make me ashamed of you.” - -“You have had no reason to be ashamed of me yet,” said Harold. “So long -as I refrain from doing what you command me to do, I give you no cause -to be ashamed of me.” - -“That is a pretty thing for a son to say,” cried the father, -indignantly. - -“For heaven’s sake don’t let us begin a family broil under the windows -of a house where we are guests,” said the son, rising quickly from the -chair. “We are on the border of a genuine family bickering. For God’s -sake let us stop in time.” - -“I did not come here to bicker,” said the father. “Heavens above! Am -I not entitled to some show of gratitude at least for having come more -than a thousand miles--a hundred of them in an Irish train and ten of -them on an Irish jolting car--simply to see that you are comfortably -settled for life?” - -“Yes,” said the son, “I suppose I should feel grateful to you for coming -so far to tell me that you are ruined and that I am a partner in your -ruin.” He had not seated himself, and now he turned his back upon his -father and walked round to the west side of the Castle where some of -the girls were strolling. They were waiting to see how the day would -develop--if they should put on oilskins and sou’westers or gauzes -and gossamer--the weather on the confines of the ocean knows only the -extremes of winter or summer. - -The furthest of the watchers were, he perceived, Edmund Airey and Miss -Avon. He walked toward them, and pronounced in a somewhat irresponsible -way an opinion upon the weather. - -Before the topic had been adequately discussed, Mr. Durdan and another -man came up to remind Mr. Airey that he had given them his word to be of -their party in the fishing boat, where they were accustomed to study the -Irish question for some hours daily. - -Mr. Airey protested that his promise had been wholly a conditional one. -It had not been made on the assumption that the lough should be moaning -like a Wagnerian trombone, and it could not be denied that such notes -were being produced by the great rollers beneath the influence of a -westerly wind. - -Harold gave a little shrug to suggest to Beatrice that the matter was -not one that concerned her or himself in the least, and that it might -be as well if Mr. Airey and his friends were left to discuss it by -themselves. - -The shrug scarcely suggested all that he meant it to suggest, but in -the course of a minute he was by the side of the girl a dozen yards away -from the three men. - -“I wonder if you chanced to tell Mr. Airey of the queer way you and I -met,” she said in a moment. - -“How could I have told any human being of that incident?” he cried. “Why -do you ask me such a question?” - -“He knows all about it--so much is certain,” said she. “Oh, yes, he gave -me to understand so much--not with brutal directness, of course.” - -“No, I should say not--brutal directness is not in his line,” said -Harold. - -“But the result is just the same as if he had been as direct as--as a -girl.” - -“As a girl?” - -“Yes. He said something about Miss Craven’s voice having suggested -something supernatural to Brian, and then he asked me all at once if -there had been any mist on the previous evening when I had rowed across -the lough. Now I should like to know how he guessed that I had crossed -the lough on the previous night.” - -“He is clever--diabolically clever,” said Harold after a pause. “He was -with Miss Craven in the hall--they had been dancing--when I returned--I -noticed the way he looked at me. Was there anything in my face to tell -him that--that I had met you?” - -She looked at his face and laughed. - -“Your face,” she said. “Your face--what could there have been apparent -on your face for Mr. Airey to read?” - -“What--what?” his voice was low. He was now looking into her gray eyes. -“What was there upon my face? I cannot tell. Was it a sense of doom? God -knows. Now that I look upon your face--even now I cannot tell whether I -feel the peace of God which passes understanding, or the doom of those -who go down to the sea and are lost.” - -“I do not like to hear you speak in that way,” said she. “It would be -better for me to die than to mean anything except what is peaceful and -comforting to all of God’s creatures.” - -“It would be better for you to die,” said he. He took his eyes away from -hers. They stood side by side in silence for some moments, before he -turned suddenly to her and said in quite a different strain. “I shall -row you across the lough when you are ready. Will you go after lunch?” - -“I don’t think that I shall be going quite so soon,” said she. “The fact -is that Lady Innisfail was good enough to send Brian with another letter -to my father--a letter from herself, asking my father to come to the -Castle for a day or two, but, whether he comes or not, to allow me to -remain for some days.” - -Again some moments passed before Harold spoke. - -“I want you to promise to let me know where you go when you leave -Ireland,” said he. “I don’t want to lose sight of you. The world is -large. I wandered about in it for nearly thirty years before meeting -you.” - -She was silent. It seemed as if she was considering whether or not his -last sentence should be regarded as a positive proof of the magnitude of -the world. - -She appeared to come to the conclusion that it would be unwise to -discuss the question--after all, it was only a question of statistics. - -“If you wish it,” said she, “I shall let you know our next -halting-place. I fancy that my poor father is less enthusiastic than he -was some years ago on the subject of Irish patriotism. At any rate, I -think that he has worked out all the battles fought in this region.” - -“Only let me know where you go,” said he. “I do not want to lose sight -of you. What did you say just now--peace and comfort to God’s creatures? -No, I do not want to lose sight of you.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII.--ON THE PROFESSIONAL MORALIST. - -THE people--Edmund Airey was one of them--who were accustomed to point -to Harold Wynne as an example of the insecurity of formulating any -definite theory of heredity, had no chance of being made aware of the -nature of the conversations in which he had taken part, or they might -not have been quite so ready to question the truth of that theory. - -His father had made it plain to him, both by letter and word of mouth, -that the proper course for him to pursue was one that involved asking -Helen Craven to marry him--the adoption of any other course, even a -prosaic one, would practically mean ruin to him; and yet he had gone -straight from the side of his father, not to the side of Miss Craven, -but to the side of Miss Avon. And not only had he done this, but he had -looked into the gray eyes of Beatrice when he should have been gazing -with ardour--or simulated ardour--into the rather lustreless orbs of -Helen. - -To do precisely the thing which he ought not to have done was certainly -a trait which he had inherited from his father. - -But he had not merely looked into the eyes of the one girl when he -should have been looking into those of the other girl, he had spoken -into her ears such words as would, if spoken into the ears of the other -girl, have made her happy. The chances were that the words which he -had spoken would lead to unhappiness. To speak such words had been -his father’s weakness all his life, so that it seemed that Harold had -inherited this weakness also. - -Perhaps for a moment or two, after Edmund Airey had sauntered up, having -got the better of the argument with Mr. Durdan--he flattered -himself that he had invariably got the better of him in the House of -Commons--Harold felt that he was as rebellious against the excellent -counsels of his father as his father had ever been against the excellent -precepts which society has laid down for its own protection. He knew -that the circumstance of his father’s having never accepted the good -advice which had been offered to him as freely as advice, good and bad, -is usually offered to people who are almost certain not to follow it, -did not diminish from the wisdom of the course which his father had -urged upon him to pursue. He had acknowledged to Edmund Airey some days -before, that the substance of the advice was good, and had expressed his -intention of following it--nay, he felt even when he had walked straight -from his father’s side to indulge in that earnest look into the eyes of -Beatrice, that it was almost inevitable that he should take the advice -of his father; for however distasteful it may be, the advice of a father -is sometimes acted on by a son. But still the act of rebellion had been -pleasant to him--as pleasant to him as his father’s acts of the same -character had been to his father. - -And all this time Helen Craven was making her usual elaborate -preparations for finishing her sketch of some local scene, and everyone -knew that she could not seek that scene unless accompanied by someone to -carry her umbrella and stool. - -Lord Fotheringay perceived this in a moment from his seat facing -the south. He saw that Providence was on the side of art, so to -speak--assuming that a water-colour sketch of a natural landscape by an -amateur is art, and assuming that Providence meant simply an opportunity -for his son to ask Miss Craven to marry him. - -Lord Fotheringay saw how Miss Craven lingered with her colour-box in one -hand and her stool in the other. What was she waiting for? He did not -venture to think that she was waiting for Harold to saunter up and take -possession of her apparatus, but he felt certain that if Harold were to -saunter up, Miss Craven’s eyes would brighten--so far as such eyes as -hers could brighten. His teeth met with a snap that threatened the gold -springs when he saw some other man stroll up and express the hope that -Miss Craven would permit him to carry her stool and umbrella, for her -sketching umbrella was brought from the hall by a servant. - -Lord Fotheringay’s indignation against his son was great afterwards. He -made an excellent attempt to express to Edmund Airey what he felt on -the subject of Harold’s conduct, and Edmund shook his head most -sympathetically. - -What was to be done, Lord Fotheringay inquired. What was to be done in -order to make Harold act in accordance with the dictates not merely of -prudence but of necessity as well? - -Mr. Airey could not see that any positive action could be taken in order -to compel Harold to adopt the course which every sensible person would -admit was the right course--in fact the only course open to him under -the circumstances. He added that only two days ago Harold had admitted -that he meant to ask Miss Craven to marry him. - -“Heavens above!” cried Lord Fotheringay. “He never admitted so much to -me. Then what has occurred to change him within a few days?” - -“In such a case as this it is as well not to ask _what_ but _who_,” - remarked Edmund. - -Lord Fotheringay looked at him eagerly. “Who--who--you don’t mean -another girl?” - -“Why should I not mean another girl?” said Edmund. “You may have some -elementary acquaintance with woman, Lord Fotheringay.” - -“I have--yes, elementary,” admitted Lord Fotheringay. - -“Then surely you must have perceived that a man’s attention is turned -away from one woman only by the appearance of another woman,” said -Edmund. - -“You mean that--by heavens, that notion occurred to me the moment that I -saw her. She is a lovely creature, Airey.” - -“‘A gray eye or so!’ said Airey.” - -“A gray eye or so!” cried Lord Fotheringay, who had not given sufficient -attention to the works of Shakespeare to recognize a quotation. “A -gray--Oh, you were always a cold-blooded fellow. Such eyes, Airey, are -so uncommon as--ah, the eyes are not to the point. They only lend colour -to your belief that she is the other girl. Yes, that notion occurred to -me the moment she entered the hall.” - -“I believe that but for her inopportune appearance Harold would now be -engaged to Miss Craven,” said Edmund. - -“There’s not the shadow of a doubt about the matter,” cried Lord -Fotheringay--both men seemed to regard Miss Craven’s acquiescence in -the scheme which they had in their minds, as outside the discussion -altogether. “Now what on earth did Lady Innisfail mean by asking a -girl with such eyes to stay here? A girl with such eyes has no business -appearing among people like us who have to settle our mundane affairs to -the best advantage. Those eyes are a disturbing influence, Airey. They -should never be seen while matters are in an unsettled condition. And -Lady Innisfail professes to be Harold’s friend.” - -“And so she is,” said Edmund. “But the delight that Lady Innisfail -finds in capturing a strange face--especially when that face is -beautiful--overcomes all other considerations with her. That is why, -although anxious--she was anxious yesterday, though that is not saying -she is anxious today--to hear of Harold’s proposing to Miss Craven, yet -she is much more anxious to see the effect produced by the appearance of -Miss Avon among her guests.” - -“And this is a Christian country!” said Lord Fotheringay solemnly, after -a pause of considerable duration. - -“Nominally,” said Mr. Airey, - -“What is society coming to, Airey, when a woman occupying the position -of Lady Innisfail, does not hesitate to throw all considerations of -friendship to the winds solely for the sake of a momentary sensation?” - -Lord Fotheringay was now so solemn that his words and his method of -delivering them suggested the earnestness of an evangelist--zeal is -always expected from an evangelist, though unbecoming in an ordained -clergyman. He held one finger out and raised it and lowered it with the -inflections of his voice with the skill of a professional moralist. - -He had scarcely spoken before Miss Avon, by the side of the judge and -Miss Innisfail, appeared on the terrace. - -The judge--he said he had known her father--was beaming on her. -Professing to know her father he probably considered sufficient -justification for beaming on her. - -Lord Fotheringay and his companion watched the girl in silence until she -and her companions had descended to the path leading to the cliffs. - -“Airey,” said Lord Fotheringay at length. “Airey, that boy of mine must -be prevented from making a fool of himself--he must be prevented from -making a fool of that girl. I would not like to see such a girl as -that--I think you said you noticed her eyes--made a fool of.” - -“It would be very sad,” said Edmund. “But what means do you propose to -adopt to prevent the increase by two of the many fools already in the -world?” - -“I mean to marry the girl myself,” cried Lord Fotheringay, rising to his -feet--not without some little difficulty, for rheumatism had for years -been his greatest enemy. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX.--ON MODERN SOCIETY. - -EDMUND AIREY had the most perfect command of his features under all -circumstances. While the members of the Front Opposition Benches were -endeavouring to sneer him into their lobby, upon the occasion of a -division on some question on which it was rumoured he differed from -the Government, he never moved a muscle. The flaunts and gibes may -have stung him, but he had never yet given an indication of feeling -the sting; so that if Lord Fotheringay looked for any of those twitches -about the corners of Mr. Airey’s mouth, which the sudden announcement -of his determination would possibly have brought around the mouth of -an ordinary man, he must have had little experience of his companion’s -powers. - -But that Lord Fotheringay felt on the whole greatly flattered by the -impassiveness of Edmund Airey’s face after his announcement, Edmund -Airey did not for a moment doubt. When a man of fifty-seven gravely -announces his intention to another man of marrying a girl of, perhaps, -twenty, and with eyes of remarkable lustre, and when the man takes such -an announcement as the merest matter of course, the man who makes it has -some reason for feeling flattered. - -The chances are, however, that he succeeds in proving to his own -satisfaction that he has no reason for feeling flattered; for the man -of fifty-seven who is fool enough to entertain the notion of marrying a -girl of twenty with lustrous eyes, is certainly fool enough to believe -that the announcement of his intention in this respect is in no way out -of the common. - -Thus, when, after a glance concentrated upon the corners of Edmund -Airey’s mouth, Lord Fotheringay resumed his seat and began to give -serious reasons for taking the step that he had declared himself ready -to take--reasons beyond the mere natural desire to prevent Miss Avon -from being made a fool of--he gave no indication of feeling in the least -flattered by the impassiveness of the face of his companion. - -Yes, he explained to Mr. Airey, he had been so badly treated by the -world that he had almost made up his mind to retire from the world--the -exact words in which he expressed that resolution were “to let the world -go to the devil in its own way.” - -Now, as the belief was general that Lord Fotheringay’s presence in the -world had materially accelerated its speed in the direction which he -had indicated, the announcement of his intention to allow it to proceed -without his assistance was not absurd. - -Yes, he had been badly treated by the world, he said. The world was very -wicked. He felt sad when he thought of the vast amount of wickedness -there was in the world, and the small amount of it that he had already -enjoyed. To be sure, it could not be said that he had quite lived the -life of the ideal anchorite: he admitted--and smacked his lips as he did -so--that he had now and again had a good time (Mr. Airey did not assume -that the word “good” was to be accepted in its Sunday-school sense) -but on the whole the result was disappointing. - -“As saith the Preacher,” remarked Mr. Airey, when Lord Fotheringay -paused and shook his head so that another little scrap of caked powder -escaped from the depths of one of the wrinkles of his forehead. - -“The Preacher--what Preacher?” he asked. - -“The Preacher who cried _Vanitas Vanitatum_,” said Edmund. - -“He had gone on a tour with an Italian opera company,” said Lord -Fotheringay, “and he had fallen foul of the basso. Airey, my boy, -whatever you do, steer clear of a prima donna with a high soprano. It -means thousands--thousands, and a precipitate flight at the last. You -needn’t try a gift of paste--the finest productions of the Ormuz -Gem Company--‘a Tiara for Thirty Shillings’--you know their -advertisement--no, I’ve tried that. It was no use. The real thing -she would have--Heavens above! Two thousand pounds for a trinket, and -nothing to show for it, but a smashing of supper plates and a hurried -flight. Ah, Airey, is it any wonder that I should make up my mind -to live a quiet life with--I quite forget who was in my mind when I -commenced this interesting conversation?” - -“It makes no difference,” said Mr. Airey. “The principle is precisely -the same. There is Miss Innisfail looking for someone, I must go to -her.” - -“A desperately proper girl,” said Lord Fotheringay. “As desperately -proper as if she had once been desperately naughty. These proper girls -know a vast deal. She scarcely speaks to me. Yes, she must know a lot.” - -His remarks were lost upon Mr. Airey, for he had politely hurried to -Miss Innisfail and was asking her if he could be of any assistance to -her. But when Miss Innisfail replied that she was merely waiting for -Brian, the boatman, who should have returned long ago from the other -side of the lough, Mr. Airey did not return to Lord Fotheringay. - -He had had enough of Lord Fotheringay for one afternoon, and he hoped -that Lord Fotheringay would understand so much. He had long ago ceased -to be amusing. As an addition to the house-party at the Castle he was -unprofitable. He knew that Lady Innisfail was of this opinion, and he -was well aware also that Lady Innisfail had not given him more than a -general and very vague invitation to the Castle. He had simply come to -the Castle in order to avoid the possibly disagreeable consequences of -buying some thousands of pounds’ worth of diamonds--perhaps it would be -more correct to say, diamonds costing some thousands of pounds, leaving -worth out of the question--for a woman with a husband. - -Airey knew that the philosophy of Lord Fotheringay was the philosophy of -the maker of omelettes. No one has yet solved the problem of how to make -omelettes without breaking eggs. Lord Fotheringay had broken a good many -eggs in his day, and occasionally the result was that his share of the -transaction was not the omelette but the broken shells. Occasionally, -too, Edmund Airey was well aware, Lord Fotheringay had suffered more -inconvenience than was involved in the mere fact of his being deprived -of the comestible. His latest adventure. Airey thought, might be -included among such experiences. He had fled to the brink of the ocean -in order to avoid the vengeance of the Husband. “Here the pursuer can -pursue no more,” was the line that was in Edmund Airey’s mind as he -listened to the fragmentary account of the latest _contretemps_ of the -rheumatic butterfly. - -Yes, he had had quite enough of Lord Fotheringay’s company. The -announcement of his intention to marry Miss Avon had not made him more -interesting in the eyes of Edmund Airey, though it might have done so -in other people’s eyes--for a man who makes himself supremely ridiculous -makes himself supremely interesting as well, in certain circles. - -The announcement made by Lord Fotheringay had caused him to seem -ridiculous, though of course Edmund had made no sign to this effect: -had he made any sign he would not have heard the particulars of Lord -Fotheringay’s latest fiasco, and he was desirous of learning those -particulars. Having become acquainted with them, however, he found that -he had had quite enough of his company. - -But in the course of the afternoon Mr. Airey perceived that, though -in his eyes there was something ridiculous in the notion of Lord -Fotheringay’s expression of a determination to marry Beatrice Avon, the -idea might not seem quite so ridiculous to other people--Miss Avon’s -father, for instance. - -In another moment he had come to the conclusion that the idea might not -seem altogether absurd to Miss Avon herself. - -Young women of twenty--even when they have been endowed by heaven with -lustrous eyes (assuming that the lustre of a young woman’s eyes is -a gift from heaven, and not acquired to work the purposes of a very -different power)--have been known to entertain without repugnance -the idea of marrying impecunious peers of fifty-seven; and upon this -circumstance Edmund pondered. - -Standing on the brink of a cliff at the base of which the great rollers -were crouching like huge white-maned lions, Mr. Airey reflected as he -had never previously done, upon the debased condition of modern society, -in which such incidents are of constant occurrence. But, however -deplorable such incidents are, he knew perfectly well that there never -had existed a society in the world where they had not been quite as -frequent as they are in modern society in England. - -Yes, it was quite as likely as not that Lord Fotheringay would be able -to carry out the intention which he had announced to his confidant of -the moment. - -But when Mr. Airey thought of the lustrous eyes of Beatrice Avon, -recalling the next moment the rheumatic movements of Lord Fotheringay -and the falling of the scrap of caked powder from his forehead, he felt -quixotic enough to be equal to the attempt to prevent the realization of -Lord Fotheringay’s intention. - -It was then that the thought occurred to him--Why should not Harold, who -was clearly ready to fall in love with the liquid eyes of Beatrice Avon, -ask her to marry him instead of his father? - -The result of his consideration of this question was to convince -him that such an occurrence as it suggested should be averted at all -hazards. - -Only the worst enemy that Harold Wynne could have--the worst enemy that -the girl could have--would like to see them married. - -It would be different if the hot-blooded Italian husband were to pursue -the enemy of his household to the brink of the Atlantic cliffs and then -push him over the cliffs into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. But the -hot-blooded Italian was not yet in sight, and Edmund knew very well that -so long as Lord Fotheringay lived, Harold was dependent on him for his -daily bread. - -If Harold were to marry Miss Avon, it would lie in his father’s power -to make him a pauper, or, worse, the professional director with the -honorary prefix of “Honourable” to his name, dear to the company -promoter. - -On the death of Lord Fotheringay Harold would inherit whatever property -still remained out of the hands of the mortgagees; but Edmund was well -aware of the longevity of that species of butterfly which is susceptible -of rheumatic attacks; so that for, perhaps, fifteen years Harold might -remain dependent upon the good-will of his father for his daily bread. - -It thus appeared to Mr. Airey that the problem of how to frustrate the -intentions of Lord Fotheringay, was not an easy one to solve. - -He knew the world too well to entertain for a moment the possibility of -defeating Lord Fotheringay’s avowed purpose by informing either the girl -or her father of the evil reputation of Lord Fotheringay. The evil deeds -of a duke have occasionally permitted his wife to obtain a divorce; but -they have never prevented him from obtaining another wife. - -All this Mr. Edmund Airey knew, having lived in the world and observed -the ways of its inhabitants for several years. - - -END OF VOLUME I. - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -In Three Volumes--Volume II - -Sixth Edition - -London, Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row - -1893 - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO. - - - - -CHAPTER XX.--ON AN OAK SETTEE. - -HE was still pondering over the many aspects of the question which, to -his mind, needed solution, when he returned to the Castle, to find Lord -Fotheringay in a chair by the side of a gaunt old man who, at one -period of his life, had probably been tall, but who was now stooped in -a remarkable way. The stranger seemed very old, so that beside him -Lord Fotheringay looked comparatively youthful. Of this fact no one was -better aware than Lord Fotheringay. - -Edmund Airey had seen portraits of the new guest, and did not require to -be told that he was Julius Anthony Avon, the historian of certain periods. - -The first thought that occurred to him when he saw the two men side by -side, was that Lord Fotheringay would not appear ridiculous merely as -the son-in-law of Mr. Avon. To the casual observer at any rate he might -have posed as the son of Mr. Avon. - -He himself seemed to be under the impression that he might pass as -Mr. Avon’s grandson, for he was extremely sportive in his presence, -attitudinizing on his settee in a way that Edmund knew must have been -agonizing to his rheumatic joints. Edmund smiled. He felt that he was -watching the beginning of a comedy. - -He learned that Mr. Avon had yielded to the persuasion of Lady Innisfail -and had consented to join his daughter at the Castle for a few days. -He was not fond of going into society; but it so happened that Castle -Innisfail had been the centre of an Irish conspiracy at the early -part of the century, and this fact made the acceptance by him of Lady -Innisfail’s invitation a matter of business. - -Hearing the nature of the work at which he was engaged, Lord Fotheringay -had lost no time in expounding to him, in that airy style which he -had at his command, the various mistakes that had been made by several -generations of statesmen in dealing with the Irish question. The -fundamental error which they had all committed was taking the Irish and -their rebellions and conspiracies too seriously. - -This theory he expounded to the man who was writing a biographical -dictionary of Irish informers, and was about to publish his seventh -volume, concluding the letter B. - -Mr. Avon listened, gaunt and grim, while Lord Fotheringay gracefully -waved away statesman after statesman who had failed signally, by reason -of taking Ireland and the Irish seriously. - -There was something grim also in Edmund Airey’s smile as he glanced at -this beginning of the comedy. - -That night Miss Stafford added originality to the ordinary terrors of -her recital. She explained that hitherto she had merely interpreted -the verses of others: now, however, she would draw upon her store of -original poems. - -Of course, Edmund Airey was outside the drawingroom while this was going -on. So were many of his fellow-guests, including Helen Craven. Edmund -found her beside him in a secluded part of the hall. He was rather -startled by her sudden appearance. He forgot to greet her with one of -the clever things that he reserved for her and other appreciative young -women--for he still found a few, as any man with a large income may, if -he only keeps his eyes open. “What a fool you must think me,” were the -words with which Miss Craven greeted him, so soon as he became aware of -her presence. - -Strange to say, he had a definite idea that she had said something -clever--at any rate something that impressed him more strongly than ever -with the idea that she was a clever girl. - -And yet she had assumed that he must think her a fool. - -“A fool?” said he, “To think you so would be to write myself down one, -Miss Craven.” - -“Mr Airey,” said she, “I am a woman. Long ago I was a girl. You will -thus believe me when I tell you that I never was frank in all my life. I -want to begin now.” - -“Ah, now I know the drift of your remark,” said he. “A fool. Yes, you -made a good beginning: but supposing that I were to be frank, where -would you be then?” - -“I want you to begin also, Mr Airey,” said she. - -“To begin? Oh, I made my start years ago--when I entered Parliament,” - said he. “I was perfectly frank with the Opposition when I pointed out -their mistakes. I have never yet been frank with a friend, however. That -is why I still have a few left.” - -“You must be frank with me now; if you won’t it doesn’t matter: I’ll be -so to you. I admit that I behaved like an idiot; but you were -responsible for it--yes, largely.” - -“That is a capital beginning. Now tell me what you have done or left -undone--above all, tell me where my responsibility comes in.” - -“You like Harold Wynne?” - -“You suggest that a mere liking involves a certain responsibility?” - -“I love him.” - -“Great heavens!” - -“Why should you be startled at the confession when you have been aware -of the fact for some time?” - -“I never met a frank woman before. It is very terrible. Perhaps I shall -get used to it.” - -“Why will you not drop that tone?” she said, almost piteously. “Cannot -you see how serious the thing is to me?” - -“It is quite as serious to me,” he replied. “Men have confided in -me--mostly fools--a woman never. Pray do not continue in that strain.” - -“Then find words for me--be frank.” - -“I will. You mean to say, Miss Craven, that I think you a fool because, -acting on the hint which I somewhat vaguely, but really in good faith, -dropped, you tried to impersonate the figure of the legend at that -ridiculous cave. Is not that what you would say if you had the courage -to be thoroughly frank?” - -“Thank you,” said she, in a still weaker voice. “It is not so easy being -frank all in a moment.” - -“No, not if one has accustomed oneself to--let us say good manners,” he -added. - -“When I started for the boats after you had all left for that nonsense -at the village, I felt certain that you were my friend as well as Harold -Wynne’s, and that you had good reason for believing that he would be -about the cave shortly after our hour of dining. I’m not very romantic.” - -“Pardon me,” said he. “You are not quite frank. If you were you would -say that, while secretly romantic, you follow the example of most young -women nowadays in ridiculing romance.” - -“Quite right,” she said. “I admitted just now that I found it difficult -to be frank all in a moment. Anyhow I believed that if I were to play -the part of the Wraith of the Cave within sight of Harold Wynne, he -might--oh, how could I have been such a fool? But you--you, I say, were -largely responsible for it, Mr. Airey.” She was now speaking not merely -reproachfully but fiercely. “Why should you drop those hints--they -were much more than hints--about his being so deeply impressed with the -romance--about his having gone to the cave on the previous evening, if -you did not mean me to act upon them?” - -“I did mean you to act upon them,” said he. “I meant that you and -he should come together last night, and I know that if you had come -together, he would have asked you to marry him. I meant all that, -because I like him and I like you too--yes, in spite of your frankness.” - -“Thank you,” said she, giving him her hand. “You forgive me for being -angry just now?” - -“The woman who is angry with a man without cause pays him the greatest -compliment in her power,” he remarked. “Fate was against us.” - -“You think that she is so very--very pretty?” said Miss Craven. - -“She?--fate?--I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Harold Wynne has -met with the greatest misfortune of his life.” - -“If you believe that, I know that I have met with the greatest of my -life.” - -The corner of the hall was almost wholly in shadow. The settee upon -which Mr. Airey and Miss Craven were sitting, was cut off from the rest -of the place by the thigh hone of the great skeleton elk. Between the -ribs of the creature, however, some rays of light passed from one of -the lamps; and, as Mr. Airey looked sympathetically into the face of his -companion, he saw the gleam of a tear upon her cheek. - -He was deeply impressed--so deeply that some moments had passed before -he found himself wondering what she would say next. For a moment he -forgot to be on his guard, though if anyone had described the details -of a similar scene to him, he would probably have smiled while remarking -that when the lamplight gleams upon a tear upon the cheek of a young -woman of large experience, is just when a man needs most to be on his -guard, He felt in another moment, however, that something was coming. - -He waited for it in silence. - -It seemed to him in that pause that he was seated by the side of someone -whom he had never met before. The girl who was beside him seemed to -have nothing in common with Helen Craven. So greatly does a young woman -change when she becomes frank. - -This is why so many husbands declare--when they are also frank--that -the young women whom they marry are in every respect different from the -young women who promise to be their wives. - -“What is going to happen?” Helen asked him in a steady voice. - -“God knows,” said he. - -“I saw them together just after they left you this morning,” said she. -“I was at one of the windows of the Castle, they were far along the -terrace; but I’m sure that he said something to her about her eyes.” - -“I should not be surprised if he did,” said Edmund. “Her eyes invite -comment.” - -“I believe that in spite of her eyes she is much the same as any other -girl.” - -“Is that to the point?” he asked. He was a trifle disappointed in her -last sentence. It seemed to show him that, whatever Beatrice might be, -Helen was much the same as other girls. - -“It is very much to the point,” said she. “If she is like other girls -she will hesitate before marrying a penniless man.” - -“I agree with you,” said he. “But if she is like other girls she will -not hesitate to love a penniless man.” - -“Possibly--if, like me, she can afford to do so. But I happen to know -that she cannot afford it. This brings me up to what has been on my mind -all day. You are, I know, my friend; you are Harold Wynne’s also. Now, -if you want to enable him to gratify his reasonable ambition--if you -want to make him happy--to make me happy--you will prevent him from ever -asking Beatrice Avon to marry him.” - -“And I am prepared to do so much for him--for you--for her. But how can -I do it?” - -“You can take her away from him. You know how such things are done. You -know that if a distinguished man such as you are, with a large income -such as you possess, gives a girl to understand that he is, let us say, -greatly interested in her, she will soon cease to be interested in any -undistinguished and penniless son of a reprobate peer who may be before -her eyes.” - -“I have seen such a social phenomenon,” said he. “Does your proposition -suggest that I should marry the young woman with ‘a gray eye or so’?” - -“You may marry her if you please--that’s entirely a matter for yourself. -I don’t see any need for you to go that length. Have I not kept my -promise to be frank?” - -“You have,” said he. - -She had risen from the settee. She laid her hand on one of his that -rested on a projection of the old oak carving, and in another instant -she was laughing in front of Norah Innisfail, who was rendered even more -proper than usual through having become acquainted with Miss Stafford’s -notions of originality in verse-making. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI.--ON THE ELEMENTS OF PARTY POLITICS. - - -MR. AIREY was actually startled by the suggestion which Miss Craven -had made with, on the whole, considerable tact as well as inconceivable -frankness. - -He had been considering all the afternoon the possibility of carrying -out the idea which it seemed Helen Craven had on her mind as well; but -it had never occurred to him that his purpose might be achieved through -the means suggested by the young woman who had just gone from his side. - -His first impression was that the proposal made to him was the cruellest -that had ever come from one girl in respect of another girl. He had -never previously had an idea that a girl could be so heartless as to -make such a suggestion as that which had come from Helen Craven; but in -the course of a short space of time, he found it expedient to revise his -first judgment on this matter. Helen Craven meant to marry Harold--so -much could scarcely be doubted--and her marrying him would be the best -thing that could happen to him. She was anxious to prevent his marrying -Miss Avon; and surely this was a laudable aim, considering that marrying -Miss Avon would be the worst thing that could happen to him--and to Miss -Avon as well. - -It might possibly be regarded as cruel by some third censors for Miss -Craven to suggest that he, Edmund, after leading the other girl to -believe that he was desirous of marrying her--or at least to believe -that she might have a chance of marrying him--might stop short. To be -sure, Miss Craven had not, with all her frankness, said that her idea -was that he should refrain from asking the other girl to marry him, but -only that the question was one that concerned himself alone. - -He thought over this point for some time, and the conclusion he came -to was that, after all, whether or not the cynical indifference of the -suggestion amounted to absolute cruelty, the question concerned himself -alone. Even if he were not to ask her to marry him after leading her to -suppose that he intended doing so, he would at any rate have prevented -her from the misery of marrying Harold; and that was something for which -she might be thankful to him. He would also have saved her from the -degradation of receiving a proposal of marriage from Lord Fotheringay; -and that was also something for which she might be thankful to him. - -Being a strictly party politician, he regarded expediency as the -greatest of all considerations. He was not devoid of certain scruples -now and again; but he was capable of weighing the probable advantages of -yielding to these scruples against the certain advantages of--well, of -throwing them to the winds. - -For some minutes after Helen Craven had left him he subjected his -scruples to the balancing process, and the result was that he found they -were as nothing compared with the expediency of proceeding as Helen had -told him that it was advisable for him to proceed. - -He made up his mind that he would save the girl--that was how he put it -to himself--and he would take extremely good care that he saved himself -as well. Marriage would not suit him. Of this he was certain. People -around him were beginning to be certain of it also. The mothers -in Philistia had practically come to regard him as a _quantité -négligeable_. The young women did not trouble themselves about him, -after a while. It would not suit him to marry a young woman with -lustrous eyes, he said to himself as he left his settee; but it would -suit him to defeat the machinations of Lord Fotheringay, and to induce -his friend Harold Wynne to pursue a sensible course. - -He found himself by the side of Beatrice Avon before five minutes had -passed, and he kept her thoroughly amused for close upon an hour--he -kept her altogether to himself also, though many chances of leaving his -side were afforded the girl by considerate youths, and by one smiling -person who had passed the first bloom of youth and had reached that -which is applied by the cautious hare’s foot in the hand of a valet. - -Before the hour of brandy-and-sodas and resplendent smoking-jackets had -come, the fact of his having kept Beatrice Avon so long entertained had -attracted some attention. - -It had attracted the attention of Miss Craven, who commented upon it -with a confidential smile at Harold. It attracted the attention of -Harold’s father, who commented upon it with a leer and a sneer. It -attracted the attention of Lady Innisfail, who commented upon it with a -smile that caused the dainty dimple in her chin to assume the shape of -the dot in a well-made note of interrogation. - -It also attracted the attention of quite a number of other persons, but -they reserved their comments, which was a wise thing for them to do. - -As she said good-night to him, she seemed, Edmund Airey thought, to be -a trifle fascinated as well as fascinating. He felt that he had had a -delightful hour--it was far more delightful than the half hour which he -had passed on the settee at the rear of the skeleton elk. - -His feeling in this matter simply meant that it was far more agreeable -to him to see a young woman admiring his cleverness than it was to -admire the cleverness of another young woman. - -He enjoyed his smoke by the side of the judge; for when a man is -absorbed in the thoughts of his own cleverness he can still get a -considerable amount of passive enjoyment out of the story of How the -Odds fell from Thirteen to Five to Six to Four against Porcupine for -some prehistoric Grand National. - -Harold Wynne now and again glanced across the hall at the man who -professed to be his best friend. He could perceive without much trouble -that Edmund Airey was particularly well pleased with himself. - -This meant, he thought, that Edmund had been particularly well pleased -with Beatrice Avon. - -Lord Fotheringay was too deeply absorbed in giving point to a story, -founded upon personal experience, which he was telling to his host, -to give a moment’s attention to Edmund Airey, or to make an attempt to -interpret his aspect. - -It was only when his valet was putting him carefully to bed--he required -very careful handling--that he recollected the effective way in which -Airey had snubbed him, when he had made an honest attempt to reach Miss -Avon conversationally. - -He now found time to wonder what Airey meant by preventing the girl from -being entertained--Lord Fotheringay assumed, as a matter of course, -that the girl had not been entertained--all the evening. He had no head, -however, for considering such a question in all its aspects. He only -resolved that in future he would take precious good care that when there -was any snubbing in the air, he would be the dispenser of it, not the -recipient. - -Lord Fotheringay was not a man of genius, but upon occasions he could -be quite as disagreeable as if he were. He had studied the art of -administering snubs, and though he had never quite succeeded in snubbing -a member of Parliament of the same standing as Mr. Airey, yet he felt -quite equal to the duty, should he find it necessary to make an effort -in this direction. - -He was sleeping the sleep of the reprobate, long before his son had -succeeded in sleeping the sleep of the virtuous. Harold had more to -think about, as well as more capacity of thinking, than his father. He -was puzzled at the attitude of his friend and counsellor, Edmund Airey. -What on earth could he have meant by appropriating Beatrice Avon, Harold -wondered. He assumed that Airey had some object in doing what he had -done. He knew that his friend was not the man to do anything without -having an object in view. Previously he had been discreet to an -extraordinary degree in his attitude toward women. He had never even -made love to those matrons to whom it is discreet to make love. If he -had ever done so Harold knew that he would have heard of it; for there -is no fascination in making love to other men’s wives, unless it is well -known in the world that you are doing so. The school-boy does not -smoke his cigarette in private. The fascination of the sin lies in his -committing it so that it gets talked about. - -Yes, Airey had ever been discreet, Harold knew, and he quite failed to -account for his lapse--assuming that it was indiscreet to appropriate -Beatrice Avon for an hour, and to keep her amused all that time. - -Harold himself had his own ideas of what was discreet in regard to young -women, and he had acted up to them. He did not consider that, so far as -the majority of young women were concerned, he should be accredited with -much self-sacrifice for his discretion. - -Had a great temperance movement been set on foot in Italy in the days -of Cæsar Borgia, the total abstainers would not have earned commendation -for their self-sacrifice. Harold Wynne had been discreet in regard to -most women simply because he was afraid of them. He was afraid that he -might some day be led to ask one of them to marry him--one of them whom -he would regard as worse than a Borgia poison ever after. - -The caution that he had displayed in respect of Helen Craven showed how -discreet he had accustomed himself to be. - -He reflected, however, that in respect of Beatrice Avon he had thrown -discretion to the winds From the moment that he had drawn her hands to -his by the fishing line, he had given himself up to her. He had been -without the power to resist. - -Might it not, then, be the same with Edmund Airey? Might not Edmund, who -had invariably been so guarded as to be wholly free from reproach so -far as women were concerned, have found it impossible to maintain that -attitude in the presence of Beatrice? - -And if this was so, what would be the result? - -This was the thought which kept Harold Wynne awake and uncomfortable for -several hours during that night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII.--ON THE WISDOM OP THE MATRONS. - -LADY INNISFAIL made a confession to one of her guests--a certain Mrs. -Burgoyne--who was always delighted to play the _rôle_ of receiver of -confessions. The date at which Lady Innisfail’s confession was made was -three days after the arrival of Beatrice Avon at the Castle, and its -subject was her own over-eagerness to secure a strange face for the -entertainment of her guests. - -“I thought that the romantic charm which would attach to that girl, who -seemed to float up to us out of the mist--leaving her wonderful eyes out -of the question altogether--would interest all my guests,” said she. - -“And so it did, if I may speak for the guests,” said Mrs. Burgoyne. -“Yes, we were all delighted for nearly an entire day.” - -“I am glad that my aims were not wholly frustrated,” said Lady -Innisfail. “But you see the condition we are all in at present.” - -“I cannot deny it,” replied Mrs. Burgoyne, with a sigh. “My dear, a new -face is almost as fascinating as a new religion.” - -“More so to some people--generally men,” said Lady Innisfail. “But who -could have imagined that a young thing like that--she has never been -presented, she tells me--should turn us all topsy turvy?” - -“She has a good deal in her favour,” remarked Mrs. Burgoyne. “She is -fresh, her face is strange, she neither plays, sings, nor recites, and -she is a marvellously patient listener.” - -“That last comes through being the daughter of a literary man,” said -Lady Innisfail. “The wives and daughters of poets and historians and -the like are compelled to be patient listeners. They are allowed to do -nothing else.” - -“I dare say. Anyhow that girl has made the most of her time since she -came among us.” - -“She has. The worst of it is that no one could call her a flirt.” - -“I suppose not. But what do you call a girl who is attractive to all -men, and who makes all the men grumpy, except the one she is talking -to?” - -“I call her a--a clever girl,” replied Lady Innisfail. “Don’t we all aim -at that sort of thing?” - -“Perhaps we did--once,” said Mrs. Burgoyne, who was a year or two -younger than her hostess. “I should hope that our aims are different -now. We are too old, are we not?--you and I--for any man to insult us by -making love to us.” - -“A woman is never too old to be insulted, thank God,” said Lady -Innisfail; and Mrs. Burgoyne’s laugh was not the laugh of a matron who -is shocked. - -“All the same,” added Lady Innisfail, “our pleasant party threatens to -become a fiasco, simply because I was over-anxious to annex a new face. -I had set my heart upon bringing Harold Wynne and Helen Craven together; -but now they have become hopelessly good friends.” - -“She is very kind to him.” - -“Yes, that’s the worst of it; she is kind and he is indifferent--he -treats her as if she were his favourite sister.” - -“Are matters so bad as that?” - -“Quite. But when the other girl is listening to what another man is -saying to her, Harold Wynne’s face is a study. He is as clearly in -love with the other girl as anything can be. That, old reprobate--his -father--has his aims too--horrid old creature! Mr. Durdan has ceased to -study the Irish question with a deep-sea cast of hooks in his hand: -he spends some hours every morning devising plans for spending as many -minutes by the side of Beatrice. I do believe that my dear husband would -have fallen a victim too, if I did not keep dinning into his ears that -Beatrice is the loveliest creature of our acquaintance. I lured him on -to deny it, and now we quarrel about it every night.” - -“I believe Lord Innisfail rather dislikes her,” said Mrs. Burgoyne. - -“I’m convinced of it,” said Lady Innisfail. “But what annoys me most is -the attitude of Mr. Airey. He professed to be Harold’s friend as well as -Helen’s, and yet he insists on being so much with Beatrice that Harold -will certainly be led on to the love-making point--” - -“If he has not passed it already,” suggested Mrs. Burgoyne. - -“If he has not passed it already; for I need scarcely tell you, my dear -Phil, that a man does not make love to a girl for herself alone, but -simply because other men make love to her.” - -“Of course.” - -“So that it is only natural that Harold should want to make love to -Beatrice when he is led to believe that Edmund Airey wants to marry -her.” - -“The young fool! Why could he not restrain his desire until Mr. Airey -has married her? But do you really think that Mr. Airey does want to -marry her?” - -“I believe that Harold Wynne believes so--that is enough for the -present. Oh, no. You’ll not find me quite so anxious to annex a strange -face another time.” - -From the report of this confidential duologue it may possibly be -perceived, first, that Lady Innisfail was a much better judge of the -motives and impulses of men than Miss Craven was; and, secondly, that -the presence of Beatrice at the Castle had produced a marked impression -upon the company beneath its roof. - -It was on the evening of the day after the confidential duologue just -reported that there was an entertainment in the hall of the Castle. -It took the form of _tableaux_ arranged after well-known pictures, and -there was certainly no lack of actors and actresses for the figures. - -Mary Queen of Scots was, of course, led to execution, and Marie -Antoinette, equally as a matter of course, appeared in her prison. Then -Miss Stafford did her best to realize the rapt young woman in Mr. Sant’s -“The Soul’s Awaking”--Miss Stafford was very wide awake indeed, some -scoffer suggested; and Miss Innisfail looked extremely pretty--a -hostess’s daughter invariably looks pretty--as “The Peacemaker” in Mr. -Marcus Stone’s picture. - -Beatrice Avon took no part in the _tableaux_--the other girls had not -absolutely insisted on her appearing beside them on the stage that had -been fitted up; they had an+ informal council together, Miss Craven -being stage-manager, and they had come to the conclusion that they could -get along very nicely without her assistance. - -Some of them said that Beatrice preferred flirting with the men. However -this may have been, the fact remained that Harold, when he had washed -the paint off his face--he had been the ill-tempered lover, Miss Craven -being the young woman with whom he was supposed to have quarrelled, -requiring the interposition of a sweet Peacemaker in the person of Miss -Innisfail--went round by a corridor to the back of the hall, and stood -for a few minutes behind a ‘portiere that took the place of a door at -one of the entrances. The hall was, of course, dimly lighted to make -the contrast with the stage the greater, so that he could not see the -features of the man who was sitting on the chair at the end of the row -nearest the _portiere_; but the applause that greeted a reproduction of -the picture of a monk shaving himself, having previously used no other -soap than was supplied by a particular maker, had scarcely died away -before Harold heard the voice of Edmund Airey say, in a low and earnest -tone, to someone who was seated beside him, “I do hope that before you -go away, you will let me know where you will next pitch your tent. I -don’t want to lose sight of you.” - -“If you wish I shall let you know when I learn it from my father,” was -the reply that Harold heard, clearly spoken in the voice of Beatrice -Avon. - -Harold went back into the billowy folds of the tapestry curtain, and -then into the corridor. The words that he had overheard had startled -him. Not merely were the words spoken by Edmund Airey the same as he -himself had employed a few days before to Beatrice, but her reply was -practically the same as the reply which she had made to him. - -When the last of the figurantes had disappeared from the stage, and when -the buzz of congratulations was sounding through the hall, now fully -lighted, Harold was nowhere to be seen. - -Only a few of the most earnest of the smokers were still in the hall -when, long past midnight, he appeared at the door leading to the outer -hall or porch. His shoes were muddy and his shirt front was pulpy, for -the night was a wet one. - -He explained to his astonished friends that it was invariably the case -that putting paint and other auxiliaries to “making up” on his face, -brought on a headache, which he had learned by experience could only be -banished by a long walk in the open air. - -Well, he had just had such a walk. - -He did not expect that his explanation would carry any weight with it; -and the way he was looked at by his friends made him aware of the fact -that, in giving them credit for more sense than to believe him, he was -doing them no more than the merest justice. - -No one who was present on his return placed the smallest amount -of credence in his story. What many of them did believe was of no -consequence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII.--ON THE ATLANTIC. - -THE boats were scattered like milestones--as was stated by -Brian--through the sinuous length of Lough Suangorm. The cutter yacht -_Acushla_ was leading the fleet out to the Atlantic, with two reefs in -her mainsail, and although she towed a large punt, and was by no means -a fast boat, she had no difficulty in maintaining her place, the fact -being that the half-dozen boats that lumbered after her were mainly -fishing craft hailing from the village of Cairndhu, and, as all the -world knows, these are not built for speed but endurance. They are -half-decked and each carries a lug sail. One of the legends of the coast -is that when a lug sail is new its colour is brown, and as a new sail is -never seen at Cairndhu there are no means of finding out if the story -is true or false. The sails, as they exist, are kaleidoscopic in their -patchwork. It is understood that anything will serve as a patch for a -lug sail. Sometimes the centre-piece of an old coat has been used for -this purpose; but if so, it is only fair to state that it is on record -that the centre-piece of an old sail has been shaped into a jacket for -the ordinary wearing of a lad. - -The lug sail may yet find its way into a drawing room in Belgravia -and repose side by side with the workhouse sheeting which occupies an -honoured place in that apartment. - -On through the even waves that roll from between the headlands at the -entrance, to the little strand of pebbles at the end of the lough, the -boats lumbered. The sea and sky were equally gray, but now and again a -sudden gleam of sunshine would come from some unsuspected rift in the -motionless clouds, and fly along the crests of the waves, revealing a -green transparency for an instant, and then, flashing upon the sails, -make apparent every patch in their expanse, just as a flash of lightning -on a dark night reveals for a second every feature of a broad landscape. - -As the first vessel of the little fleet, pursuing an almost direct -course in spite of the curving of the shores of the Irish fjord, -approached one coast and then the other, the great rocks that appeared -snow-white, with only a dab of black here and there, became suddenly -all dark, and the air was filled with what seemed like snow flakes. The -cries of the innumerable sea birds, that whirled about the disturbing -boat before they settled and the rocks became gradually white once more, -had a remarkable effect when heard against that monotonous background, -so to speak, of rolling waves. - -The narrow lough was a gigantic organ pipe through which the mighty bass -of the Atlantic roared everlastingly. - -But when the headlands at the entrance were reached, the company who -sat on the weather side of the cutter _Acushla_ became aware of a -commingling of sounds. The organ voice of the lough only filled up the -intervals between the tremendous roar of the lion-throated waves that -sprang with an appalling force half way up the black faces of the sheer -cliffs, and broke in mid-air. All day long and all night long those -inexhaustible billows come rushing upon that coast; and watching them -and listening to them one feels how mean are contemporary politics as -well as other things. - -“That’s the Irish question,” remarked Lord Innisfail, who was steering -his own cutter. - -He nodded in the direction of the waves that were clambering up the -headlands. What he meant exactly he might have had difficulty in -explaining. - -“Very true, very true,” said Mr. Durdan, sagaciously, hoping to provoke -Mr. Airey to reply, and thinking it likely that he would learn from Mr. -Airey’s reply what was Lord Innisfail’s meaning. - -But Mr. Airey, who had long ago become acquainted with Mr. Durdan’s -political methods, did not feel it incumbent on him to make the attempt -to grapple with the question--if it was a question--suggested by Lord -Innisfail. - -The metaphor of a host should not, he knew, be considered too curiously. -Like the wit of a police-court magistrate, it should be accepted with -effusion. - -“Stand by that foresheet,” said Lord Innisfail to one of the yacht’s -hands. “We’ll heave to until the other craft come up.” - -In a few moments the cutter had all way off her, and was simply tumbling -about among the waves in a way that made some of the ship’s company hold -their breath and think longingly of pale brandy. - -The cruise of the _Acushla_ and the appearance of the fleet of boats -upon the lough were due to the untiring energy of Lady Innisfail and -to the fact that at last Brian, the boatman, had, by the help of Father -Conn, come to grasp something of the force of the phrase “local colour”. - -Lady Innisfail was anxious that her guests should carry away certain -definite impressions of their sojourn at the Connaught castle beyond -those that may be acquired at any country-house, which everyone knows -may be comprised in a very few words. A big shoot, and an incipient -scandal usually constitute the record of a country-house entertainment. -Now, it was not that Lady Innisfail objected to a big shoot or an -incipient scandal--she admitted that both were excellent in their own -way--but she hoped to do a great deal better for her guests. She hoped -to impart to their visit some local colour. - -She had hung on to the wake and the eviction, as has already been told, -with pertinacity. The _fête_ which she believed was known to the Irish -peasantry as the Cruiskeen, had certainly some distinctive features; -though just as she fancied that the Banshee was within her grasp, it had -vanished into something substantial--this was the way she described -the scene on the cliffs. Although her guests said they were very well -satisfied with what they had seen and heard, adding that they had come -to the conclusion that if the Irish had only a touch of humour they -would be true to the pictures that had been drawn of them, still Lady -Innisfail was not satisfied. - -Of course if Mr. Airey were to ask Miss Avon to marry him, her -house-party would be talked about during the winter. But she knew that -it is the marriages which do not come off that are talked about most; -and, after all, there is no local colour in marrying or giving in -marriage, and she yearned for local colour. Brian, after a time, came -to understand something of her ladyship’s yearnings. Like the priest and -the other inhabitants, he did not at first know what she wanted. - -It is difficult to impress upon Fuzzy-wuzzy that he would be regarded -as a person of distinction in the Strand and as an idol in Belgravia. -At his home in the Soudan he is a very commonplace sort of person. So -in the region of Lough Suangorm, but a casual interest attaches to the -caubeen, which in Piccadilly would be followed by admiring crowds, and -would possibly be dealt with in Evening Editions. - -But, as has just been said, Brian and his friends in due time came to -perceive the spectacular value to her ladyship’s guests of the most -commonplace things of the country; and it was this fact that induced -Brian to tell three stories of a very high colour to Mr. Airey and Mr. -Wynne. - -It was also his appreciation of her ladyship’s wants that caused him to -suggest to her the possibility of a seal-hunt constituting an element of -attraction--these were not the exact words employed by the boatman--to -some of her ladyship’s guests. - -It is scarcely necessary to say that Lady Innisfail was delighted -with the suggestion. Some of her guests pretended that they also were -delighted with it, though all that the majority wanted was to be -let alone. Still, upon the afternoon appointed for the seal-hunt a -considerable number of the Castle party went aboard the yacht. Beatrice -was one of the few girls who were of the party. Helen would have dearly -liked to go also; she would certainly have gone if she had not upon -one--only one--previous occasion allowed herself to be persuaded to sail -out to the headlands. She was wise enough not to imperil her prospects -for the sake of being drenched with sea water. - -She wondered--she did not exactly hope it--if it was possible for -Beatrice Avon to become seasick. - -This was how upon that gray afternoon, the fleet of boats sailed out to -where the yacht was thumping about among the tremendous waves beyond the -headlands that guard the entrance to Lough Suangorm. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV.--ON THE CHANCE. - -WHEN the fishing boats came within half a cable’s length of the cutter, -Lord Innisfail gave up the tiller to Brian, who was well qualified to be -the organizer of the expedition, having the reputation of being familiar -with the haunts and habits of the seals that may be found--by such as -know as much about them as Brian--among the great caves that pierce for -several miles the steep cliffs of the coast. - -The responsibility of steering a boat under the headlands, either North -or South, was not sought by Lord Innisfail. For perhaps three hundred -and fifty days in every year it would be impossible to approach the -cliffs in any craft; but as Brian took the tiller he gave a knowing -glance around the coast and assured his lordship that it was a jewel of -a day for a seal-hunt, and added that it was well that he had brought -only the largest of the fishing boats, for anything smaller would sink -with the weight of the catch of seals. - -He took in the slack of the main sheet and sent the cutter flying direct -to the Northern headland, the luggers following in her wake, though -scarcely preserving stations or distances with that rigorous naval -precision which occasionally sends an ironclad to the bottom. - -The man-of-war may run upon a reef, and the country may be called on -to pay half a million for the damage; but it can never be said that she -fails to maintain her station prescribed by the etiquette of the Royal -Navy in following the flagship, which shows that the British sailor, -wearing epaulettes, is as true as the steel that his ship is made of, -and a good deal truer than that of some of the guns which he is asked to -fire. - -In a short time the boats had cleared the headland, and it seemed to -some of the cutter’s company as if they were given an opportunity of -looking along the whole west coast of Ireland in a moment. Northward -and southward, like a study in perspective, the lines of indented cliffs -stretched until they dwindled away into the gray sky. The foam line that -was curved as it curled around the enormous rocks close at hand, was -straightened out in the distance and never quite disappeared. - -“Talk of the Great Wall of China,” said Lord Innisfail, pointing proudly -to the splendid chain of cliffs. “Talk of the Great Wall of China -indeed! What is it compared with that?” - -He spoke as proudly as if he owned everything within that line of -cliffs, though he thanked heaven every night that he only owned a few -thousand acres in Ireland. - -“What indeed--what indeed?” said Mr. Durdan. - -One of the men thought the moment opportune for airing a theory that -he had to the effect that the Great Wall of China was not built by the -Chinese to keep the surrounding nations out, but by the surrounding -nations to keep the Chinese in. - -It was a feasible theory, suggesting that the Chinese immigration -question existed among the Thibetans some thousands of years ago, to -quite as great an extent as it does in some other directions to-day. -But it requires to be a very strong theory to stand the strain of the -Atlantic waves and a practically unlimited view of the coast of Ireland. -So no discussion arose. - -Already upon some of the flat rocks at the entrance to the great caves -the black head of a seal might be seen. It did not remain long in -view, however. Brian had scarcely pointed it out with a whisper to such -persons as were near him, when it disappeared. - -“It’s the wary boys they are, to be sure!” he remarked confidentially. - -His boldness in steering among the rocks made some persons more than -usually thoughtful. Fortunately the majority of those aboard the cutter -knew nothing of his display of skill. They remained quite unaware of the -jagged rocks that the boat just cleared; and when he brought the craft -to the lee of a cliff, which formed a natural breakwater and a harbour -of ripples, none of these people seemed surprised. - -Lord Innisfail and a few yachtsmen who knew something of sailing, drew -long breaths. They knew what they had escaped. - -One of the hands got into the punt and took a line to the cliff to moor -the yacht when the sails had been lowered, and by the time that -the mooring was effected, the other boats had come into the natural -harbour--it would have given protection--that is, natural protection, -to a couple of ironclads--no power can protect them from their own -commanders. - -“Now, my lard,” said Brian, who seemed at last to realize his -responsibilities, “all we’ve got to do is to grab the craythurs; but -that same’s a caution. We’ll be at least an hour-and-a-half in the -caves, and as it will be cold work, and maybe wet work, maybe some of -their honours wouldn’t mind standing by the cutter.” - -The suggestion was heartily approved of by some of the yacht’s company. -Lady Innisfail said she was perfectly satisfied with such local colour -as was available without leaving the yacht, and it was understood that -Miss Avon would remain by her side. Mr. Airey said he thought he could -face with cheerfulness a scheme of existence that did not include -sitting with varying degrees of uneasiness in a small boat while other -men speared an inoffensive seal. - -“Such explanations are not for the Atlantic Ocean,” said Harold, -getting over the side of the yacht into the punt that Brian had hauled -close--Lord Innisfail was already in the bow. - -In a short time, by the skilful admiralship of Brian, the other boats, -which were brought up from the luggers, were manned, and their stations -were assigned to them, one being sent to explore a cave a short distance -off, while another was to remain at the entrance to pick up any seals -that might escape. The same plan was adopted in regard to the great -cave, the entrance to which was close to where the yacht was moored. -Brian arranged that his boat should enter the cave, while another, fully -manned, should stand by the rocks to capture the refugees. - -All the boats then started for their stations--all except the punt with -Brian at the yoke lines, Harold and Mr. Durdan in the stern sheets, one -of the hands at the paddles, and Lord Innisfail in the bows; for -when this craft was about to push off, Brian gave an exclamation of -discontent. - -“What’s the matter now?” asked Lord Innisfail. - -“Plenty’s the matter, my lard,” said Brian. “The sorra a bit of luck -we’ll have this day if we leave the ladies behind us.” - -“Then we must put up with bad luck,” said Lord Innisfail. “Go down on -your knees to her ladyship and ask her to come with us if you think that -will do any good.” - -“Oh, her ladyship would come without prayers if she meant to,” said -Brian. “But it’s Miss Avon that’s open to entreaty. For the love of -heaven and the encouragement of sport, step into the boat, Sheila, and -you’ll have something to talk about for the rest of your life.” - -Beatrice shook her head at the appeal, but that wouldn’t do for Brian. -“Look, my lady, look at her eyes, aren’t they just jumping out of her -head like young trout in a stream in May?” he cried to Lady Innisfail. -“Isn’t she waiting for you to say the word to let her come, an’ not a -word does any gentleman in the boat speak on her behalf.” - -The gentlemen remained dumb, but Lady Innisfail declared that if Miss -Avon was not afraid of a wetting and cared to go in the boat, there was -no reason why she should not do so. - -In another moment Beatrice had stepped into the punt and it had pushed -off with a cheer from Brian. The men in the other boats, now in the -distance, hearing the cheer, but without knowing why it arose, sent back -an answer that aroused the thousand echoes of the cliffs and the ten -thousand sea birds that arose in a cloud from every crevice of the -rocks. Thus it was that the approach of the boat to the great cave did -not take place in silence. - -Harold had not uttered a word. He had not even looked at Edmund Airey’s -face to see what expression it wore when Beatrice stepped into the boat. - -“Did you ever hear anything like Airey’s roundabout phrase about a -scheme of existence?” said Mr. Durdan. - -“It is his way of putting a simple matter,” said Harold. “You heard of -the man who, in order to soften down the fact that a girl had what are -colloquially known as beetle-crushers, wrote that her feet tended to -increase the mortality among coleoptera?” - -“I’m afraid that the days of the present government are numbered,” said -Mr. Durdan, who seemed to think that the remark was in logical sequence -with Harold’s story. - -Beatrice looked wonderingly at the speaker; it was some moments before -she found an echo in the expression on Harold’s face to what she felt. - -The man who could think of such things as the breaking up of a -government, when floating in thirty fathoms of green sea, beneath the -shadow of such cliffs as the boat was approaching, was a mystery to -the girl, though she was the daughter of one of the nineteenth century -historians, to whom nothing is a mystery. - -The boat entered the great cave without a word being spoken by any one -aboard, and in a few minutes it was being poled along in semi-darkness. -The lapping of the swell from the entrance against the sides of the -cave sounded on through the distance of the interior, and from those -mysterious depths came strange sounds of splashing water, of dropping -stalactites, and now and again a mighty sob of waves choked within a -narrow vent. - -Silently the boat was forced onward, and soon all light from the -entrance was obscured. Through total darkness the little craft crept for -nearly half a mile. - -Suddenly a blaze of light shot up with startling effect in the bows of -the boat. It only came from a candle that Brian had lit: but its -gleam was reflected in millions of stalactites into what seemed an -interminable distance--millions of stalactites on the roof and the -walls, and millions of ripples beneath gave back the gleam, until the -boat appeared to be the centre of a vast illumination. - -The dark shadows of the men who were using the oars as poles, danced -about the brilliant roof and floor of the cave, adding to the fantastic -charm of the scene. - -“Now,” said Brian, in a whisper, “these craythurs don’t understand -anything that’s said to them unless by a human being, so we’ll need -to be silent enough. We’ll be at the first ledge soon, and there maybe -you’ll wait with the lady, Mr. Wynne--you’re heavier than Mr. Durdan, -and every inch of water that the boat draws is worth thinking about. -I’ll leave a candle with you, but not a word must you speak.” - -“All right,” said Harold. “You’re the manager of the expedition; we must -obey you; but I don’t exactly see where my share in the sport comes in.” - -“I’d explain it all if I could trust myself to speak,” said Brian. -“The craythurs has ears.” The ledge referred to by him was reached in -silence. It was perhaps six inches above the water, and in an emergency -it might have afforded standing room for three persons. So much Harold -saw by the light of the candle that the boatman placed in a niche of -rock four feet above the water. - -At a sign from Brian, Harold got upon the ledge and helped Beatrice out -of the boat. - -The light of the candle that was in the bow of the boat gleamed upon the -figure of a man naked from the waist up, and wearing a hard round hat -with a candle fastened to the brim. - -Harold knew that this was the costume of the seal-hunter of the Western -caves, for he had had a talk with Brian on the subject, and had learned -that only by swimming with a lighted candle on his forehead for a -quarter of a mile, the hunter could reach the sealing ground at the -termination of the cave. - -Without a word being spoken, the boat went on, and its light soon -glimmered mysteriously in the distance. - -Harold and Beatrice stood side by side on the narrow ledge of rock and -watched the dwindling of the light. The candle that was on the niche of -rock almost beside them seemed dwindling also. It had become the merest -spark. Harold saw that Brian had inadvertently placed it so that the -dripping of the water from the roof sent flecks of damp upon the wick. - -He stretched out his hand to shift it to another place, but before -he could touch it, a large stalactite dropped upon it, and not only -extinguished it, but sent it into the water with a splash. - -The little cry that came from the girl as the blackness of darkness -closed upon them, sounded to his ears as a reproach. - -“I had not touched it,” said he. “Something dropped from the roof upon -it. You don’t mind the darkness?” - -“Oh, no--no,” said she, doubtfully. “But we were commanded to be dumb.” - -“That command was given on the assumption that the candle would continue -burning--now the conditions are changed,” said he, with a sophistry that -would have done credit to a cabinet minister. - -“Oh,” said she. - -There was a considerable pause before she asked him how long he thought -it would be before the boat would return. - -He declined to bind himself to any expression of opinion on the subject. - -Then there was another pause, filled up only by the splash of something -falling from the roof--by the wash of the water against the smooth rock. - -“I wonder how it has come about that I am given a chance of speaking to -you at last?” said he. - -“At last?” said she, repeating his words in the same tone of inquiry. - -“I say at last, because I have been waiting for such an opportunity for -some time, but it did not come. I don’t suppose I was clever enough to -make my opportunity, but now it has come, thank God.” - -Again there was silence. He seemed to think that he had said something -requiring a reply from her, but she did not speak. - -“I wonder if you would believe me when I say that I love you,” he -remarked. - -“Yes,” she replied, as naturally as though he had asked her what she -thought of the weather. “Yes, I think I would believe you. If you did -not love me--if I was not sure that you loved me, I should be the most -miserable girl in all the world.” - -“Great God!” he cried. “You do not mean to say that you love me, -Beatrice?” - -“If you could only see my face now, you would know it,” said she. “My -eyes would tell you all--no, not all--that is in my heart.” - -He caught her hands, after first grasping a few handfuls of clammy rock, -for the hands of the truest lovers do not meet mechanically. - -“I see them,” he whispered--“I see your eyes through the darkness. My -love, my love!” - -He did not kiss her. His soul revolted from the idea of the commonplace -kiss in the friendly secrecy of the darkness. - -There are opportunities and opportunities. He believed that if he had -kissed her then she would never have forgiven him, and he was right. -“What a fool I was!” he cried. “Two nights ago, when I overheard a man -tell you, as I had told you long ago--so long ago--more than a week -ago--that he did not want you to pass out of his sight--when I heard you -make the same promise to him as you had made to me, I felt as if there -was nothing left for me in the world. I went out into the darkness, and -as I stood at the place when I first saw you, I thought that I should be -doing well if I were to throw myself headlong down those rocks into the -sea that the rain was beating upon. Beatrice, God only knows if it would -be better or worse for you if I had thrown myself down--if I were to -leave you standing alone here now.” - -“Do not say those words--they are like the words I asked you before -not to say. Even then your words meant everything to me. They mean -everything to me still.” - -He gave a little laugh. Triumph rang through it. He did not seem to -think that his laughter might sound incongruous to her. - -“This is my hour,” he said. “Whatever fate may have in store for me it -cannot make me unlive this hour. And to think that I had got no idea -that such an hour should ever come to me--that you should ever come to -me, my beloved! But you came to me. You came to me when I had tried to -bring myself to feel that there was something worth living for in the -world apart from love.” - -“And now?” - -“And now--and now--now I know that there is nothing but love that is -worth living for. What is your thought, Beatrice--tell me all that is in -your heart?” - -“All--all?” She now gave the same little laugh that he had given. She -felt that her turn had come. - -She gave just the same laugh when his feeling of triumph had given -place to a very different feeling--when he had told her that he was a -pauper--that he had no position in the world--that he was dependent upon -his father for every penny that he had to spend, with the exception of -a few hundred pounds a year, which he inherited from his mother--that it -was an act of baseness on his part to tell her that he loved her. - -He had plenty of time for telling her all this, and for explaining his -position thoroughly, for nearly an hour had passed before a gleam of -light and a hail from the furthest recesses of the cave, made them aware -of the fact that other interests than theirs existed in the world. - -And yet when he had told her all that he had to tell to his -disadvantage, she gave that little laugh of triumph. He would have given -a good deal to be able to see the expression which he knew was in those -wonderful eyes of hers, as that laugh came from her. - -Not being able to do so, however, he could only crush her hands against -his lips and reply to the boat’s hail. - -Brian, on hearing of the mishap to the candle, delivered a torrent of -execration against himself. It took Harold some minutes to bring -himself up to the point of Lord Innisfail’s enthusiasm on the subject of -seal-fishing. Five excellent specimens were in the bottom of the boat, -and the men who had swum after them were there also. A strong odour of -whiskey was about them; and the general idea that prevailed was that -they would not suffer from a chill, though they had been in the water -for three quarters of an hour. - -As the other boats only succeeded in capturing three seals among them -all, Brian had statistics to bear out his contention that the presence -of Beatrice had brought luck to his boat. - -He pocketed two sovereigns which Harold handed him when the boats -returned to the mooring-place, and he was more profuse than ever in his -abuse of his own stupidity in placing the candle so as to be affected by -the damp from the roof. - -His eyes twinkled all the time in a way that made Harold’s cheeks red. - -The judge found Miss Avon somewhat _distraite_ after dinner that -night. He became pensive in consequence. He wondered if she thought him -elderly. - -He did not mind in the least growing old, but the idea of being thought -elderly was abhorrent to him. - -The next day Beatrice and her father returned to their cottage at the -other side of the lough. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV.--ON THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE REPROBATE. - - -SOMETHING remarkable had occurred. Lord Fotheringay had been for a -fortnight under one roof without disgracing himself. - -The charitable people said he was reforming. - -The others said he was aging rapidly. - -The fact remained the same, however: he had been a fortnight at the -Castle and he had not yet disgraced himself. - -Mrs. Burgoyne congratulated Lady Innisfail upon this remarkable -occurrence, and Lady Innisfail began to hope that it might get talked -about. If her autumn party at Castle Innisfail were to be talked about -in connection with the reform of Lord Fotheringay, much more interest -would be attached to the party and the Castle than would be the result -of the publication of the statistics of a gigantic shoot. Gigantic -shoots did undoubtedly take place on the Innisfail Irish property, but -they invariably took place before the arrival of Lord Innisfail and his -guests, and the statistics were, for obvious reasons, not published. -They only leaked out now and again. - -The most commonplace people might enjoy the reputation attaching to the -careful preservation and the indiscriminate slaughter of game; but Lady -Innisfail knew that the distinction accruing from a connection with -a social scandal of a really high order, or with a great social -reform--either as regards a hardened reprobate or an afternoon -toilet--was something much greater. - -Of course, she understood perfectly well that in England the Divorce -Court is the natural and legitimate medium for attaining distinction in -the form of a Special Edition and a pen and ink portrait; but she had -seen great things accomplished by the rumour of an unfair game of cards, -as well as by a very daring skirt dance. - -Next to a high-class scandal, the discovery of a new religion was -a means of reaching eminence, she knew. With the exact social value -attaching to the Reform of a Hardened Reprobate, she was as yet -unacquainted, the fact being that she had never had any experience of -such an incident--it was certainly very rare in the society in which she -moved, so that it is not surprising that she was not prepared to say at -a moment how much it would count in the estimation of the world. - -But if the Reform of a Reprobate--especially a reprobate with a -title--was so rare as to be uncatalogued, so to speak, surely it should -be of exceptional value as a social incident. Should it not partake of -the prestige which attaches to a rare occurrence? - -This was the way that Mrs. Burgoyne put the matter to her friend and -hostess, and her friend and hostess was clever enough to appreciate -the force of her phrases. She began to perceive that although Lord -Fotheringay had come to the Castle on the slenderest of invitations, -and simply because it suited his purpose--although she had been greatly -annoyed at his sudden appearance at the Castle, still good might come of -it. - -She did not venture to estimate from the standpoint of the moralist, the -advantages accruing to the Reformed Reprobate himself from the incident -of his reform, she merely looked at the matter from the standpoint of -the woman of society--which is something quite different--desirous of -attaining a certain social distinction. - -Thus it was that Lady Innisfail took to herself the credit of the -Reform of the Reprobate, and petted the reprobate accordingly, giving no -attention whatever to the affairs of his son. These affairs, interesting -though they had been to her some time before, now became insignificant -compared with the Great Reform. - -She even went the length of submitting to be confided in by Lord -Fotheringay; and she heard, with genuine interest, from his own lips -that he considered the world in general to be hollow. He had found it -so. He had sounded the depths of its hollowness. He had found that in -all grades of society there was much evil. The working classes--he -had studied the question of the working man not as a parliamentary -candidate, consequently honestly--drank too much beer. They sought -happiness through the agency of beer; but all the beer produced by -all the brewers in the House of Lords would not bring happiness to the -working classes. As for the higher grades of society--the people who -were guilty of partaking of unearned increment--well, they were wrong -too. He thought it unnecessary to give the particulars of the avenues -through which they sought happiness. But they were all wrong. The -domestic life--there, and there only, might one find the elements -of true happiness. He knew this because he had endeavoured to reach -happiness by every other avenue and had failed in his endeavours. He -now meant to supply his omission, and he regretted that it had never -occurred to him to do so before. Yes, some poet or other had written -something or other on the subject of the great charm of a life of -domesticity, and Lord Fotheringay assured Lady Innisfail in confidence -that that poet was right. - -Lady Innisfail sighed and said that the Home--the English Home--with its -simple pleasures and innocent mirth, was where the Heart--the English -Heart--was born. What happiness was within the reach of all if they -would only be content with the Home! Society might be all very well in -its way. There were duties to be discharged--every rank in life carried -its duties with it; but how sweet it was, after one had discharged one’s -social obligations, to find a solace in the retirement of Home. - -Lord Fotheringay lifted up his hands and said “Ah--ah,” in different -cadences. - -Lady Innisfail folded her hands and shook her head with some degree of -solemnity. She felt confident that if Lord Fotheringay was in earnest, -her autumn party would be talked about with an enthusiasm surpassing -that which would attach to the comments on any of the big shoots in -Scotland, or in Yorkshire, or in Wales. - -But when Lord Fotheringay had an opportunity of conversing alone with -Mr. Airey, he did not think it necessary to dwell upon the delights -which he had begun to perceive might be found in a life of pure -domesticity. He took the liberty of reminding Mr. Airey of the -conversation they had on the morning after Miss Avon’s arrival at the -Castle. - -“Had we a conversation then, Lord Fotheringay?” said Mr. Airey, in a -tone that gave Lord Fotheringay to understand that if any contentious -point was about to be discussed, it would rest with him to prove -everything. - -“Yes, we had a conversation,” said Lord Fotheringay. “I was foolish -enough to make a confidant of you.” - -“If you did so, you certainly were foolish,” said Edmund, quietly. - -“I have been keeping my eyes open and my ears open as well, during the -past ten days,” said Lord Fotheringay, with a leer that was meant to be -significant. Edmund Airey, however, only took it to signify that Lord -Fotheringay could easily be put into a very bad temper. He said nothing, -but allowed Lord Fotheringay to continue. “Yes, let me tell you that -when I keep both eyes and ears open not much escapes me. I have seen and -heard a good deal. You are a clever sort of person, friend Airey; but -you don’t know the world as I know it.” - -“No, no--as you know it--ah, no,” remarked Mr. Airey. - -Lord Fotheringay was a trifle put out by the irritating way in which the -words were spoken. Still, the pause he made was not of long duration. - -“You have your game to play, like other people, I suppose,” he resumed, -after the little pause. - -“You are at liberty to suppose anything you please, my dear Lord -Fotheringay,” said Mr. Airey, with a smile. - -“Come,” said Lord Fotheringay, adopting quite another tone. “Come, -Airey, speaking as man to man, wasn’t it a confoundedly shabby trick for -you to play upon me--getting me to tell you that I meant to marry that -young thing--to save her from unhappiness, Airey?” - -“Well?” said Airey. - -“Well?” said Lord Fotheringay. - -“You didn’t complete your sentence. Was the shabby trick accepting your -confidence?” - -“The shabby trick was trying to win the affection of the young woman -after I had declared to you my intention.” - -“That was the shabby trick, was it?” - -“I have no hesitation in saying that it was.” - -“Very well. I hope that you have nothing more to confide in me beside -this--your confidences have so far been singularly uninteresting.” - -Lord Fotheringay got really angry. - -“Let me tell you--” he began, but he was stopped by Airey. - -“No, I decline to let you tell me anything,” said he. “You accused -me just now of being so foolish as to listen to your confidences. I, -perhaps, deserved the reproach. But I should be a fool if I were to give -you another chance of levelling the same accusation against me. You will -have to force your confidences on someone else in future, unless such as -concern your liver. You confided in me that your liver wasn’t quite the -thing. How is it to-day?” - -“I understand your tactics,” said Lord Fotheringay, with a snap. “And -I’ll take good care to make others acquainted with them also,” he added. -“Oh, no, Mr. Airey; I wasn’t born yesterday.” - -“To that fact every Peerage in the kingdom bears testimony,” said Mr. -Airey. - -Lord Fotheringay had neglected his cigar. It had gone out. He now took -three or four violent puffs at it; he snapped it from between his teeth, -looked at the end, and then dropped it on the ground and stamped on it. - -“It was your own fault,” said Airey. “Try one of mine, and don’t bother -yourself with other matters.” - -“I’ll bother myself with what I please,” said Lord Fotheringay with a -snarl. - -But he took Mr. Airey’s cigar, and smoked it to the end. He knew that -Mr. Airey smoked Carolinas. - -This little scene took place outside the Castle before lunch on the -second day after the departure of Mr. Avon and his daughter; and, after -lunch, Lord Fotheringay put on a yachting jacket and cap, and announced -his intention of having a stroll along the cliffs. His doctor had long -ago assured him, he said, that he did not take sufficient exercise nor -did he breathe enough fresh air. He meant in future to put himself on a -strict regimen in this respect, and would begin at once. - -He was allowed to carry out his intention alone--indeed he did not -hint that his medical adviser had suggested company as essential to the -success of any scheme of open air exercise. - -The day was a breezy one, and the full force of the wind was felt at the -summit of the cliff coast; but like many other gentlemen who dread being -thought elderly, he was glad to seize every opportunity of showing that -he was as athletic as the best of the young fellows; so he strode along, -gasping and blowing with quite as much fresh air in his face as the most -exacting physician could possibly have prescribed for a single dose. - -He made his way to the mooring-place of the boats, and he found Brian in -the boat-house engaged in making everything snug. - -He was very civil to Brian, and after a transfer of coin, inquired about -the weather. - -There was a bit of a draught of wind in the lough, Brian said, but it -was a fine day for a sail. Would his lardship have a mind for a bit of -a sail? The _Acushla_ was cruising, but the _Mavourneen_, a neat little -craft that sailed like a swallow, was at his lardship’s service. - -After some little consideration, Lord Fotheringay said that though -he had no idea of sailing when he left the Castle, yet he never could -resist the temptation of a fine breeze--it was nothing stronger than a -breeze that was blowing, was it? - -“A draught--just a bit of a draught,” said the man. - -“In that case,” said Lord Fotheringay, “I think I may venture. In fact, -now that I come to think of it, I should like to visit the opposite -shore. There is a Castle or something, is there not, on the opposite -shore?” - -“Is it a Castle?” said Brian. “Oh, there’s a power of Castles scattered -along the other shore, my lard. It’s thrippin’ over them your lardship -will be after doin.’” - -“Then we’ll not lose a moment in starting,” said Lord Fotheringay. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI.--ON FRANKNESS AND FRIENDSHIP. - -BRIAN took care that no moment was lost. In the course of a very few -minutes Lord Fotheringay was seated on the windward thwarts of the boat, -his hands grasping the gunwale to right and left, and his head bowed -to mitigate in some measure the force of the shower of sea-water that -flashed over the boat as her hows neatly clipped the crest off every -wave. - -Lord Fotheringay held on grimly. He hated the sea and all connected with -it; though he hated the House of Lords to almost as great an extent, yet -he had offered the promoter of the Channel Tunnel to attend in the House -and lend the moral weight of his name to the support of the scheme. It -was only the breadth and spontaneousness of Brian’s assurance that the -breeze was no more than a draught, that had induced him to carry out his -cherished idea of crossing the lough. - -“Didn’t I tell your lardship that the boat could sail with the best of -them?” said the man, as he hauled in the sheet a trifle, and brought -the boat closer to the wind--a manouvre that did not tend to lessen the -cascade that deluged his passenger. - -Lord Fotheringay said not a word. He kept his head bowed to every flap -of the waves beneath the bows. His attitude would have commended itself -to any painter anxious to produce a type of Submission to the Will of -Heaven. - -He was aging quickly--so much Brian perceived, and dwelt upon--with -excellent effect--in his subsequent narrative of the voyage to some -of the servants at the Castle. The cosmetic that will withstand the -constant application of sea-water has yet to be invented, so that in -half an hour Lord Fotheringay would not have been recognized except by -his valet. Brian had taken aboard a well-preserved gentleman with a rosy -complexion and a moustache almost too black for nature. The person who -disembarked at the opposite side of the lough was a stooped old man with -lank streaky cheeks and a wisp of gray hair on each side of his upper -lip. - -“And it’s a fine sailor your lardship is entirely,” remarked the -boatman, as he lent his tottering, dazed passenger a helping hand up the -beach of pebbles. “And it’s raal enjoyment your lardship will be after -having among the Castles of the ould quality, after your lardship’s -sail.” - -Not a word did Lord Fotheringay utter. He felt utterly broken down in -spirit, and it was not until he had got behind a rock and had taken out -a pocket-comb and a pocket-glass, and had by these auxiliaries, and the -application of a grain or two of roseate powder without which he never -ventured a mile from his base of supplies, repaired some of the ravages -of his voyage, that he ventured to make his way to the picturesque white -cottage, which Miss Avon had once pointed out to him as the temporary -residence of her father and herself. - -It was a five-roomed cottage that had been built and furnished by an -enthusiastic English fisherman for his accommodation during his annual -residence in Ireland. One, more glance did Lord Fotheringay give to his -pocket-mirror before knocking at the door. - -He would have had time to renew his youth, had he had his pigments -handy, before the door was opened by an old woman with a shawl over -her shoulders and a cap, that had possibly once been white, on her -straggling hairs. - -She made the stage courtesy of an old woman in front of Lord -Fotheringay, and explained that she was a little hard of hearing--she -was even obliging enough to give a circumstantial account of the -accident that was responsible for her infirmity. - -“Miss Avon?” said the old woman, when Lord Fotheringay had repeated -his original request in a louder tone. “Miss Avon? no, she’s not here -now--not even her father, who was a jewel of a gentleman, though a bit -queer. God bless them both now that they have gone back to England, -maybe never to return.” - -“Back to England. When?” shouted Lord Fotheringay. - -“Why, since early in the morning. The Blessed Virgin keep the young -lady from harm, for she’s swater than honey, and the Saints preserve her -father, for he was--” - -Lord Fotheringay did not wait to hear the position of the historian -defined by the old woman. He turned away from the door with such words -as caused her infirmity to be a blessing in disguise. - -When Brian greeted his return with a few well-chosen phrases bearing -upon the architecture of the early Celtic nobles, Lord Fotheringay swore -at him; but the boatman, who did a little in that way himself when under -extreme provocation, only smiled as Lord Fotheringay took his seat in -the boat once more, and prepared for the ordeal of his passage. - -There was a good deal in Brian’s smile. - -The wind had changed most unaccountably, he explained, so that it would, -he feared, be absolutely necessary to tack out almost to the entrance -of the lough in order to reach the mooring-place. For the next hour -he became the exponent of every system of sailing known to modern -navigators. After something over an hour of this manoeuvring, he had -compassion upon his victim, and ran the boat before the wind--he might -have done so at first if Lord Fotheringay had not shown such a poor -knowledge of men as to swear at him--to the mooring-place. - -“If it’s not making too free with your lardship, I’d offer your lardship -a hand up the track,” said Brian. “It’s myself that has to go up to the -Castle anyway, with a letter to her ladyship from Miss Avon. Didn’t -the young lady give it to me in the morning before she started with his -honour her father on the car?” - -“And you knew all this time that Miss Avon and her father had left the -neighbourhood?” said Lord Fotheringay, through his store teeth. - -“Tubbe sure I did,” said Brian. “But Miss Avon didn’t live in one of the -Castles of the ould quality that your lardship was so particular ready -to explore.” - -Lord Fotheringay felt that his knowledge of the world and the dwellers -therein had its limits. - -It was at Lord Fotheringay’s bedside that Harold said his farewell to -his father the next day. Lord Fotheringay’s incipient rheumatism had -been acutely developed by his drenching of the previous afternoon, and -he thought it prudent to remain in bed. - -“You’re going, are you?” snarled the Father. - -“Yes, I’m going,” replied the Son. “Lord and Lady Innisfail leave -to-morrow.” - -“Have you asked Miss Craven to marry you?” inquired the Father. - -“No,” said Harold. - -“Why not--tell me that?” - -“I haven’t made up my mind on the subject of marrying.” - -“Then the sooner you make it up the better it will be for yourself. I’ve -been watching you pretty closely for some days--I did not fail to notice -a certain jaunty indifference to what was going on around you on the -night of your return from that tomfoolery in the boats--seal-hunting, -I think they called it. I saw the way you looked at Helen Craven that -night. Contempt, or something akin to contempt, was in every glance. Now -you know that she is to be at Ella’s in October. You have thus six weeks -to make up your mind to marry her. If you make up your mind to marry -anyone else, you may make up your mind to live upon the three hundred a -year that your mother left you. Not a penny you will get from me. I’ve -stinted myself hitherto to secure you your allowance. By heavens, I’ll -not do so any longer. You will only receive your allowance from me for -another year, and then only by signing a declaration at my lawyer’s to -the effect that you are not married. I’ve heard of secret marriages -before now, but you needn’t think of that little game. That’s all I’ve -to say to you.” - -“And it is enough,” said Harold. “Good-bye.” He left the room and then -he left the Castle, Lady Innisfail only shaking her head and whispering, -“You have disappointed me,” as he made his adieux. - -The next day all the guests had departed--all, with the exception of -Lord Fotheringay, who was still too ill to move. In the course of some -days, however, the doctor thought that he might without risk--except, of -course, such as was incidental to the conveyance itself--face a drive on -an outside car, to the nearest railway-station. - -Before leaving him, as she was compelled to do owing to her own -engagements, Lady Innisfail had another interesting conversation--it -almost amounted to a consultation--with her friend Mrs. Burgoyne on the -subject of the Reform of the Hardened Reprobate. And the result of -their further consideration of the subject from every standpoint, was -to induce them to believe that, with such a powerful incentive to the -Higher Life as an acute rheumatic attack, Lord Fotheringay’s reform -might safely be counted on. It might, at any rate, be freely discussed -during the winter. If, subsequently, he should become a backslider, it -would not matter. His reform would have gone the way of all topics. - -Helen Craven and Edmund Airey had also a consultation together on the -subject upon which they had previously talked more than once. - -Each of them showed such an anxiety to give prominence to the -circumstance that they were actuated solely for Harold’s benefit in -putting into practice the plan which one of them had suggested, it was -pretty clear that they had an uneasy feeling that they required some -justification for the course which they had thought well to pursue. - -Yes, they agreed that Harold should be placed beyond the power of his -father. Mr. Airey said he had never met a more contemptible person than -Lord Fotheringay, and for the sake of making Harold independent of such -a father, he would, he declared, do again all that he had done during -the week of Miss Avon’s sojourn at the Castle. - -It was, indeed, sad, Miss Craven felt, that Harold should have such a -father. - -“Perhaps it was because I felt this so strongly that I--I--well, I began -to ask myself if there might not be some way of escape for him,” said -she, in a pensive tone that was quite different from the tone of the -frank communication that she had made to Mr. Airey some time before. - -“I can quite understand that,” said Edmund. “Well, though Harold hasn’t -shown himself to be wise--that is--” - -“We both know what that means,” said she, anticipating his definition of -wisdom so far as Harold was concerned. - -“We do,” said Edmund. “If he has not shown himself to be wise in this -way, he has not shown himself to be a fool in another way.” - -“I suppose he has not,” said she, thoughtfully. - -“Great heavens! you don’t mean to think that--” - -“That he has told Beatrice Avon that he loves her? No, I don’t fancy -that he has, still--” - -“Still?” - -“Well, I thought that, on their return from that awful seal-hunt, I saw -a change in both of them. It seemed to me that--that--well, I don’t -quite know how I should express it. Haven’t you seen a thirsty look on a -man’s face?” - -“A thirsty look? I believe I have seen it on a woman’s face.” - -“It may be the same. Well, Harold Wynne’s face wore such an expression -for days before the seal-hunt--I can’t say that I noticed it on Beatrice -Avon’s face at the same time; but so soon as they returned from the -boats on that evening, I noticed the change on Harold’s--perhaps it was -only fancy.” - -“I am inclined to believe that it was fancy. In my belief none of us was -quite the same after that wild cruise. I was beside Miss Avon all the -time that we were sailing out to the caves, and though she and Harold -were in the boat together, yet Lord Innisfail and Durdan were in the -same boat also. I can’t see how they could have had any time for an -understanding while they were engaged in looking after the seals.” - -Miss Craven shook her head doubtfully. It was clear that she was a -believer in the making of opportunities in such matters as those which -they were discussing. - -“Anyhow, we have done all that we could reasonably be expected to do,” - said she. - -“And perhaps a trifle over,” said he. “If it were not that I like Harold -so much--and you, too, my dear”--this seemed an afterthought--“I would -not have done all that I have done. It is quite unlikely that Miss Avon -and I shall be under the same roof again, but if we should be, I shall, -you may be certain, find out from her whether or not an understanding -exists between her and Harold. But what understanding could it be?” - -Miss Craven smiled. Was this the man who had made such a reputation -for cleverness, she asked herself--a man who placed a limit on the -opportunities of lovers, and then inquired what possible understanding -could be come to between a penniless man and a girl with “a gray eye or -so.” - -“What understanding?” said she. “Why, he may have unfolded to her a -scheme for becoming Lord High Chancellor after two year’s hard work at -the bar, with a garden-party now and again; or for being made a Bishop -in the same time; and their understanding may be to wait for one another -until the arrival of either event. Never mind. We have done our best for -him.” - -“For them,” said Edmund. - -Yes, he tried to bring himself to believe that all that he had done was -for the benefit of his friend Harold and for his friend Beatrice--to say -nothing of his friend Helen as well. After a time he did almost -force himself to believe that there was nothing that was not strictly -honourable in the endeavour that he had made, at Helen’s suggestion, -to induce Beatrice Avon to perceive the possibility of her obtaining a -proposal of marriage from a rich and distinguished man, if she were -only to decline to afford the impecunious son of a dissolute peer an -opportunity of telling her that he loved her. - -Now and again, however, he had an uneasy twinge, as the thought occurred -to him that if some man, understanding the exact circumstances of the -case, were to be as frank with him as Helen Craven had been (once), -that man might perhaps be led to say that he had been making a fool of -Beatrice for the sake of gratifying his own vanity. - -It was just possible, and he knew it, that that frank friend--assuming -that frankness and friendship may exist together--might be disposed -to give prominence in this matter to the impulses of vanity, to the -exclusion of the impulses of friendship, and a desire to set the crooked -straight. - -Even the fortnight which he spent in Norway with one of the heads of -the Government party--a gentleman who would probably have shortly at his -disposal an important Under-Secretaryship--failed quite to abate these -little twinges that he had when he reflected upon the direction that -might be taken by a frank friend, in considering the question of the -responsibility involved in his attitude toward Miss Avon. - -It was just a week after Lord Fotheringay had left Castle Innisfail that -a stranger appeared in the neighbourhood--a strange gentleman with the -darkest hair and the fiercest eyes ever seen, even in that region of -dark hair and eyes. He inquired who were the guests at the Castle, and -when he learned that the last of them--a distinguished peer named Lord -Fotheringay--had gone some time, and that it was extremely unlikely that -the Castle would be open for another ten months, his eyes became -fiercer than ever. He made use of words in a strange tongue, which Brian -declared, if not oaths, would do duty for oaths without anyone being the -wiser. - -The stranger departed as mysteriously as he had come. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII.--ON CIRCUMVENTING A STAG. - -IF Edmund Airey had a good deal to think about in Norway, Harold Wynne -was certainly not without a subject for thought in Scotland. - -It was with a feeling of exultation that he had sat in the bows of the -cutter _Acushla_ on her return to her moorings after that seal-hunt -which everyone agreed had been an extraordinary success. Had this -expression of exultation been noticed by Lady Innisfail, it would, -naturally, have been attributed by her to the fact that he had been -in the boat that had made the largest catch of seals. To be sure, Miss -Craven, who had observed at least a change in the expression upon his -face, did not attribute it to his gratification on having slaughtered -some seals, but then Miss Craven was more acute than an ordinary -observer. - -He felt that he did well to be exultant, as he looked at Beatrice Avon -standing by the side of Lord Innisfail at the tiller. The wind that -filled the mainsail came upon her face and held her garments against her -body, revealing every gracious curve of her shape, and suggesting to his -eyes a fine piece of sculpture with flying drapery. - -And she was his. - -It seemed to him when he had begun to speak to her in the solemn -darkness of the seal-cave, that it was impossible that he could receive -any answer from her that would satisfy him. How was it possible that she -could love him, he had asked himself at some agonizing moments during -the week. He thought that she might possibly have come to love him in -time, if she had not been with him in the boat during that night of -mist, when the voice of Helen Craven had wailed round the cliffs. Her -arrival at the Castle could not but have revealed to her the fact that -she might obtain an offer of marriage from someone who was socially far -above him; and thus he had almost lost all hope of her. - -And yet she was his. - -The course adopted by his friend Edmund Airey had astonished him. He -could not believe that Airey had fallen in love with her. It was not -consistent with Airey’s nature to fall in love with anyone, he believed. -But he knew that in the matter of falling in love, people do not always -act consistently with their character; so that, after all, Airey might -be only waiting an opportunity to tell her that he had fallen in love -with her. - -The words that he had overheard Airey speak to her upon the night of the -_tableaux_ in the hall--words that had driven him out into the night of -rain and storm to walk madly along the cliffs, and to wonder if he were -to throw himself into the waves beneath, would he be strong enough to -let himself sink into their depths or weak enough to make a struggle for -life--those words had cleared away whatever doubts he had entertained as -to Edmund’s intentions. - -And yet she was his. - -She had answered his question so simply and clearly--with such -earnestness and tenderness as startled him. It seemed that they had -come to love each other, as he had read of lovers doing, from the first -moment that they had met. It seemed that her love had, like his, only -increased through their being kept apart from each other--mainly by -the clever device of Miss Craven and the co-operation of Edmund Airey, -though, of course, Harold did not know this. - -His reflections upon this marvel--the increase of their love, though -they had few opportunities of being together and alone--would have been -instructive even to persons so astute and so ready to undertake the -general control of events as Mr. Airey and Miss Craven. Unfortunately, -however, they were as ignorant of what had taken place to induce these -reflections as he was of the conspiracy between them to keep him apart -from Beatrice to secure his happiness and the happiness of Beatrice. - -The fact that Beatrice loved him and had confessed her love for him, -though they had had so few opportunities of being together, seemed to -him the greatest of all the marvels that he had recently experienced. - -As he gave a farewell glance at the lough and recollected how, a -fortnight before, he had walked along the cliffs and had cast to the -winds all his cherished ideas of love, he could not help feeling that -he had been surrounded with marvels. He had had a narrow escape--he -actually regarded a goodlooking young woman with several thousands of -pounds of an income, as a narrow escape. - -This was the last of the reflections that came to him with the sound of -the green seas choked in the narrows of the lough. - -The necessity of preserving himself from sudden death--the Irish -outside car on which he was driving was the worst specimen he had yet -seen--absorbed all his thoughts when he had passed through the village -of Ballycruiskeen; and by the time he had got out of the train that -carried him to the East Coast--a matter of six hours travelling--and -aboard the steamer that bore him to Glasgow, the exultation that he -had felt on leaving Castle Innisfail, and on reflecting upon the great -happiness that had come to him, was considerably chastened. - -He was due at two houses in Scotland. At the first he meant to do -a little shooting. The place was not inaccessible. After a day’s -travelling he found himself at a railway station fifteen miles from his -destination. He eventually reached the place, however, and he had some -shooting, which, though indifferent, was far better than it was possible -to obtain on Lord Innisfail’s mountains--at least for Lord Innisfail’s -guests to obtain. - -The second place was still further north--it was now and again alluded -to as the North Pole by some visitors who had succeeded in finding -their way to it, in spite of the directions given to them by the various -authorities on the topography of the Highlands. Several theories -existed as to the best way of reaching this place, and Harold, who -knew sufficient Scotch to be able to take in the general meaning of the -inhabitants without the aid of an interpreter, was made aware while -at the shooting lodge, of these theories. Hearing, however, that some -persons had actually been known to find the place, he felt certain -that they had struck out an independent course for themselves. It was -incredible to him that any of them had reached it by following the -directions they had received on the subject. He determined to follow -their example; and he had reached the place--eventually. - -It was when he had been for three days following a stag, that he began -to think of his own matters in a dispassioned way. Crawling on one’s -stomach along a mile or two of boggy land and then wriggling through -narrow spaces among the rocks--sitting for five or six hours on -gigantic sponges (damp) of heather, with one’s chin on one’s knees for -strategical purposes, which the gillies pretend they understand, but -which they keep a dead secret--shivering as the Scotch mist clothes one -as with a wet blanket, then being told suddenly that there is a stag -thirty yards to windward--getting a glimpse of it, missing it, and -then hearing the gillies exchanging remarks in a perfectly intelligible -Gaelic regarding one’s capacity--these incidents constitute an -environment that tends to make one look dispassionately upon such -marvels as Harold had been considering in a very different spirit while -the Irish lough was yet within hearing. - -On the third day that he had been trying to circumvent the stag, Harold -felt despondent--not about the stag, for he had long ago ceased to take -any interest in the brute--but about his own future. - -It is to be regretted (sometimes) that an exchange of sentiments on -the subject of love between lovers does not bring with it a change of -circumstances, making possible the realization of a scheme of life in -which those sentiments shall play an active part--or at least as active -a part as sentiments can play. This was Harold’s great regret. Since he -had found that he loved Beatrice and that Beatrice loved him, the world -naturally appeared lovelier also. But it was with the loveliness of a -picture that hangs in a public gallery, not as an individual possession. - -His material circumstances, so far from having improved since he had -confessed to Edmund Airey that it was necessary for him to marry a woman -with money, had become worse; and yet he had given no thought to the -young woman with the money, but a great many thoughts to the young woman -who had, practically, none. He felt that no more unsatisfactory state of -matters could be imagined. And yet he felt that it would be impossible -to take any steps with a view of bringing about a change. - -He had received several letters from Beatrice, and he had written -several to her; but though in more than one he had told her in that -plain strain which one adopts when one does not desire to be in any way -convincing, that it was a most unfortunate day for her when she met him, -still he did not suggest that their correspondence should cease. - -What was to be the end of their love? - -It was the constant attempt to answer this question that gave the stag -his chance of life when, on the afternoon of the third day, Harold was -commanded by his masters the gillies to fire into that thickening in the -mist which he was given to understand by an unmistakable pantomime, was -the stag. - -While the gillies were exchanging their remarks in Gaelic, flavouring -them with very smoky whiskey, he was thinking, not of the escape of the -stag, but of what possible end there could be to the love that existed -between Beatrice and himself. - -It was the renewed thinking upon this question that brought about the -death of that particular stag and two others before the next evening, -for he had arrived at a point when he felt that he must shoot either -a stag or himself. He had arrived at a condition of despair that made -pretty severe demands upon him. - -The slaughter of the stags saved him. When he saw their bodies stretched -before him he felt exultant once more. He felt that he had overcome his -fate; and it was the next morning before he realized the fact that he -had done nothing of the sort--that the possibility of his ever being -able to marry Beatrice Avon was as remote as it had been when he had -fired blindly into the mist, and his masters, who had carried the guns, -exhausted (he believed) the resources, of Gaelic sarcasm in comment. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII.--ON ENJOYING A RESPITE. - -IT was the first week in October when Harold Wynne found himself in -London. He had got a letter from Beatrice in which she told him that she -and her father would return to London from Holland that week. Mr. Avon -had conscientiously followed the track of an Irish informer in whom he -was greatly interested, and who had, at the beginning of the century, -found his way to Holland, where he was looked upon as a poor exile from -Erin. He had betrayed about a dozen of his fellow-countrymen to their -enemies, and had then returned to Ireland to live to an honoured old age -on the proceeds of the bargain he had made for their heads. - -The result of Harold’s consideration of the position that he occupied in -regard to Beatrice, was this visit to London. He made up his mind that -he should see her and tell her that, like Mrs. Browning’s hero, he loved -her so well that he only could leave her. - -He could bring himself to do it, he felt. He believed that he was equal -to an act of heroic self-sacrifice for the sake of the girl--that -was how he put the matter to himself when being soaked on the Scotch -mountain. Yes, he would go to her and tell her that the conclusion -to which he had come was that they must forget one another--that only -unhappiness could result from the relationship that existed between -them. He knew that there is no more unsatisfactory relationship between -a man and a woman than that which has love for a basis, but with no -prospect of marriage; and he knew that so long as his father lived -and continued selfish--and only death could divide him from his -selfishness--marriage with Beatrice was out of the question. - -It was with this resolution upon him that he drove to the address in the -neighbourhood of the British Museum, where Beatrice said she was to be -found with her father. - -It was one of those mansions which at some period in the early part of -the century had been almost splendid; now it was simply large. It -was not the house that Harold would have cared to occupy, even rent -free--and this was a consideration to him. But for a scholar who had a -large library of his own, and who found it necessary to be frequently -in the neighbourhood of the larger Library at the Museum, the house must -undoubtedly have had its advantages. - -She was not at home. The elderly butler said that Mr. Avon had found it -necessary to visit Brussels for a few days, and he had thus been delayed -on the Continent beyond the date he had appointed for his return. -He would probably be in England by the end of the week--the day was -Wednesday. - -Harold left the gloom of Bloomsbury behind him, feeling a curious -satisfaction at having failed to see Beatrice--the satisfaction of a -respite. Some days must elapse before he could make known his resolution -to her. - -He strolled westward to a club of which he was a member--the Bedouin, -and was about to order dinner, when someone came behind him and laid a -hand, by no means gently, on his shoulder. Some of the Bedouins thought -it _de rigueur_ to play such pranks upon each other; and, to do them -justice, it was only rarely that they dislocated a friend’s shoulder or -gave a nervous friend a fit. People said one never knew what was -coming from the moment they entered the Bedouin Club, and the prominent -Bedouins accepted this statement as embodying one of the most agreeable -of its many distinctive features. - -Harold was always prepared for the worst in this place, so when -the force of the blow swung him round and he saw an extremely plain -arrangement of features, distorted by a smile of extraordinary breadth, -beneath a closely-cropped crown of bright red hair, he merely said, -“Hallo, Archie, you here? I thought you were in South Africa -lion-hunting or something.” - -The smile that had previously distorted the features of the young man, -was of such fulness that it might reasonably have been taken for granted -that it could not be increased; the possessor showed, however, that -that smile was not the result of a supreme effort. So soon as Harold had -spoken he gave a wink, and that wink seemed to release the mechanical -system by which his features were contorted, for in an instant his -face became one mouth. In plain words, this mouth of the young man had -swallowed up his other features. All that could be seen of his face was -that enormous mouth flanked by a pair of enormous ears, like plantain -leaves growing on each side of the crater of a volcano. - -Harold looked at him and laughed, then picked up a _menu_ card and -studied it until he calculated that the young man whom he had addressed -as Archie should have thrown off so much of his smile as would enable -him to speak. - -He gave him plenty of time, and when he looked round he saw that some of -the young man’s features had succeeded in struggling to the surface, as -it were, beneath the circular mat of red hair that lay between his ears. - -“No South Africa for me, tarty chip,” said Archie. (“Tarty chip” was -the popular term of address that year among young men about town. Its -philological significance was never discovered.) - -“No South Africa for me; I went one better than that,” continued the -young man. - -“I doubt it,” said Harold. “I’ve had my eye on you until lately. You -have usually gone one worse. Have you any money left--tell the truth?” - -“Money? I asked the tarty chips that look after that sort of thing for -me how I stood the other day,” said Archie, “and I’m ashamed to say that -I’ve been spending less than my income--that is until a couple of months -ago. I’ve still about three million. What does that mean?” - -“That you’ve got rid of about a million inside two years,” said Harold. - -“You’re going it blind,” said Archie. “It only means that I’ve spent -fifty decimals in eighteen months. I can spare that, tarty chip.” (It -may possibly be remembered that in the slang of the year a decimal -signified a thousand pounds.) “That means that you’ve squandered a -fortune, Archie,” said Harold, thinking what fifty thousand pounds would -mean to him. - -“There’s not much of a squander in the deal when I got value for it,” - said Archie. “I got plenty of value. I’ve got to know all about this -world.” - -“And you’ll soon get to know all about the next, if you go on at this -rate,” said Harold. - -“Not me; I’ve got my money in sound places. You heard about my show.” - -“Your show? I’ve heard about nothing for the past year but your shows. -What’s the latest? I want something to eat.” - -“Oh, come with me to my private trough,” cried the young man. “Don’t lay -down a mosaic pavement in your inside in this hole. Come along, tarty -chip; I’ve got a _chef_ named Achille--he knows what suits us--also some -‘84 Heidsieck. Come along with me, and I’ll tell you all about the show. -We’ll go there together later on. We’ll take supper with her.” - -“Oh! with her?” - -“To be sure. You don’t mean to say that you haven’t heard that I’ve -taken the Legitimate Theatre for Mrs. Mowbray? Where on God’s footstool -have you been for the past month?” - -“Not further than the extreme North of Scotland. It was far enough. I -saw a paragraph stating that Mrs. Mowbray, after being a failure in a -number of places, had taken the Legitimate. What has that got to say to -you?” - -“Not much, but I’ve got a good deal to say to it. Oh, come along, and -I’ll tell you all about it. I’m building a monument for myself. I’ve got -the Legitimate and I mean to make Irving and the rest of them sit up.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX.--ON THE ADVANTAGES OF READY MONEY. - -ARCHIE BROWN was the only son of Mr. John Brown, the eminent -contractor. Mr. John Brown had been a man of simple habits and no -tastes. When a working navvy he had acquired a liking for oatmeal -porridge, and up to the day of his death, when he had some twenty -thousand persons in his employment, each of them earning money for him, -he never rose above this comestible. He lived a thoroughly happy life, -taking no thought about money, and having no idea, beyond the building -of drinking fountains in his native town, how to spend the profits -realized on his enormous transactions. - -Now, as the building of even the most complete system of drinking -fountains, in a small town in Scotland, does not produce much impression -upon the financial position of a man with some millions of pounds in -cash, and making business profits to the extent of two hundred thousand -a year, it was inevitable that, when a brick one afternoon fell on Mr. -John Brown’s head and fractured his skull so severely as to cause his -death, his only son should be left very well provided for. - -Archie Brown was left provided with some millions in cash, and with -property that yielded him about one hundred pounds a day. - -Up to the day of his father’s death he had never had more than five -hundred a year to spend as pocket-money--he had saved even out of this -modest sum, for he had scarcely any more expensive tastes than his -father, though he had ever regarded _sole à la Normande_ as more -palatable than oatmeal porridge as a breakfast dish. - -He had never caused his father a moment’s uneasiness; but as soon as he -was given a bird’s eye view, so to speak, of his income, he began to ask -himself if there might not be something in the world more palatable even -than _sole à la Normande_. - -In the course of a year or two he had learned a good deal on the subject -of what was palatable and what was not; for from the earliest records it -is understood that the knowledge of good and the knowledge of evil may -be found on the one tree. - -He began to be talked about, and that is always worth paying money -for--some excellent judges say that it is the only thing worth paying -money for. Occasionally he paid a trifle over the market price for this -commodity. But then he knew that he generally paid more than the market -price for everything that he bought, from his collars, which were -unusually high, down to his boots, which were of glazed kid, so that he -did not complain. - -He found that, after a while, the tradespeople, seeing that he paid -them cash, treated him fairly, and that the person who supplied him with -cigars was actually generous when he bought them by the thousand. - -People who at first had fancied that Mr. Archibald Brown was a -plunger--that is, a swindler whom they could swindle out of his -thousands--had reason to modify their views on the subject after some -time. For six months he had been imposed upon in many directions. But -with all the other things which had to be paid for, the fruit of -the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil should, he knew, be included. -Imported in a fresh condition this was, he knew, expensive; but he had -a sufficient acquaintance with the elements of fruit-culture to be well -aware of the fact that in this condition it is worth very much more than -the canned article. - -He bought his knowledge of good and evil fresh. - -He was no fool, some people said, exultantly. - -These were the people whose friends had tried to impose on him but had -not succeeded. - -He was no fool, some people said regretfully. - -These were the people who had tried to impose on him but had not -succeeded. - -Harold had always liked Archie Brown, and he had offered him much -advice--vegetarian banquets of the canned fruit of the Tree of -Knowledge. The shrewd outbursts of confidence in which Archie indulged -now and again, showed Harold that he was fast coming to understand his -position in society--his friends and his enemies. - -Harold, after some further persuasion, got into the hansom which Archie -had hailed, and was soon driving down Piccadilly to the spacious rooms -of the latter--rooms furnished in a wonderful fashion. As a panorama -of styles the sitting-room, which was about thirty feet square, with a -greenhouse in the rear, would have been worth much to a lecturer on -the progress or decadence of art--any average lecturer could make the -furniture bear out his views, whether they took one direction or the -other. - -Two cabinets which had belonged to Louis XV were the finest specimens -known in the world. They contained Sèvres porcelain and briar-root -pipes. A third cabinet was in the purest style of boarding house art. -A small gilt sofa was covered with old French tapestry which would have -brought five pounds the square inch at an auction. Beside it was -the famous Four-guinea Tottenham Armchair in best Utrecht -velvet--three-nine-six in cretonne, carriage paid to any railway-station -in the United Kingdom. - -A chair, the frame of which was wholly of ivory, carved in Italy, in the -seventeenth century, by the greatest artist that ever lived, apparently -had its uses in Archie Brown’s _entourage_, for it sustained in an -upright position a half-empty soda-water bottle--the bottle would not -have stood upright but for the high relief in the carving of the flowing -hair of the figure of Atalanta at one part of the frame. Near it was an -interesting old oak chair that was for some time believed to have once -belonged to King Henry VIII. - -In achieving this striking contrast to the carved ivory, Mr. Brown -thought that he had proved his capacity to appreciate an important -element in artistic arrangement. He pointed it out to Harold without -delay. He had pointed it out to every other person who had visited his -rooms. - -He also pointed out a picture by one Rembrandt which he had picked up -at an auction for forty shillings. A dealer had subsequently assured him -that if he wanted a companion picture by the same painter he would -not guarantee to procure it for him at a lower figure than -twenty-five guineas--perhaps it might even cost him as high as thirty; -therefore--the logic was Archie’s--the Rembrandt had been a dead -bargain. - -Harold looked at this Burgomaster’s Daughter in eighteenth century -costume, and said that undoubtedly the painter knew what he was about. - -“And so does Archie, tarty chip,” said his host, leading him to one of -the bedrooms. - -“Now it’s half past seven,” said Archie, leaving him, “and dinner will -be served at a quarter to eight. I’ve never been late but once, and -Achille was so hurt that he gave me notice. I promised that it should -never occur again, and it hasn’t. He doesn’t insist on my dressing for -dinner, though he says he should like it.” - -“Make my apologies to Achille,” said Harold. - -“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Archie seriously--“at least I think -it won’t.” - -Harold had never been in these rooms before--he wondered how it had -chanced that he came to them at all. But before he had partaken of more -than one of the _hors d’ouvres_--there were four of them--he knew -that he had done well to come. Achille was an artist, the Sauterne was -Chateau Coutet of 1861, and the champagne was, as Archie had promised -it should be, Heidsieck of 1884. The electric light was artfully toned -down, and the middle-aged butler understood his business. - -“This is the family trough,” said Archie. “I say, Harry, isn’t it one -better than the oatmeal porridge of our dads--I mean of my dad; yours, I -know, was always one of us; my dad wasn’t, God bless him! If he had been -we shouldn’t be here now. He’d have died a pauper.” - -Harold so far forgot himself as to say, “Doesn’t Carlyle remark -somewhere that it’s the fathers who work that the sons--ah, never mind.” - -“Carlyle? What Carlyle was that? Do I know him?” asked Archie. - -“No,” said Harold, shaking his head. - -“He isn’t a tarty chip, eh?” - -“Tart, not tarty.” - -“Oh. Don’t neglect this jelly. It’s the best thing that Achille does. -It’s the only thing that he ever repeats himself in. He came to me -boasting that he could give me three hundred and sixty-five different -dinners in the year. ‘That’s all very well,’ said I, ‘but what about -Leap Year?’ I showed him there that his bluff wouldn’t do. ‘Pass’ said -I, and he passed. But we understand one another now. I will say that he -has never repeated himself except in this jelly. I make him give it to -me once a week.” - -“You’re right,” said Harold. “It is something to think about.” - -“Yes, while you’re in front of it, but never after,” said Archie. -“That’s what Achille says. ‘The true dinner,’ says he, ‘is the one that -makes you think while you’re at it, but that never causes you a thought -afterwards.’” - -“Achille is more than an artist, he is a philosopher,” said Harold. -“What does he call this?” he glanced at the menu card. “‘_Glace à la -chagrin d’Achille_’ What does he mean by that? ‘The chagrin of -Achilles’? Where does the chagrin come in?” - -“Oh, he has some story about a namesake of his,” said Archie. “He was -cut up about something, and he wouldn’t come out of the marquee.” - -“The tent,” cried Harold. “Achilles sulked in his tent. Of course, -that’s the ‘_chagrin d’Achille_.’” - -“Oh, you heard of it too? Then the story has managed to leak out -somehow. They always do. There’s nothing in it. Now I’ll tell you all -about the show. Try one of these figs.” - -Harold helped himself to a green fig, the elderly butler placed a -decanter of claret on the table, and disappeared with the noiselessness -of a shadow. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX.--ON THE LEGITIMATE IN ART. - -WHEN the history of the drama in England during the last twenty years -of the nineteenth century comes to be written, the episode of the -management of the Legitimate Theatre by Mrs. Mowbray will doubtless be -amply treated from the standpoint of art, and the historian will, it may -be confidently expected, lament the want of appreciation on the part -of the public for the Shakespearian drama, to which the closing of the -Legitimate Theatre was due. - -There were a considerable number of persons, however, who showed a -readiness to assert that the management of the Legitimate by Mrs. -Mowbray should be looked upon as a purely--only purely was not the word -they used--social incident, having no basis whatever in art. It -failed, they said, not because the people of England had ceased to -love Shakespeare, but because Mr. Archie Brown had ceased to love Mrs. -Mowbray. - -However this may be, there were also people who said that the Legitimate -Theatre under the management of Mrs. Mowbray could not have been so -great a financial failure, after all; for Mrs. Mowbray, when her -season came to an end, wore as expensive dresses as ever, and drove as -expensive horses as ever; and as everyone who had been associated with -the enterprise had been paid--some people said overpaid--the natural -assumption was that Shakespeare on the stage was not so abhorrent to the -people of England as was generally supposed. - -The people who took this view of the matter were people who had never -heard the name of Mr. Archie Brown--people who regarded Mrs. Mowbray -as a self-sacrificing lady who had so enthusiastic a desire to make the -public acquainted with the beauties of Shakespeare, that she was quite -content to spend her own fortune (wherever that came from) in producing -“Cymbeline” and other masterpieces at the Legitimate. - -There were other people who said that Archie Brown was a young ass. - -There were others who said that Mrs. Mowbray was a harpy. - -There were others still--they were mostly men--who said that Mrs. -Mowbray was the handsomest woman in England. - -The bitterest--they were mostly women--said that she was both handsome -and a harpy. - -The truth regarding the difficult question of the Legitimate Theatre was -gathered by Harold Wynne, as he swallowed his claret and ate his olives -at the dining table at Archie Birown’s rooms in Piccadilly. - -He perceived from what Archie told him, that Archie had a genuine -enthusiasm in the cause of Shakespeare. How he had acquired it, he might -have had considerable difficulty in explaining. He also gathered that -Mrs. Mowbray cared very little for Shakespeare except as a medium for -impressing upon the public the fact--she believed it to be a fact--that -Mrs. Mowbray was the most beautiful woman in England. - -“Cymbeline” had, she considered, been written in the prophetic instinct, -which the author so frequently manifested, that one day a woman with -such shapely limbs as Mrs. Mowbray undoubtedly possessed, might desire -to exhibit them to the public of this grand old England of Shakespeare’s -and ours. - -Mrs. Mowbray was probably the most expensive taste that any man in -England could entertain. - -All this Harold gathered from the account of the theatrical enterprise, -as communicated to him by Archie after dinner. - -And the best of it all was, Archie assured him, that no human being -could say a word against the character of Mrs. Mowbray. - -“I never heard a word against the character of her frocks,” said Harold. - -“It’s a big thing, the management of the Legitimate,” said Archie, -gravely. - -“No doubt; even when it’s managed, shall we say, legitimately?” said -Harold. - -“I feel the responsibility, I can tell you,” said Archie. “Shakespeare -has never been given a proper chance in England; and although she’s a -year or two older than me, yet on the box seat of my coach she doesn’t -look a day over twenty-two--just when a woman is at her best, Harry. -What I want to know is, shall it be said of us that Shakespeare--the -immortal Shakespeare, mind you--Stratford upon Avon, you know--” - -“I believe I have his late address,” said Harold. - -“That’s all right. But what I want to know is, shall it be said that -we are willing to throw our Shakespeare overboard? In the scene in the -front of the cave she is particularly fine.” - -In an instant Harold’s thoughts were carried back to a certain scene -in front of a cave on a moonlight night; and for him the roar of life -through Piccadilly was changed to the roar of the Atlantic. His thoughts -remained far away while Archie talked gravely of building himself a -monument by his revival of “Cymbeline”, with which the Legitimate had -been opened by Mrs. Mowbray. Of course, the thing hadn’t begun to pay -yet, he explained. Everyone knew that the Bicycle had ruined theatrical -business in London; but the Legitimate could fight even the Bicycle, and -when the public had the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray properly impressed upon -them, Shakespeare would certainly obtain that recognition which he -deserves from England. Were Englishmen proud of Shakespeare, or were -they not? that was what Archie wished very much to know. If the people -of your so-called British Islands wish to throw Shakespeare overboard, -just let them say so. But if they threw him over, the responsibility -would rest with them; Mrs. Mowbray would still be the handsomest woman -in England. At any rate, “Cymbeline” at the Legitimate would be a -monument. - -“As a lighthouse is a monument,” said Harold, coming back from the Irish -lough to Piccadilly. - -“I knew you’d agree with me,” said Archie. “You know that I’ve always -had a great respect for your opinion, Harry. I don’t object so much as -some tarty chips to your dad. I wish he’d see Mrs. Mowbray. There’s no -vet. whose opinion I’d sooner take on the subject than his. He’d find -her all right.” - -Harold looked at the young man whose plain features--visible when he did -not smile too broadly--displayed the enthusiasm that possessed him when -he was fancying that his devotion to the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray was a -true devotion to Shakespeare. Archie Brown, he was well aware, was very -imperfectly educated. - -He was not, however, much worse than the general run of people. Like -them he knew only enough of Shakespeare to be able to misquote him now -and again; and, like them, he believed that. Darwinism meant nothing -more than that men had once been monkeys. - -Harold looked at Archie, and felt that Mrs. Mowbray was a fortunate woman -in having met with him. The monument was being raised, Harold felt; and -he was right. The management of the Legitimate-Theatre was a memorial to -Vanity working heart, and soul with Ignorance to the praise and glory of -Shakespeare. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI.--ON A BLACK SHEEP. - -BEFORE Archie had completed his confidences, a visitor was announced. - -“Oh, it’s only old Playdell,” said Archie. “You know old Playdell, of -course.” - -“I’m not so certain that I do,” said Harold. - -“Oh, he’s a good old soul who was kicked out of the Church by the bishop -for doing something or other. He’s useful to me--keeps my correspondence -in order--spots the chaps that write the begging letters, and sees that -they don’t get anything out of me, while he takes care that all the -genuine ones get all that they deserve. He’s an Oxford man.” - -“Playdell--Playdell,” said Harold. “Surely he can’t be the fellow that -got run out for marrying people without a licence?” - -“That’s his speciality,” said Archie. “Come along, chippie Chaplain. -Chip in, and have a glass of something.” - -A middle-aged man, wearing the coat and the tie of a cleric, entered the -room with a smile and a bow to Harold. - -“You’ve heard of Mr. Wynne, Play?” said Archie. “The Honourable Harold -Wynne. He’s heard of you--yes, you bet your hoofs on that.” - -“I dare say you’ve heard of me, Mr. Wynne,” said the man. “It’s the -black sheep in a flock that obtain notoriety; the colourless ones escape -notice. I’m a black sheep.” - -“You’re about as black as they make them, old Play,” remarked Archie, -with a prompt and kindly acquiescence. “But your blackness doesn’t go -deeper than the wool.” - -“You say that because you are always disposed to be charitable, Archie,” - said Mr. Playdell. “Even with you I’m afraid that another notorious -character is not so black as he’s painted.” - -“Neither he is,” said Archie. “You know as well as I do that the devil -is not so black as he used to be--he’s turning gray in his old age.” - -“They treated me worse than they treated the Fiend himself, Mr. Wynne,” - said Playdell. “They turned me out of the Church, but the Church still -retains the Prince of Darkness. He is still the most powerful auxiliary -that the Church knows.” - -“If you expressed that sentiment when in orders,” said Harold, “I can -quite easily understand how you find yourself outside the Church.” - -“I was quite orthodox when in the Church, Mr. Wynne. I couldn’t afford -to be otherwise,” said Playdell. “I wasn’t even an Honest Doubter. I -felt that if I had begun to doubt I might become a Dissenter before -I knew what I was about. It is only since I left the Church that I’ve -indulged in the luxury of being unorthodox.” - -“Take a glass of wine for your stomach’s sake,” said Archie. - -“That lad is the son of a Scotch Nonconformist,” said Mr. Playdell -to Harold; “hence the text. Would it be unorthodox to say that an -inscrutable Providence did not see fit to preserve the reply of Timothy -to that advice? For my own part I cannot doubt for a moment that Timothy -inquired for what other reason his correspondent fancied he might take -the wine. I like my young patron’s La Rose. It must have been something -very different from this that the person alluded to when he said ‘my -love is better than wine.’ Yes, I’ve always thought that the truth of -the statement was largely dependent on the wine.” - -“I’ll take my oath that isn’t orthodox,” said Archie. “You’d better mind -what you’re about, chippie Chaplain, or I’ll treat you as the bishop -did. This is an orthodox household, let me tell you.” - -“I feel like Balaam’s ass sometimes, Mr. Wynne, in this situation,” said -Mr. Playdell. “In endeavouring to avoid the angel with the sword on one -hand--that is the threatening orthodoxy of the Church--I make myself -liable to a blow from the staff of the prophet--our young friend is the -prophet.” - -“I will say this for you, chippie Chaplain,” said Archie, “you’ve kept -me straight. Not that I ever did take kindly to the flowing bowl; but we -all know what temptations there are.” He looked into his glass and spoke -solemnly, shaking his head. “Yes, Harry, I’ve never drunk a thimbleful -more than I should since old Play here lectured me.” - -“If I could only persuade you--‘’commenced Mr. Playdell. - -“But I’m not such an ass,” cried Archie, interrupting him. Then he -turned to Harold, saying, “The chippie Chaplain wants to marry me -to some one whose name we never mention. That has always been his -weakness--marrying tarty chips that he had no right to marry.” - -“If I don’t mistake, Mr. Playdell, it was this little weakness that -brought you to grief,” said Harold. - -“It was the only point that the bishop could lay hold of, Mr. Wynne,” - said Playdell. “I held, and I still hold, that the ceremony of marriage -may be performed by any person who has been ordained--that the question -of a licence is not one that should come forward upon any occasion. -Those who hold other opinions are those who would degrade the ordinance -into a mere civil act.” - -“And you married without question every couple who came to you, I -believe?” said Harold. - -“I did, Mr. Wynne. And I will be happy to marry any other couples who -come to me for that purpose now.” - -“But, you are no longer in the Church, and such marriages would be no -marriages in the eyes of the law.” - -“Nothing can be more certain, Mr. Wynne. But I know that there are many -persons in this country who hold, with me, that the ordinance is not one -that should be made the subject of a licence bought from a bishop--who -hold that the very act of purchase is a gross degradation of the -ordinance of God.” - -“I say, chippie Chaplain, haven’t we had enough of that?” said Archie. -“You’ve pegged away at that marriage business with me for a good many -months. Now, I say, pass the marriage business. Let us have a fresh -deal.” - -“Mr. Wynne, I merely wished to explain my position to you,” said -Playdell. “I’m on the side of the angels in this question, as a great -statesman but a poor scientist said of another question.” - -“Pass the statesman as well,” cried Archie. - -“What do tarty chips like us care for politics or other fads? He told -me the other day, Harry, that instead of introducing a bill for the -admission of ladies as members of Parliament, it would soon be necessary -to introduce a bill for the admission of gentlemen as members--yes, you -said that. You can’t deny it.” - -“I don’t,” said Mr. Playdell. “The result of the last General -Election--” - -“Pass the General Election,” shouted Archie. “Mr. Wynne hates that sort -of thing. Now give an account of yourself. What have you done to earn -your screw since morning?” - -“This is what I have come to, Mr. Wynne,” said Playdell. “Think of it; a -clergyman and M.A. Oxon, forced to give an account of his stewardship to -a young cub like that!” He laughed after a moment of seriousness. - -“You don’t seem to feel deeply the degradation,” remarked Harold. - -“It’s nothing to the depths to which I have fallen,” said Mr. Playdell. -“I was never more than a curate, but in spite of the drawback of -being privileged to preach the Gospel twice a week, the curacy was a -comfortable one. I published two volumes of my sermons, Mr. Wynne. They -sold poorly in England, but I believe that in America they made the -fortune of the publishers that pirated them. It is perfectly well known -that my sermons achieved a great and good purpose in the States. They -were practical. I will say that for them. The leader of the corner in -hogs who ran the prices up last autumn, sold out of the business, I -understand, after reading my sermon on the text, ‘The husks that the -swine do eat.’ Several judges also resigned, admitting that they -were converted. It was freely stated that even a Congressman had been -reformed by one sermon of mine, while another was known to have brought -tears to the eyes of a reporter on the _New York Herald_. And yet, with -all these gratifying results, I never got a penny out of the American -edition. Just think what would happen on this side of the Atlantic if, -let us say, a Royal Academician were to find grace through a sermon, -or--to assume an extreme case--a member of the Stock Exchange? Why, -the writer would be a made man. I had thoughts of going to America, -Mr. Wynne. At any rate, I’m going to deal with the publishers there -directly. A firm in Boston is at present about to boom a Bowdlerized -edition of the Bible which I have prepared for family reading in the -States--not a word in it that the purest-minded young woman in all -Boston might not see. It should sell, Mr. Wynne. I’m also translating -into English a volume of American humour.” - -“I’ll give you a chance of going to America, before you sleep if you -don’t dry up about your sermons and suchlike skittles,” said Archie. -“The decanter’s beside you. Fill your glass. Mr. Wynne is coming to my -show to-night.” - -Mr. Playdell passed the decanter without filling his glass. “You know -that I never take more than one glass of La Rose,” said he. “I have -found out all about your house painter who fell off the ladder and broke -all his ribs--he is the same as your Clergyman’s Orphan, and he lives -in the same house as your Widow of a Naval Officer whose little all -was invested in a fraudulent building society--he is also ‘First -Thessalonians seven and ten. P.O.O. or stamps’.” - -“Great Godfrey!” cried Archie; “and I had already written out a cheque -for twenty pounds to send to that swindler! Do you mean to tell me, -Play, that all those you’ve mentioned are impostors?” - -“All? Why, there’s only one impostor among the lot,” said Mr. Playdell. -“He is ‘First Thessalonians,’ and he has at least a dozen branch -establishments.” - -“It’s enough to make a tarty chip disgusted with God’s footstool,” said -Archie. “Before old Play took me in hand I used to fling decimals about -right and left, without inquiry.” - -“He was the sole support of several of the most notorious swindlers -in the country,” said Mr. Playdell. “I’ve managed to whittle them down -considerably. Shakespeare is at present the only impostor that has -defied my efforts,” he added, in a whisper to Harold. - -Harold laughed. He was beginning to feel some remorse at having -previously looked on Archie Brown as a good-natured fool. He now felt -that, in spite of Mrs. Mowbray, he would not wreck his life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII.--ON SHAKESPEARE AND SUPPER. - -CARRIAGES by the score were waiting at the fine Corinthian entrance -to the Legitimate, when Harold and Archie reached the theatre in their -hansom. The _façade_ of the Legitimate Theatre is so severely Corinthian -that foreign visitors invariably ask what church it is. - -It was probably the classical columns supporting the pediment of the -entrance that caused Archie to abate his frivolous conversation with his -friend in the hansom--Archie had been expressing the opinion that it was -exhilarating--only exhilarating was not the word he used--to swear at -a man who had once been a clergyman and who still wore the dress of a -cleric. “A chap feels that his turn has come,” he had said. “No matter -how wrong they are you can’t swear at them and tell them to come down -out of that, when they’re in their own pulpits--they’d have you up for -brawling. That’s why I like to take it out of old Playdell. He tells me, -however, that there’s no dean in the Church that gathers in the decimals -as he does in my shop. But, bless you! he saves me his screw three times -over.” - -But now that the classical front of the Legitimate came in view, Archie -became solemn. - -He possibly appreciated the feelings of a conscientious clergyman when -about to enter his Church. - -Shakespeare was a great responsibility. - -So was Mrs. Mowbray. - -The performance was not quite over; but before Archie had paid the -hansomeer, the audience was streaming out from every door. - -“Stand here and listen to what the people are saying.” whispered Archie. -“I often do it. It is only in this way that you can learn how much -appreciation for Shakespeare still remains in England.” - -He took up his position with Harold at the foot of the splendid -staircase of the theatre, where the people chatted together while -waiting for their carriages. - -With scarcely an exception, the remarks had a hearing upon the -performance of “Cymbeline.” Only two ladies confined their criticisms to -their respective medical advisers. - -Of the others, one man said that Mrs. Mowbray bore a striking -resemblance to her photographs. - -A second said that she was the most beautiful woman in England. - -A third said that she knocked sparks out of Polly Floss in the same line -of business. (Polly Floss was the leading exponent of burlesque). - -One woman said that Mrs. Mowbray was most picturesquely dressed. - -A second said that she was most picturesquely undressed. - -A third wondered if Liberty had got the exact tint of the robe that Mrs. -Mowbray had worn in the second act. - -“And yet some people say that there’s no appreciation of Shakespeare in -England!” said Archie, as he led Harold round the stalls, over which -the attendants were spreading covers, and on to Mrs. Mowbray’s private -rooms. - -“From the crowds that went out by every door, I judge that the theatre -is making money, at any rate; and I suppose that’s the most practical -test of appreciation,” said Harold. - -“Oh, they don’t all pay,” said Archie. “That’s a feature of theatrical -management that it takes an outsider some time to understand. Mrs. -Mowbray should understand it pretty well by this time, so should her -business manager. I’m just getting to understand it.” - -“You mean to say that the people are allowed to come in without paying?” - -“It amounts to that in the long run--literally the long run--of the -piece, I believe. Upon my soul, there are some people who fancy that -a chap runs a show as a sort of free entertainment for the public. The -dramatic critics seem to fancy that a chap produces a play, simply in -order to give them an opportunity of showing off their own cleverness -in slating it. It seems that a writer-chap can’t show his cleverness in -praising a piece, but only in slanging it.” - -“I think that I’d try and make people pay for their seats.” - -“I used always to pay for mine in the old days--but then, I was always -squandering my money.” - -“I have always paid for mine.” - -“The manager says that if you asked people to pay, they’d be mortally -offended and never enter the theatre again, and where would you be -then?” - -“Where, indeed?” said Harold. “I expect your manager must know his -business thoroughly.” - -“He does. It requires tact to get people to come to see Shakespeare,” - said Archie. “But a chap can’t build a monument for himself without -paying for it.” - -“It would be ridiculous to expect it,” said Harold. - -Pushing aside a magnificent piece of heavy drapery, Archie brought his -friend into a passage illuminated by the electric light; and knocking at -a door at the farther end, he was admitted by Mrs. Mowbray’s maid, into -a prettily-furnished sitting-room and into the presence of Mrs. Mowbray, -who was sitting robed in something very exquisite and cloud-like--not -exactly a peignoir but something that suggested a peignoir. - -She was like a picture by Romney. If one could imagine all the charm -of all the pictures of Emma Hamilton (_née_ Lyon) which Romney painted, -meeting harmoniously in another creature, one would come within -reasonable distance of seeing Mrs. Mowbray, as Harold saw her when he -entered the room. - -Even with the disadvantage of the exaggerated colour and the -over-emphasized eye-lashes necessary for the searching illumination of -the footlights, she was very lovely, Harold acknowledged. - -But all the loveliness of Mrs. Mowbray produced but a trifling effect -compared to that produced by her charm of manner. She was the most -natural woman ever known. - -The position of the natural man has been defined by an eminent -authority. But who shall define the position of the natural woman? - -It was Mrs. Mowbray’s perfect simplicity, especially when talking to -men--as a matter of fact she preferred talking to men rather than to -women--that made her seem so lovely--nay, that made a man feel that it -was good for him to be in her presence. She was devoid of the smallest -trace of affectation. She seemed the embodiment of truth. She never -smiled for the sake of conventionality. But when she did smile, just -as Harold entered the room, her head turning round so that her face -was looking over her shoulder, she had all the spiritual beauty of the -loveliest picture ever painted by Greuze, consequently the loveliest -picture ever painted by the hand of man. - -And yet she was so very human. - -An Algy and an Eddy were already in the room--the first was a Marquis, -the second was the eldest son of a duke. Both were handsome lads, of -quiet manners, and both were in the Household Cavalry. Mrs. Mowbray -liked to be surrounded by the youngest of men. - -Harold had been acquainted with her long before she had become an -actress. He had not had an opportunity of meeting her since; but he -found that she remembered him very well. - -She had heard of his father, she said, looking at him in a way that did -not in the least suggest a picture by Greuze. - -When people referred to his father they did not usually assume a look -of innocence. Most of them would have had difficulty in assuming such a -look under any circumstances. - -“My father is frequently heard of,” said Harold. - -“And your father’s son also,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “What a freak of Lady -Innisfail’s! She lured you all across to Ireland. I heard so much. And -what came of it, after all?” - -“Acute admiration for the allurements of Lady Innisfail in my case, and -a touch of acute rheumatism in my father’s case,” said Harold. - -“Neither will be fatal to the sufferers,” said Mrs. Mowbray--“or to Lady -Innisfail, for that matter,” she added. - -“I should say not,” remarked Algy. “We all admire Lady Innisfail.” - -“Few cases of acute admiration of Lady Innisfail have proved fatal, so -far as I can hear, Lord Brackenthorpe,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Young mem -have suffered from it and have become exemplary husbands and parents.” - -“And if they don’t live happy, that we may,” said Archie. - -“That’s the end of the whole matter,” said. Harold. - -“That’s the end of the orthodox fairy tale,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Was -your visit to Ireland a fairy story, Mr. Wynne?” - -Harold wondered how much this woman knew of the details of his visit -to Ireland. Before he-could think of an answer in the same strain, Mrs. -Mowbray had risen from the little gilt sofa, and had taken a step or two -toward her dressing-room. The look she tossed to Harold, when she turned -round with her fingers on the handle of the door, was a marvellous one. - -Had it been attempted by any other woman, it would have provoked -derision on the part of the average man--certainly on the part of Harold -Wynne. But, coming from Mrs. Mowbray, it conveyed--well, all that she -meant it to convey. It was not merely fascinating, it was fascination -itself. - -It was such a look as this, he felt--but nearly a year had passed before -he had thought of the parallel--that Venus had cast at Paris upon a -momentous occasion. It was the glance of Venus Victrix. It made a man -think--a year or so afterwards--of Ahola and Aholibah, of Ashtoreth, of -Cleopatra, of Faustina, of Iseult, of Rosamond. - -And yet the momentary expression of her features was as simple and as -natural as that worn by one of Greuze’s girls. - -“She’ll not be more than ten minutes,” said - -Archie. “I don’t know how she manages to dress herself in the time.” - -He did not exaggerate. Mrs. Mowbray returned in ten minutes, with no -trace of paint upon her face, wearing a robe that seemed to surround her -with fleecy clouds. The garment was not much more than an atmosphere--it -was a good deal less substantial than the atmosphere of London in -December or that of Sheffield in June. - -“We shall have the pleasantest of suppers,” she said, “and the -pleasantest of chats. I understand that Mr. Wynne has solved the Irish -problem.” - -“And what is the solution, Mrs. Mowbray?” said Lord Brackenthorpe. - -“The solution--ah--‘a gray eye or so’,” said Mrs. Mowbray. - -The little Mercutio swagger with which she gave point to the words, was -better than anything she had done on the stage. - -“And now, Mr. Wynne, you must lead the way with me to our little -supper-room,” said she, before the laugh, in which everyone joined, at -the pretty bit of comedy, had ceased. - -Harold gave her his arm. - -When at the point of entering the room--it was daintily furnished with -old English oak and old English silver--Mrs. Mowbray said, in the most -casual way possible, “I hope you will tell me all that may be told about -that charming White Lady of the Cave. How amusing it must have been to -watch the chagrin of Lord Fotheringay, when Mr. Airey gave him to -understand that he meant to make love to that young person with the -wonderful eyes.” - -“It was intensely amusing, indeed,” said Harold, who had become prepared -for anything that Mrs. Mowbray might say. - -“Yes, you must have been amused; for, of course, you knew that Mr. Airey -was not in earnest--that he had simply been told off by Miss Craven to -amuse himself with the young person, in order to induce her to take her -beautiful eyes off--off--someone else, and to turn them admiringly upon -Mr. Airey.” - -“That was the most amusing part of the comedy, of course,” said Harold. - -“What fools some girls are!” laughed Mrs. Mowbray. It was well known -that she disliked the society of women. - -“It’s a wise provision of nature that the fools should be the girls.” - -“Oh, I have known a fool or two among men,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with -another laugh. - -“Have known--did you say _have known?_” said Harold. - -“Any girl who has lived in this world of ours for a quarter of a -century, should have seen enough to make her aware of the fact that the -best way to set about increasing the passion of, let us say, the average -man--” - -“No, the average man is passionless.” - -“Well, the passion of whatever man you please--for a young woman whom he -loves, or fancies he loves--it’s all the same in the end--is to induce -him to believe that several other men are also in love with her.” - -“That is one of the rudiments of a science of which you are the leading -exponent,” said Harold. - -“And yet Miss Craven was foolish enough to fancy that the man of whom -she was thinking, would give himself up to think of her so soon as he -believed that Mr. Airey was in love with her rival! Ah, here are our -lentils and pulse. How good it is of you to imperil your digestions by -taking supper with me, when only a few hours can have passed since you -dined.” - -“Digestion is not an immortal soul,” said Harold, “and I believe that -immortal souls have been imperilled before now, for the sake of taking -supper with the most beautiful woman in the world.” - -“Have you ever heard a woman say that I am beautiful?” she asked. - -“Never,” said Harold. “That is the one sin which a woman never pardons -in another.” - -“You do not know women--” with a little pitying smile. “A woman will -forgive a woman for being more beautiful than herself--for being less -virtuous than herself, but never for being better-dressed than herself.” - -“For how many of the three sins do you ask forgiveness of woman--two or -three?” said Harold, gently. - -But instead of making an answer, Mrs. Mowbray said something about the -necessity of cherishing a digestion. It was disgraceful, she said, that -bread-and-butter and arithmetic should be forced upon a school boy--that -such magnificent powers of digestion as he possessed should not be -utilized ta the uttermost. - -Lord Brackenthorpe said he knew a clever artist chap, who had drawn -a sketch of about a thousand people crowding over one another, in an -American hotel, in order to see a boy, who had been overheard asking his -mother what was the meaning of the word dyspepsia. - -Mrs. Mowbray wondered if the melancholy of Hamlet was due to a weak -digestion. - -Harold said he thought it should rather be accepted as evidence that -there was a Schleswig-Holstein question even in Hamlet’s day. - -Meantime, the pheasants and sparkling red Burgundy were affording -compensation for the absence of any brilliant talk. - -Then the young men lit their cigarettes. Mrs. Mowbray had never been -known to risk her reputation (for femininity) by letting a cigarette -between her lips; but her femininity was in no way jeopardized--rather -was it accentuated--by her liking to be in the neighbourhood of where -cigarettes were being smoked--that is, when the cigarettes were good and -when the smokers were pleasant young men with titles, or even unpleasant -young men with thousands. - -After the lapse of an hour, a message came regarding Mrs. Mowbray’s -brougham. Her guests rose and she looked about for her wrap. - -While Harold Wynne was laying it on her lovely shoulders, she kept -her eyes fixed upon his. Hers were full of intelligence. When he -had carefully fastened the gold clasp just beneath the hollow of her -throat--it required very careful handling--she poised her head to the -extent of perhaps a quarter of an inch to one side, and laughed; then -she moved away from him, but turned her head so that her face was once -more over her shoulder, like the face of the Greuze girl from whom she -had learnt the trick. - -He knew that she wanted him to ask her from whom she had heard the -stories regarding Castle Innisfail and its guests. - -He also knew that the reason she wanted him to ask her this question, -was in order that she might have the delight of refusing to answer him, -while keeping him in the expectancy of receiving an answer. - -Such a delight would, of course, be a malicious one. But he knew that it -would be a thoroughly womanly one, and he knew that Mrs. Mowbray was a -thorough woman. - -Therefore he laughed back at her and did not ask her anything--not even -to take his arm out to her brougham. - -Archie Brown did, and she took his arm, still looking over her shoulder -at Harold. - -It only needed that the lovely, wicked look should vanish in a sentence. - -And it did. - -The full lips parted, and the poise of the head was increased by perhaps -the eighth part of an inch. - -“‘A gray eye or so,’” she murmured. - -Her laughter rang down the corridor. - -“And the best of it all is, that no one can say a word against her -character,” said Archie. - -This was the conclusion of his rhapsody in the hansom, in which he and -Harold were driving down Piccadilly--a rhapsody upon the beauty, the -genius, and the expensiveness of Mrs. Mowbray. - -Harold was silent. The truth was that he was thinking about something -far apart from Mrs. Mowbray, her beauty, her doubtful genius, and her -undoubted power of spending money. - -“What do you say?” said Archie. “Great Godfrey! you don’t mean to say -that you’ve heard a word breathed against her character?” - -“On the contrary,” said Harold, “I’ve always heard it asserted that Mrs. -Mowbray is the best dressed woman in London.” - -“Give me your hand, old chap; I knew that I could trust you to do her -justice,” cried Archie. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII.--ON BLESSING OR DOOM. - -EVEN before he slept, Harold Wynne found that he had a good many -matters to think about, in addition to the exquisitely natural poises of -Mrs. Mowbray’s shapely head. - -It was apparent to him that Mrs. Mowbray had somehow obtained a -circumstantial account of the appearance of Beatrice Avon at the Irish -Castle, and of the effect that had been produced, in more than one -direction, by her appearance. - -But the most important information that he had derived from Mrs. Mowbray -was that which had reference to the attitude of Edmund Airey toward -Beatrice. - -Undoubtedly, Mrs. Mowbray had, by some means, come to be possessed of -the truth regarding the apparent fascination which Beatrice had for -Edmund Airey. It was a trick--it was the result of a conspiracy between -Helen Craven and Edmund, in order that he, Harold, should be prevented -from even telling Beatrice that he loved her. Helen had felt certain -that Beatrice, when she fancied--poor girl!--that she had produced so -extraordinary an impression upon the wealthy and distinguished man, -would be likely to treat the poor and undistinguished man, whose name -was Harold Wynne, in such a way as would prevent him from ever telling -her that he loved her! - -And Edmund had not hesitated to play the part which Helen had assigned -to him! For more than a moment did Harold feel that his friend had -behaved in a grossly dishonourable way. But he knew that his friend, -if taxed with behaving dishonourably, would be ready to prove--if he -thought it necessary--that, so far from acting dishonourably, he had -shown himself to be Harold’s best friend, by doing his best to prevent -Harold from asking a penniless girl to be his wife. Oh, yes, Mr. -Edmund Airey would have no trouble in showing, to the satisfaction of -a considerable number of people--perhaps, even to his own -satisfaction--that he was acting the part of a truly conscientious; -and, perhaps, a self-sacrificing friend, by adopting Helen Craven’s -suggestion. - -Harold felt very bitter toward his friend Edmund Airey; though it was -unreasonable for him to do so; for had not he come to precisely the same -conclusion as his friend in respect of Beatrice, this conclusion being, -of course, that nothing but unhappiness could be the result of his -loving Beatrice, and of his asking Beatrice to love him? - -If Edmund Airey had succeeded in preventing him from carrying out his -designs, Harold would be saved from the necessity of having with -Beatrice that melancholy interview to which he was looking forward; -therefore it was unreasonable for him to entertain any feeling of -bitterness toward Edmund. - -But for all that, he felt very bitterly toward Edmund--a fact which -shows that, in some men as well as in all women, logic is subordinate to -feeling. - -It was also far from logical on his part to begin to think, only after -he had accused his friend of dishonourable conduct, of the source whence -the evidence upon which he had founded his accusation, was derived. - -How had Mrs. Mowbray come to hear how Edmund Airey had plotted with -Helen Craven, he asked himself. He began to wonder how she could have -heard about the gray eyes of Beatrice, to which she had alluded more -than once, with such excellent effect from the standpoint of art. From -whom could she have heard so much? - -She certainly did not hear it from Mr. Durdan, even if she was -acquainted with him, which was doubtful; for Mr. Durdan was discreet. -Besides, Mr. Durdan was rarely eloquent on any social subject. He was -the sort of man who makes a tour on the Continent and returns to tell -you of nothing except a flea at Bellaggio. - -Was it possible that some of the fishing men had been taking notes -unknown to any of their fellow guests, for the benefit of Mrs. Mowbray? - -Harold did not think so. - -After some time he ceased to trouble himself with these vain -speculations. The fact--he believed it to be a fact--remained the same: -someone who had been at Castle Innisfail had given Mrs. Mowbray a highly -circumstantial account of certain occurrences in the neighbourhood of -the Castle; and if Mrs. Mowbray had received such an account, why might -not anyone else be equally favoured? - -Thus it was that he strayed into new regions of speculation, where -he could not possibly find any profit. What did it matter to him if -everyone in London knew that Edmund Airey had plotted with Helen Craven, -to prevent an impecunious man from marrying a penniless girl? All that -remained for him to do was to go to the girl, and tell her that he -had made a mistake--that he would be asking her to make too great a -sacrifice, were he to hold her to her promise to love him and him only. - -It was somewhat curious that his resolution in this matter should be -strengthened by the fact of his having learned that Edmund Airey had not -been in earnest, in what was generally regarded at Castle Innisfail as -an attitude of serious, and not merely autumn, love-making, in respect -of Beatrice. - -He did not feel at all annoyed to learn that, if he were to withdraw -from the side of Beatrice, his place would not be taken by that wealthy -and distinguished man, Edmund Airey. When he had at first made up his -mind to go to Beatrice and ask her to forget that he had ever told her -that he loved her, he had had an uneasy feeling that his friend might -show even a greater interest than he had done on the evening of the -_tableaux_ at the Castle, in the future movements of Beatrice. - -At that time his resolution had not been overwhelming in its force. But -now that Mrs. Mowbray had made that strange communication--it almost -amounted to a revelation--to him, he felt almost impatient at the delay -that he knew there must be before he could see the girl and make his -confession to her. - -He had two more days to think over his resolution, in addition to his -sleepless night after receiving Mrs. Mowbray’s confidences; and the -result of keeping his thoughts in the one direction was, that at last he -had almost convinced himself that he was glad that the opportunity had -arrived for him to present himself to the girl, in order to tell her -that he would no longer stand in the way of her loving someone else. - -When he found himself in her presence, however, his convictions on this -particular point were scarcely so strong as they might have been. - -She was sitting in front of the fire in the great drawing-room that -retained all the original decorations of the Brothers Adam, and she was -wearing something beautifully simple--something creamy, with old lace. -The furniture of the room also belonged to the period of the Adams, and -on the walls were a number of coloured engravings by Bartolozzi after -Cipriani and Angelica Kauffmann. - -She was in his arms in a moment. She gave herself to him as naturally -and as artlessly as though she were a child; and he held her close to -him, looking down upon her face without uttering a word--kissing her -mouth conscientiously, her shell-pink cheeks earnestly, her forehead -scrupulously, and her chin playfully. - -This was how he opened the interview which he had arranged to part them -for ever. - -Then they both drew a long breath simultaneously, and both laughed in -unison. - -Then he held her away from him for a few seconds, looking upon her -exquisite face. Again he kissed her--but this time solemnly and with -something of the father about the action. - -“At last--at last,” he said. - -“At last,” she murmured in reply. - -“It seems to me that I have never seen you before,” said he. “You seem -to be a different person altogether. I do not remember anything of your -face, except your eyes--no, by heavens! your eyes are different also.” - -“It was dark as midnight in the depths of that seal-cave,” she -whispered. - -“You mean that--ah, yes, my beloved! If I could have seen your eyes at -that moment I know I should have found them full of the light that I -now see in their depths. You remember what I said to you on the morning -after your arrival at the Castle? Your eyes meant everything to me -then--I knew it--beatitude or doom.” - -“And you know now what they meant?” - -He looked at her earnestly and passionately for some moments. Then his -hands dropped suddenly as though they were the hands of a man who had -died in a moment--his hands dropped, he turned away his face. - -“God knows, God knows,” he said, with what seemed like a moan. - -“Yes,” she said; “God knows, and you know as well as God that in my -heart there is nothing that does not mean love for you. Does love mean -blessing or doom?” - -“God knows,” said he again. “Your love should mean to me the most -blessed thing on earth.” - -“And your love makes me most blessed among women,” said she. - -This exchange of thought could scarcely be said to make easier the task -which he had set himself to do before nightfall. - -He seemed to become aware of this, for he went to the high mantelpiece, -and stood with his hands upon it, earnestly examining the carved marble -frieze, cream-tinted with age, which was on a level with his face. - -She knew, however, that he was not examining the carving from the -standpoint of a critic; and she waited silently for whatever was coming. - -It came when he ceased his scrutiny of the classical figures in high -relief, that appeared upon the marble slab. - -“Beatrice, my beloved,” said he, and her face brightened. Nothing that -commenced with the assumption that she was his beloved could be very -bad. “I have been in great trouble--I am in great trouble still.” - -She was by his side in a moment, and had taken one of his hands in hers. -She held it, looking up to his face with her eyes full of sympathy and -concern. - -“My dearest,” he said, “you are all that is good and gracious. We must -part, and for ever.” - -She laughed, still looking at his face. There really was something -laughable in the sequence of his words. But her laugh did not make his -task any easier. - -“When I told you that I loved you, Beatrice, I told you the truth,” said -he. “If I were to tell you anything else now it would be a falsehood. -But I had no right ever to speak to you of love. I am absolutely -penniless.” - -“That is no confession,” said she. “I knew all along that you were -dependent upon your father for everything. I felt for you--so did Mr. -Airey.” - -“Mr. Airey?” said he. “Mr. Airey mentioned to you that I was a beggar?” - -“Oh, he didn’t say that. He only said--what did he say?--something about -the affairs of the world being very badly arranged, otherwise you should -have thousands--oh, he said he felt for you with all his heart.” - -“‘With all his appreciation of the value of an opportunity,’ he should -have said. Never mind Edmund Airey. You, yourself, can see, Beatrice, -how impossible it would be for any man with the least sense of honour, -situated as I am, to ask you to wait--to wait for something indefinite.” - -“You did not ask me to wait for anything. You did not ask me to wait -for your love--you gave it to me at once. There is nothing indefinite in -love.” - -“My Beatrice, you cannot think that I would ask you for your love -without hoping to marry you?” - -“Then let us be married to-morrow.” - -She did not laugh, speaking the words. He could see that she would not -hesitate to marry him at any moment. - -“Would to heaven that we could be, my dearest! But could there be -anything more cruel than for a penniless man, such as I am, to ask a -girl, such as you are, to marry him?” - -“I cannot see where the cruelty would be. People have been very happy -together before now, though they have had very little money between -them.” - -“My dear Beatrice, you were not meant to pass your life in squalid -lodgings, with none of the refinements of life around you; and I--well, -I have known what roughing it means; I would face the worst alone; but -I am not selfish enough to seek to drag you down to my level--to ask you -to face hardship for my sake.” - -“But I----” - -“Do not say anything, darling: anything that you may say will only make -it the harder to part. I can do it, Beatrice; I am strong enough to say -good-bye.” - -“Then say it, Harold.” - -She stood facing him, with her wonderful eyes looking steadily into his. -The message that they conveyed to him was such as he could not fail to -read aright. He knew that if he had said goodbye, he would never have a -chance of looking into those eyes again. - -And yet he made the attempt to speak--to say the word that she had -challenged him to utter. His lips were parted for more than a moment. -He suddenly dropped her hand--he had been holding it all the time--and -turned away from her with a passionate gesture. - -“I cannot say it--God help me! I cannot say good-bye,” he cried. - -He had flung himself into a sofa and had buried his face in his hands. - -For a short time he had actually felt that he was desirous to part from -her. For some minutes he had been quite sincere. The force of the words -he had made use of to show Beatrice how absolutely necessary it was that -they should part, had not been felt by her; those words had, however, -affected him. He had felt--for the first time, in spite of his previous -self-communing--that he must say good-bye to her, but he found that he -was too weak to say it. - -He felt a hand upon his shoulder. He could feel her gracious presence -near to him, before her voice came. - -“Harold,” she said, “if you had said it, I should never have had an -hour’s happiness in my life. I would never have seen you again. I felt -that all the happiness of my life was dependent upon your refraining -from speaking those words. Cannot you see, my love, that the matter -has passed out of our hands--that it is out of our power to part now? -Harold, cannot you see that, let it be for good or evil--for heaven or -doom--we must be together? Whatever is before us, we are not two but -one--our lives are joined beyond the power of separation. I am yours; -you are mine.” - -He sprang to his feet. He saw that tears were in her eyes. “Let it be -so,” he cried. “In God’s name let it be so. Whatever may happen, no -suggestion of parting shall come from me. We stand together, and for -ever, Beatrice.” - -“For ever and ever,” she said. - -That was how their interview came to a close. - -Did he know when he had set out for her home that this would be the -close of their interview--this clasping of the hands--this meeting of -the lips? - -Perhaps he did not. But one thing is certain: if it had not had this -ending, he would have been greatly mortified. - -His vanity would have received a great blow. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV.--ON THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY. - -WALKING Westward to his rooms, he enjoyed once again the same feeling -of exultation, which had been his on the evening of the return from the -seal-hunt. He felt that she was wholly his. - -He had done all that was in his power to show her how very much better -it would be for her to part from him and never to see him again--how -much better it would be for her to marry the wealthy and distinguished -man who had, out of the goodness of his heart, expressed to her a deep -sympathy for his, Harold’s, unfortunate condition of dependence upon a -wicked father. But he had not been able to convince her that it would be -to her advantage to adopt this course. - -Yet, instead of feeling deeply humiliated by reason of the failure of -his arguments, he felt exultant. - -“She is mine--she is mine!” he cried, when he found himself alone in his -room in St. James’s. “There is none like her, and she is mine!” - -He reflected for a long time upon her beauty. He thought of Mrs. -Mowbray, and he smiled, knowing that Beatrice was far lovelier, though -her loveliness was not of the same impressive type. One did not seem -to breathe near Beatrice that atmosphere heavy with the scent of roses, -which Mrs. Mowbray carried with her for the intoxication of the nations. -Still, the beauty of Beatrice was not a tame thing. It had stirred him, -and it had stirred other men. - -Yes, it had stirred Edmund Airey--he felt certain of it, although he did -not doubt the truth of Mrs. Mowbray’s communication on this subject. - -Even though Edmund Airey had been in a plot with Helen, still Harold -felt that he had been stirred by the beauty of Beatrice. - -He thought over this point for some time, and the conclusion that he -came to was, that he could easily find out if Edmund meant to play no -more important a _rôle_ than that of partner in Helen Craven’s plot. It -was perfectly clear, that if Edmund had merely acted as he had done at -the suggestion of Helen, he would cease to take any further interest in -Beatrice, unless it was his intention to devote his life to carrying out -the plot. - -In the course of some weeks, he would learn all that could be known on -this point; but meantime his condition was a peculiar one. - -He would have felt mortified had he been certain that Edmund Airey had -not really been stirred by the charm of Beatrice; but he would have been -somewhat uneasy had he felt certain that Edmund was deeply in love -with her. He trusted her implicitly--he felt certain of himself in this -respect. Had he not a right to trust her, after the way in which she -had spoken to him--the way in which she had given herself up to him? But -then he felt that he had made use of such definite arguments to her, in -pointing out the advisability of their parting, as caused it to be -quite possible that she might begin to perceive--after a year or two of -waiting--that there was some value in those arguments of his, after all. - -By the time that he had dined with some people, who had sent him a card -on his return to London, and had subjected himself to the mortifying -influence of some unfamiliar _entrées_, and a conversation with a woman -who was the survivor of the wreck of spiritualism in London, he was no -longer in the exultant mood of the afternoon. - -“A Fool’s Paradise--a Fool’s Paradise!” he murmured, as he sat in an -easy-chair, and gazed into his flickering fire. - -It had been very glorious to think that he was beloved by that exquisite -girl--to think of the kisses of her mouth; but whither was the love -leading him? - -His father’s words could not be forgotten--those words which he had -spoken from beneath the eiderdown of his bed at Castle Innisfail; and -Harold knew that, should he marry Beatrice, his father would certainly -carry out his threat of cutting off his allowance. - -Thus it was that he sat in his chair feeling that, even though Beatrice -had refused to be separated from him, still they were as completely -parted by circumstances as if she had immediately acknowledged the force -of his arguments, and had accepted, his invitation to say good-bye for -ever. - -Thus it was that he cried, “A Fool’s Paradise--a Fool’s Paradise!” as he -thought over the whole matter. - -What were the exact elements of the Paradise in which his exclamation -suggested that he was living, he might have had some difficulty in -defining. - -But then the site of the original Paradise is still a matter of -speculation. - -The next day he went to take lunch with her and her father--he had -promised to do so before he had left her, when they had had their -interview. - -It so happened, however, that he only partook of lunch with Beatrice; -for Mr. Avon had, he learned, been compelled to go to Dublin for some -days, to satisfy himself regarding a document which was in a library in -that city. - -Harold did not grumble at the prospect of a long afternoon by her side; -only he could not help feeling that the _ménage_ of the Avon family -was one of the most remarkable that he had ever known. The historical -investigations of Mr. Avon did not seem to induce him to take a -conventional view of his obligations, as the father of an extremely -handsome girl--assuming that he was aware of the fact of her beauty--or -a pessimistic view of modern society. He seemed to allow Beatrice to be -in every way her own mistress--to receive whatever visitors she pleased; -and to lay no narrow-minded prohibition upon such an incident as -lunching _tête-à-tête_ with a young man, or perhaps--but Harold had no -knowledge of such a case--an old man. - -He wondered if the historian had ever been remonstrated with on this -subject, by such persons as had not had the advantage of scrutinizing -humanity through the medium of state papers. - -Harold thought that, on the whole, he had no reason to take exception -to the liberality of Mr. Avon’s system. He reflected that it was to this -system he was indebted for what promised to be an extremely agreeable -afternoon. - -What he did not reflect upon, however, was, that he was indebted to Mr. -Avon’s peculiarities--some people would undoubtedly call the system a -peculiar one--for a charmingly irresponsible relationship toward the -historian’s daughter. He did not reflect upon the fact, that if the girl -had had the Average Father, or the Vigilant Mother, to say nothing -of the Athletic Brother, he would not have been able, without some -explanation, to visit her, and, on the strength of promising to love -her, to kiss her, as he had now repeatedly done, on the mouth--or even -on the forehead, which is somewhat less satisfying. Everyone knows that -the Vigilant Mother would, by the application of a maternal thumb-screw -which she always carries attached to her bunch of keys, have -extorted from Beatrice a full confession as to the incidents of the -seal-hunt--all except the hunting of the seals--and that this confession -would have led to a visit to the study of the Average Father, in one -corner of which reposes the rack, in working order, for the reception of -the suitor. Everyone knows so much, and also that the alternative of the -paternal rack, is the fist of the Athletic Brother. - -But Mr. Harold Wynne did not seem to reflect upon these points, when he -heard the lightly uttered excuses of Beatrice for her father’s absence, -as they seated themselves at the table in the large dining-room. - -His practised eye made him aware of the fact that Beatrice understood -what he considered to be the essentials of a _recherché_ lunch: a lunch -appeals to the eye; but wine appeals to other senses than the sense of -seeing; and the result of his judgment was to convince him that, if -Mr. Avon was as careless in the affairs of the cellar as he was in the -affairs of the drawing-room, he was to be congratulated upon having -about him someone who understood still hock at any rate. - -In the drawing-room, she busied herself in arranging, in Wedgwood bowls, -some flowers that he had brought her--trifles of sprawling orchids, -Eucharis lilies, and a fairy tropical fern or two, all of which are -quite easy to be procured in London in October for the expenditure of -a few sovereigns. The picture that she made bending over her bowls was -inexpressibly lovely. He sat silent, watching her, while she prattled -away with the artless high spirits of a child. She was surely the -loveliest thing yet made by God. He thought of what the pious old writer -had said about a particular fruit, and he paraphrased it in his own -mind, saying, that doubtless God could make a lovelier thing, but -certainly He had never made it. - -“I am delighted to have such sweet flowers now,” she cried, as she -observed, with critical eyes, the effect of a bit of flaming crimson--an -orchid suggesting a flamingo in flight--over the turquoise edge of -the bowl. “I am delighted, because I have a prospect of other visitors -beside yourself, my lord.” - -“Other visitors?” said he. He wondered if he might venture to suggest -to her the inadvisability of entertaining other visitors during her -father’s absence. - -“Other visitors indeed,” she replied. “I did not tell you yesterday all -that I had to tell. I forget now what we talked about yesterday. How did -we put in our time?” - -She looked up with laughing eyes across the bowl of flowers, that she -held up to her face. - -“I don’t forget--I shall never forget,” said he, in a low voice. - -“You must never forget,” said she. “But to my visitors--who are they, do -you fancy? Don’t try to guess, for if you should succeed I should be too -mortified to be able to tell you that you were right. I will tell you -now. Three days ago--while we were still on the Continent--Miss Craven -called. She promised faithfully to do so at Castle Innisfail--indeed, -she suggested doing so herself; and I found her card waiting for me on -my return with a few words scrawled on it, to tell me that she would -return in some days. I don’t think that anything should be in the same -bowl with a Eucharis lily--even the Venus-hair fern looks out of place -beside it.” - -She had strayed from her firebrand orchids to the white lilies. - -“You are quite right, indeed,” said he. “A lily and you stand alone--you -make everything else in the world seem tawdry.” - -“That is not the message of the lily,” said she. “But supposing that -Miss Craven should call upon me to-day--would you be glad of such a -third person to our party?” - -“I should kill her, if she were a thousand times Helen Craven,” said he, -with a laugh. “But she is only one visitor; who are the others?” - -“Oh, there is only one other, and he is interesting to me only,” she -cried. “Yes, I found Mr. Airey’s card also waiting for me, and on it -were scrawled almost the very words that were on Miss Craven’s card, so -that he may be here at any moment.” Harold did not say a word. He sat -watching her as her hands mingled with their sister-lilies on the table. -Something cold seemed to have clasped his heart--a cold doubt that made -him dumb. - -“Yes,” she continued; “Mr. Airey asked me one night at Castle Innisfail -to let him know where we should go after leaving Ireland.” - -“Yes,” said he, in a slow way; “I heard him make that request of you.” - -“You heard him? But you were taking part in the _tableaux_ in the hall.” - -“I had left the platform and had strayed round to one of the doors. You -told him where you were going?” - -“I told him that we should be in this house in October, and he said -that he would make it a point to be in town early in October, though -Parliament was not to sit until the middle of January. He has kept his -word.” - -“Yes, he has kept his word.” - -Harold felt that cold hand tightening upon his heart. “I think that he -was interested in me,” continued the girl. “I know that I was interested -in him. He knows so much about everything. He is a close friend of -yours, is he not?” - -“Yes,” said Harold, without much enthusiasm. “Yes, he was a close friend -of mine. You see, I had my heart set upon going into Parliament--upon so -humble an object may one’s aspirations be centred--and Edmund Airey was -my adviser.” - -“And what did he advise you to do?” she asked. - -“He advised me to--well, to go into Parliament.” He could not bring -himself to tell her what form exactly Edmund Airey’s advice had assumed. - -“I am sure that his advice was good,” said she. “I think that I would go -to him if I stood in need of advice.” - -“Would you, indeed, Beatrice?” said he. He was at the point of telling -her all that he had learned from Mrs. Mowbray; he only restrained -himself by an effort. - -“I believe that he is both clever and wise.” - -“The two do not always go together, certainly.” - -“They do not. But Mr. Airey is, I think, both.” - -“He has been better than either. To be successful is better than to be -either wise or clever. Mr. Airey has been successful. He will get an -Under-Secretaryship if the Government survives the want of confidence of -the Opposition.” - -“And you will go into Parliament, Harold?” - -He shook his head. - -“That aspiration is past,” said he; “I have chosen the more excellent -career. Now, tell me something of your aspirations, my beloved.” - -“To see you daily--to be near you--to--” - -But the enumeration of the terms of her aspirations is unnecessary. - -How was it that some hours after this, Harold Wynne left the house with -that cold feeling still at his heart? - -Was it a pang of doubt in regard to Beatrice, or a pang of jealousy in -regard to Edmund Airey? - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV.--ON THE HOME. - -HAROLD WYNNE remembered how he had made up his mind to judge whether -or not Edmund Airey had been simply playing, in respect of Beatrice, the -part which, according to Mrs. Mowbray’s story, had been assigned to him -by Helen Craven. He had made up his mind that unless Edmund Airey -meant to go much further than--according to Mrs. Mowbray’s -communication--Helen Craven could reasonably ask him to go, he would not -take the trouble to see Beatrice again. - -Helen could scarcely expect him to give up his life to the furtherance -of her interests with another man. - -Well, he had found that Edmund, so far from showing any intention of -abandoning the position--it has already been defined--which he had -assumed toward Beatrice, had shown, in the plainest possible way, that -he did not mean to lose sight of her. - -And for such a man as he was, to mean so much, meant a great deal, -Harold was forced to acknowledge. - -He spent the remainder of the day which had begun so auspiciously, -wondering if his friend, Edmund Airey, meant to tell Beatrice some day -that he loved her, and, what was very much more important, that he was -anxious to marry her. - -And then that unworthy doubt of which he had become conscious, returned -to him. - -If Edmund Airey, who, at first, had merely been attracted to Beatrice -with a view of furthering what Helen Craven believed to be her -interests, had come to regard her differently--as he, Harold, assumed -that he had--might it not be possible, he asked himself, that Beatrice, -who had just admitted that she had always had some sort of admiration -for Edmund Airey, would------- - -“Never, never, never!” he cried. “She is all that is good and true and -faithful. She is mine--altogether mine!” - -But his mind was in such a condition that the thought which he had tried -to crush down, remained with him to torture him. - -It should not have been a torturing thought, considering that, a few -days before, he had made up his mind that it was his duty to relinquish -Beatrice--to go to her and bid her good-bye for ever. To be sure, he -had failed to realize this honourable intention of his; but what was -honourable at one time was honourable at another, so that the thought -of something occurring to bring about the separation for which he had -professed to be so anxious, should not have been a great trouble to -him--it should have been just the contrary. - -The next day found him in the same condition. The thought occurred -to him, “What if, at this very moment, Edmund Airey is with her, -endeavouring to increase that admiration which he must know Beatrice -entertains for him?” The thought was not a consoling one. Its effect was -to make him think very severely of the laxity of Mr. Avon’s _ménage_, -which would make possible such an interview as he had just imagined. -It was a terrible thing, he thought, for a father to show so utter a -disregard for his responsibilities as to----- - -But here he reflected upon something that had occurred to him in -connection with _tête-à-tête_ interviews, and he thought it better not -to pursue his course of indignant denunciation of the eminent historian. - -He put on an overcoat and went to pay a visit to his sister, who, he had -heard the previous day, was in town for a short time. In another week -she would be entertaining a large party for the pheasant-shooting at her -country-house in Brackenshire, and Harold was to be her guest as well -as Edmund Airey and Helen Craven. It was to this visit that Lord -Fotheringay had alluded in the course of his chamber interview with his -son at Castle Innisfail. - -Harold had now made up his mind that he would not be able to join his -sister’s party, and he thought it better to tell her so than to write to -her to this effect. - -Mrs. Lampson was not at home, the servant said, when he had knocked at -the door of the house in Eaton Square. A party was expected for lunch, -however, so that she would probably return within half an hour. - -Harold said he would wait for his sister, and went upstairs. - -There was one person already in the drawingroom and that person was Lord -Fotheringay. - -Harold greeted him, and found that he was in an extremely good humour. -He had never been in better health, he declared. He felt, he said, -as young as the best of them--he prudently refrained from defining -them--and he was still of the opinion that the Home--the dear old -English Home--was where true and lasting happiness alone was to be -found; and he meant to try the Principality of Monaco later on; for -November was too awful in any part of Britain. Yes, he had seen the -influence of the Home upon exiles in various parts of the world. Had he -not seen strong men weep like children--like innocent children--at -the sight of an English post-mark--the post-mark of a simple English -village? Why had they wept, he asked his son, with the well-gloved -forefinger of the professional moralist outstretched? - -His son declined to hazard an answer. - -They had wept those tears--those bitter tears--Lord Fotheringay said, -with solemn emphasis, because their thoughts went back to that village -home of theirs--the father, the mother, perhaps a sister--who could -tell? - -“Ah, my boy,” he continued, “‘’Mid pleasures and palaces’--‘’mid -pleasures and’--by the way, I looked in at the Rivoli Palace last night. -I heard that there was a woman at that place who did a new dance. I saw -it. A new dance! My dear boy, it wasn’t new when I saw it first, and -that’s--ah, never mind--it’s some years ago. I was greatly disappointed -with it. There’s nothing indecent in it--I will say that for it--but -there’s nothing enlivening. Ah, the old home of burlesque--the old -home--that’s what I was talking about--the Home--the sentiment of the -Home--” - -“Of burlesque?” suggested Harold. - -“Of the devil, sir,” said his father. “Don’t try to be clever; it’s -nearly as bad as being insolent. What about that girl--Helen Craven, I -mean? Have you seen her since you came to town? She’s here. She’ll be at -Ella’s next week. Perhaps it will be your last chance. Heavens above! -To think that a pauper like you should need to be urged to marry such a -girl! A girl with two hundred thousand pounds in cash--a girl belonging -to one of the best families in all--in all Birmingham. Harold, don’t be -a fool! Such a chance doesn’t come every day.” - -Just then Mrs Lampson entered the room and with her, her latest -discovery, the Coming Dramatist. - -Mrs Lampson was invariably making discoveries. But they were mostly -discoveries of quartz; they contained a certain proportion of gold, to -be sure; but when it came to the crushing, they did not yield enough of -the precious metal to pay the incidental expenses of the plant for the -working. - -She had discovered poets and poetesses--the latter by the score. She -had discovered at least one Genius in black and white--his genius being -testified by his refusal to work; and she had discovered a pianoforte -Genius--his genius being proved by the dishevelment of his hair. The -man who had the reputation for being the Greatest Living Atheist was a -welcome guest at her house, and the most ridiculous of living socialists -boasted of having dined at her table. - -She was foremost in every philanthropic movement, and wrote articles to -the magazines, lamenting the low tone of modern society in London. - -She also sneered (in private) at Lady Innisfail. Her latest discovery, -the Coming Dramatist, had had, he proudly declared, his plays returned -to him by the best managers in London, and by the one conscientious -manager in the United States--the last mentioned had not prepaid the -postage, he lamented. - -He was a fearful joy to cherish; but Mrs. Lampson listened to his -egotism at lunch, and tried to prevent her other guests from listening -to him. - -They would not understand him, she thought, and she did not make a -mistake in this matter. - -She got rid of him as soon as possible, and once more breathed freely. -He had not disgraced her--that was so much in his favour. The same could -not always be said of her discoveries. - -The Christian Dynamitard was, people said, the only gentleman who had -ever been introduced ta society by Mrs. Lampson. - -When Harold found his sister alone, he explained to her that it would -be impossible for him to join her party at Abbeylands--Mr. Lampson’s -Bracken-shire place--and his sister laughed and said she supposed that -he had something better on his hands. He assured her that he had nothing -better, only-- - -“There, there,” said she, “I don’t want you to invent an excuse. You -would only have met people whom you know.” - -“Of course,” said Harold, “you’re not foolish enough to ask your -discoveries down to shoot pheasants. I should like to see some of -them in a _battue_ with my best enemies. Yes, I’d hire a window, with -pleasure.” - -“Didn’t he behave well--the Coming Dramatist?” said she, earnestly. “You -cannot say he didn’t behave well--at least for a Coming Person.” - -“He behaved--wonderfully,” said Harold. “Good-bye.” - -She followed him to the door of the room--nay, outside. - -“By the bye,” said she, in a whisper; “do you know anything of a Miss -Avon?” - -“Miss Avon?” said Harold. “Miss Avon. Why, if she is the daughter of -Julius Anthony Avon, the historian, we met her at Castle Innisfail. Why -do you ask me, Ella?” - -“It is so funny,” said she. “Yesterday Mr. Airey called upon me, and -before he left he begged of me to call upon her, and even hinted--he has -got infinite tact--that she would make a charming addition to our party -at Abbeylands.” - -“Ah,” said Harold. - -“And just now papa has been whispering to me about this same Miss Avon. -He commanded me--papa has no tact--to invite her to join us for a week. -I wonder what that means.” - -“What what means?” - -“That--Mr. Airey and papa.” - -“Great Heaven! Ella, what should it mean, except that two men, for whom -we have had a nominal respect, have gone over to the majority of fools?” - -“Oh, is that all? I was afraid that--ah, good-bye.” - -“Good-bye.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI.--ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN OF THE WORLD. - -It was true then--what he had surmised was true! Edmund Airey had shown -himself to be actuated by a stronger impulse than a desire to assist -Helen Craven to realize her hopes--so much appeared perfectly plain to -Harold Wynne, as he strolled back to his rooms. - -He was now convinced that Edmund Airey was serious in his attitude in -respect of Beatrice. At Castle Innisfail he had been ready enough to -play the game with counters, on his side at least, as stakes, but now he -meant to play a serious game. - -Harold recalled what proofs he had already received, to justify his -arriving at this conclusion, and he felt that they were ample--he felt -that this conclusion was the only one possible to be arrived at by -anyone acquainted with all that had come under his notice. - -He was quite astounded to hear from his sister that Edmund Airey had -taken so extreme a step as to beg of her to call upon Beatrice, -and invite her to join the Abbeylands party. Whether or not he had -approached Mrs. Lampson in confidence on this matter, the fact of his -having approached her was, in some degree, compromising to himself, and -no one was better aware of this fact than Edmund Airey. He was not an -eager boy to give way to a passion without counting the cost. There was -no more subtle calculator of costs than Edmund Airey, and Harold knew -it. - -What, then, was left for Harold to infer? - -Nothing, except what he had already inferred. - -What then was left for him to do to checkmate the man who was menacing -him? - -He had lived so long in that world, the centre of which is situated -somewhere about Park Lane, and he had come to believe so thoroughly that -the leading characteristic of this world is worldliness, that he had -lost the capacity to trust anyone implicitly. He was unable to bring -himself to risk everything upon the chance of Beatrice’s loving him, in -the face of the worst that might occur. - -Thus it was that the little feeling of distrust which he experienced the -previous day remained with him. It did not increase, but it was there. -Now and again he could feel its cold finger upon his heart, and he knew -that it was there. - -He could not love with that blind, unreasoning, uncalculating love--that -love which knows only heaven and hell, not earth. That perfect love, -which casteth out distrust, was not the love of his world. - -And thus it was that he walked to his rooms, thinking by what means -he could bind that girl to him, so that she should be bound beyond the -possibility of chance, or craft, or worldliness coming between them. - -He had not arrived at any satisfactory conclusion on this subject when -he reached his rooms. - -He was surprised to find waiting for him Mr. Playdell, but he greeted -the man cordially--he had acquired a liking for him, for he perceived -that, with all his eccentricities--all his crude theories that he tried -to vivify by calling them principles, he was still acting faithfully -toward Archie Brown, and was preventing him from squandering hundreds of -pounds where Archie might have squandered thousands. - -“You are naturally surprised to see me, Mr. Wynne,” said Playdell. “I -dare say that most men would think that I had taken a liberty in making -an uninvited call like this.” - -“I, at any rate, think nothing of the sort, Mr. Playdell,” said Harold. - -“I am certain that you do not,” said Mr. Play-dell. “I am certain that -you are capable of doing me justice--yes, on some points.” - -“I hope that I am, Mr. Playdell.” - -“I know that you are, Mr. Wynne. You are not one of those silly persons, -wise in their own conceit, who wink at one another when my name is -mentioned, and suggest that the unfrocked priest is making a very fair -thing out of his young patron.” - -“I believe that your influence over him is wholly for good, Mr. -Playdell. If he were to allow you the income of a Bishop instead of -that of a Dean I believe that he would still save money--a great deal of -money--by having you near him.” - -“And you are in no way astray, Mr. Wynne. I was prepared for what people -would say when I accepted the situation that Archie offered me, but the -only stipulation that I made was that my accounts were to be audited by -a professional man, and monthly. Thus it is that I protect myself. Every -penny that I receive is accounted for.” - -“That is a very wise plan, Mr. Playdell, but--” - -“But it has nothing to do with my coming here to-day? That is what you -are too polite to say. You are right, Mr. Wynne. I have not come here to -talk about myself and my systems, but about our friend Archie. You have -great influence over him.” - -“I’m afraid I haven’t much. If I had, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him -that he is making an ass of himself.” - -“You have come to the point at once, Mr. Wynne.” - -Mr. Playdell had risen from his chair and was walking up and down the -room with his head bent. Now he stood opposite to Harold. - -“The point?” said Harold. - -“The point is that he is being robbed right and left through the medium -of the Legitimate Theatre, and a stop must be put to it,” said Playdell. - -“And you think that I should make the attempt to put a stop to this -foolishness of his? My dear Mr. Playdell, if I were to suggest to Archie -that he is making an ass of himself over this particular matter, I -should never have another chance of exercising my influence over him for -good or bad. I have always known that Mrs. Mowbray is one of the most -expensive tastes in England. But when the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray is -to be exploited with the beauty of the poetry of Shakespeare, and when -these gems are enclosed in so elaborate a setting as the Legitimate -Theatre--well, I suppose Archie’s millions will hold out. There’s a deal -of spending in three millions, Mr. Playdell.” - -“His millions will hold out,” said Mr. Playdell. “And so will he,” - laughed Harold. “I have known Mrs. Mowbray for several years, and she -has never ruined any man except her husband, and he is not worth talking -about. She has always liked young men with wealth so enormous that even -her powers of spending money can make no impression on it.” - -“Mr. Wynne, you can have no notion what that theatre has cost -Archie--what it is daily costing him. Eight hundred pounds a week -wouldn’t cover the net loss of that ridiculous business--that trailing -of Shakespeare in the mire, to gratify the vanity of a woman. I know -what men are when they are very young. If I were to talk to Archie -seriously on this subject, he would laugh at me; if he did not, he would -throw something at me. The result would be _nil_.” - -“Unless he was a good shot with a casual missile.” - -“Mr. Wynne, he would not listen to me; but he would listen to you--I -know that he would. You could talk to him with all the authority of a -man of the world--a man in Society.” - -“Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, shaking his head, “if there’s no fool like -the old fool, there’s no ass like the young ass. Now, I can assure you, -on the authority of a man of the world--you know what such an authority -is worth--that to try and detach Archie from his theatre nonsense just -now by means of a lecture, would be as impossible as to detach a limpet -from a rock by a sermon on--let us say--the flexibility of the marriage -bond.” - -“Alas! alas!” said Mr. Playdell. - -“The only way that Archie can be induced to throw over Mrs. Mowbray and -Shakespeare and suchlike follies, is by inducing him to form a stronger -attachment elsewhere.” - -“The last state of that man might be worse than the first, Mr. Wynne.” - -“Might--yes, it might be, but that is no reason why it should be. The -young ass takes to thistles, because it has never known the enjoyment of -a legitimate pasture.” - -“The legitimate pasture is some distance away from the Legitimate -Theatre, Mr. Wynne.” - -“I agree with you. Now, the thought has just occurred to me that I might -get Archie brought among decent people, for the first time in his life. -My sister, Mrs. Lampson, is having a party down at her husband’s place -in Brackenshire, for the pheasant-shooting. Why shouldn’t Archie be one -of the party? There are a number of decent men going, and decent women -also. None of the men will try to get the better of him.” - -“And the women will not try to make a fool of him?” - -“I won’t promise that--the world can’t cease to revolve on its axis -because Archie Brown has a tendency to giddiness.” - -Mr. Playdell was grave. Then he said, thoughtfully, “Whatever the women -may be, they can’t be of the stamp of Mrs. Mowbray.” - -“You may trust my sister for that. You may also trust her to see that -they are less beautiful than Mrs. Mowbray,” remarked Harold. - -Mr. Playdell pondered. - -“Pheasant-shooting is expensive in its way,” said he. “The preservation -of grouse runs away with a good deal of money also, I am told. Race -horses, it is generally understood, entail considerable outlay. Put -them all together, and you only come within measurable distance of -Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare as a pastime--with nothing to show for the -money--absolutely nothing to show for the money.” - -“Except Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare.” - -“Mr. Wynne, I believe that your kind suggestion may be the saving of -that lad,” said Playdell. - -“Oh, it’s the merest chance,” said Harold. “He may grow sick of the -whole business after the first _battue_.” - -“He won’t. I’ve known men saved from destruction by scoring a century in -a first-class cricket match: they gave themselves up to cricket, to the -exclusion of other games less healthy. If Archie takes kindly to the -pheasants, he may make up his mind to buy a place and preserve them. -That will be a healthy occupation for him. You will give him to -understand that it’s the proper thing to do, Mr. Wynne.” - -“You may depend upon me. I’ll write to my sister to invite him. It’s -only an experiment.” - -“It will succeed, Mr. Wynne--it will succeed, I feel that it will. If -you only knew, as I do, how he is being fooled, you would understand my -earnestness--you have long ago forgiven my intrusion. Give me a chance -of serving you in return, Mr. Wynne. That’s all I ask.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII.--ON THE DEFECTIVE LINK. - -HAROLD had a note written to Mrs. Lampson, begging her to invite his -friend, Mr. Archie Brown, to join her party at Abbeylands, almost before -Mr. Playdell had left the street. He knew that his sister would be very -glad to have Archie. All the world had a general notion of Archie’s -millions; and Abbeylands was one of those immense houses that can -accommodate a practically unlimited number of guests. The property -had been bought from a nobleman, who had been brought to the verge of -bankruptcy by trying to maintain it. Mr. Lampson, a patriotic American, -had come to his relief, and had taken the place off his hands. - -That is what all truly patriotic Americans do when they have an -opportunity. - -The new-world democracy comes to the rescue of the old-world -aristocracy, and thus a venerable institution is preserved from -annihilation. - -Harold posted his letter as he went out to dine with a man who was a -member of the Carlton Club, and zealous in heating up recruits for the -Conservative party. He thought that Harold might possibly be open to -conviction, not, of course, on the question of the righteousness of -certain principles, but on the question of the direction in which the -cat was about to jump. The jumping cat is the dominant power in modern -politics. - -Harold ate his dinner, and listened patiently to the man whose -acquaintance with the tendencies of every genus of the political _felis_ -was supposed to be extraordinary. He said little. Before he had gone to -Castle Innisfail the subject would have interested him greatly, but now -he thought that Archie Brown’s inanities were preferable to those of the -politician. - -He was just enough to acknowledge, however, that the cigar with which he -left the Carlton was as good a one as he had ever smoked. So that there -was some advantage in being a Conservative after all. - -He walked round St. James’s Square, for the night was warm and fine. His -mind was not conscious of having received anything during the previous -two hours upon which it would be profitable to ponder. He thought over -the question which he had put to himself previously--the question of how -he could bind Beatrice to him--how he could make her certainly his own, -and thus banish that cold distrust of which he now and again became -aware--no, it was not exactly distrust, it was only a slightly defective -link in the chain of complete trust. - -She loved him and she promised to love him. He reflected upon this, and -he asked himself what more could he want. What bond stronger than her -word could he desire to have? - -“Oh, I will trust her for ever--for ever,” he murmured. “If she is not -true, then there never was truth on earth.” - -He fancied that he had dismissed the matter from his mind with this -exorcism. - -And so he had. - -But it so happens that some persons are so constituted that there is but -the slenderest connection between their mind and their heart. Something -that appeals very forcibly to their mind will not touch their heart in -the least. They are Nature’s “sports.” - -Harold Wynne was one of these people. He had made up his mind that, on -the question of implicitly trusting Beatrice, nothing more remained to -be said. There was still, however, that cold finger upon his heart. - -But having made up his mind that nothing more remained to be said on the -question, he was logical enough--for logic is also a mental attribute, -though by no means universally distributed--to think of other matters. - -He began to think about Mr. Playdell, and his zeal for the reform of -Archie. Harold’s respect for Mr. Playdell had materially increased since -the morning. At first he had been inclined to look with suspicion upon -the man who had, by the machinery of the Church, been prohibited from -discharging the functions of a priest of that Church, though, of course, -he was free to exercise that unimportant function known as preaching. He -could not preach within a church, however. If he wished to try and save -souls by preaching, that was his own business. He would not do so with -the sanction of the Church. He was anxious to save the soul of Archie -Brown, at any rate. He assumed that Archie had a soul in embryo, ready -to be hatched, and it was clear to Harold that Mr. Playdell was anxious -to save it from being addled before it had pecked its way out of its -shell. Therefore Harold had a considerable respect for Mr. Playdell, -though he had been one of the unprofitable servants of the Church. - -He thought of the earnest words of the man--of the earnest way in which -he had begged to be given the chance of returning the service, which he -believed was about to be done to him by Harold. - -He had been greatly in earnest; but that fact only made his words the -more ridiculous. - -“What service could he possibly do me?” Harold thought, when he had -had his laugh, recalling the outstretched hand of Mr. Playdell, and his -eager eyes. “_What service could he possibly do me? What service?_” - -He was rooted to the pavement. The driver of a passing hansom pulled -up opposite him, taking the fact of his stopping so suddenly as an -indication that he wanted a hansom. - -He took no notice of the hansom, and it passed up the square. -He remained so long lost in thought, that his cigar, so strongly -impregnated with sound Conservative principles, went out like any -Radical weed, or the penny Pickwick of the Labour Processionist. - -He dropped the unsmoked end, and felt for his pocket-handkerchief. He -raised his hat and wiped his forehead. - -Then he took a stroll into Piccadilly and on to Knightsbridge. He went -down Sloane Street, and into Chelsea, returning by the Embankment to -Westminster--the clock was chiming the hour of 2 a.m. as he passed. - -But the same clock had struck three before he got into bed, and five -before he fell asleep. - - -END OF VOL. II. - - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -In Three Volumes--Volume III - -SIXTH EDITION - -London - -HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 PATERNOSTER ROW - -1893 - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII.--ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD. - -|SHORTLY after noon he was with her. He had left his rooms without -touching a morsel of breakfast, and it was plain that such sleep as -he had had could not have been of a soothing nature. He was pale and -haggard; and she seemed surprised--not frightened, however, for her -love was that which casteth out fear--at the way he came to her--with -outstretched hands which caught her own, as he said, “My beloved--my -beloved, I have a strange word for you--a strange proposal to make. -Dearest, can you trust me? Will you marry me--to-morrow--to-day?” - -She scarcely gave a start. He was only conscious of her hands tightening -upon his own. She kept her eyes fixed upon his. The silence was long. -It was made the more impressive by the distinctness with which the -jocularity of the fishmonger’s hoy with the cook at the area railings, -was heard in the room. - -“Harold,” she said, in a voice that had no trace of distrust, “Harold, -you are part of my life--all my life! When I said that I loved you, -I had given myself to you. I will marry you any time you -please--to-morrow--to-day--this moment!” - -She was in his arms, sobbing. - -His “God bless you, my darling!” sounded like a sob also. - -In a few moments she was laughing through her tears. - -He was not laughing. - -“Now, tell me what you mean, my beloved,” said she, with a hand on each -of his shoulders. - -“Tell me what you mean by coming to frighten me like this. What has -happened?” - -“Nothing has happened, only I want to feel that you are my own--my own -beyond the possibility of being separated from me by any power on earth. -I do not want to take you away from your father’s house--I cannot offer -you any home. It may be years before we can live together as those who -love one another as we love, may live with the good will of heaven. I -only want you to become my wife in name, dearest. Our marriage must be -kept a secret.” - -“But my own love,” said she, “why should you wish to go through this -ceremony? Are we not united by the true bond of love? Can we be more -closely united than we are now? The strength of the marriage bond -is only strong in proportion as the love which is the foundation of -marriage is strong. Now, why should you wish for the marriage rite -before we are prepared to live for ever under the same roof?” - -“Why, why?” he cried passionately, as he looked into the depths of her -eyes. - -He left her and went across the room to one of the windows and looked -out. (It was the greengrocer’s boy who was now jocular with the cook at -the area railings.) - -“My Beatrice--” Harold had returned to her from his scrutiny of the -pavement. “My Beatrice, you have not seen all that I have seen in the -world. You do not know--you do not know me as I know myself. Why should -there come to me sometimes an unworthy thought--no, not a doubt--oh, I -have seen so much of the world, Beatrice, I feel that if anything should -come between us it would kill me. I must--I must feel that we are made -one--that there is a bond binding us together that nothing can sever.” - -“But, my Harold--no, I will not interpose any buts. You would not ask -me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you know the -world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and knowing -you and loving you with all my heart--with all my soul--I trust you -implicitly--without a question--without the shadow of a doubt.” - -“God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to regret -loving me--trusting me.” - -“It is my life--it is my life, Harold.” - -Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer -with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure. - -“It must be to-morrow,” he said, returning to her. “I shall come here at -noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can part us. You will -still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God hasten the day when -you can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the world and call -yourself by my name.” - -“I shall be here at noon to-morrow,” said she. - -“Unless,” said he, returning to her after he had kissed her forehead and -had gone to the door. “Unless”--he framed her face with his hands, -and looked down into the depths of her eyes.--“Unless, when you have -thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot trust me.” - -She laughed. - -“Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world,” said he. - -He knew the world. - -Another man who knew the world was Pontius Pilate. - -This was why he asked “What is Truth?” - -Harold Wynne was in Archie Brown’s room in Piccadilly within half an -hour. - -Archie was at the Legitimate Theatre, Mr. Playdell said--Mr. Playdell -was seated at the dining-room table surrounded by papers. A trifling -difference of opinion had arisen between Mrs. Mowbray and her manager, -he added, and (with a smile) Archie had hurried to the theatre to set -matters right. - -“It is kind of you to call, Mr. Wynne,” continued Mr. Playdell. “But I -hope it is not to tell me that you regret the suggestion that you made -yesterday--that you do not see your way to write to your sister to -invite Archie to her place.” - -“I wrote to her the moment you left me,” said Harold. “Archie will -get his invitation this evening. It is not about him that I came here -to-day, Mr. Playdell. I came to see you. You asked me yesterday to -give you an opportunity of doing something for me. I can give you that -opportunity.” - -“And I promise you that I shall embrace it with gladness, Mr. Wynne,” - said Playdell, rising from the table. “Tell me how I can serve you and -you will find how ready I am.” - -“You still hold to your original principles regarding marriage, Mr. -Playdell?” - -“How could I do otherwise than hold to them, Mr. Wynne? They are the -result of thought; they are not merely a fad to gain notoriety. Let me -prove the position that I take up on this matter.” - -“You need not, Mr. Playdeil. I heard all your case when it was -published. I confess that I now think differently respecting you from -what I thought at that time. Will you perform the ceremony of marriage -between a lady who has promised to marry me and myself?” - -“There is only one condition that I make, Mr. Wynne. You must take an -oath that you consider the rite, as I perform it, to be binding upon -you, and that you will never recognize a divorce.” - -“I will take that oath willingly, Mr. Playdeil. I have promised my -_fiancée_ that we shall be with her at noon to-morrow. She will be -prepared for us. By the way, do you require a ring for the ceremony as -performed by you?” - -Mr. Playdeil looked grave--almost scandalized. - -“Mr. Wynne,” said he, “that question suggests to me a certain disbelief -on your part in the validity in the sight of heaven of the rite of -marriage as performed by a man with a full sense of his high office, -even though unfrocked by a Church that has always shown too great a -readiness to submit to secular guidance--secular restrictions in matters -that were originally, like marriage, purely spiritual. The Church -has not only submitted to civil restrictions in the matter of the -celebration of the holy rite of matrimony, but, while declaring at the -altar that God has joined them whom the Church has joined, and while -denying the authority of man to put them asunder, she recognizes the -validity of divorce. She will marry a man who has been divorced from -his wife, when he has duly paid the Archbishop a sum of money for -sanctioning what in the sight of God is adultery.” - -“My dear Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, “I recollect very clearly the able -manner in which you defended your--your--principles, when they were -called in question. I do not desire to call them in question now. I -believe in your sincerity in this matter and in other matters. I -shall drive here for you at half past eleven o’clock to-morrow. I need -scarcely say that I mean my marriage to be kept a secret.” - -“You may depend upon my good faith in that respect,” said Mr. Playdell. -“Mr. Wynne,” he added, impressively, “this land of ours will never be -a moral one so long as the Church is content to accept a Parliamentary -definition of morality. The Church ought certainly to know her own -business.” - -“There I quite agree with you,” said Harold. - -He refrained from asking Mr. Playdell if the Church, in dispensing with -his services as one of her priests, had not made an honest attempt to -vindicate her claims to know her own business. He merely said, “Half -past eleven to-morrow,” after shaking hands with Mr. Playdell, who -opened the door for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX.--ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - -|HAROLD WYNNE shut himself up in his rooms without even lunching. He -drew a chair in front of the fire and seated himself with the sigh of -relief that is given by a man who has taken a definite step in some -matter upon which he has been thinking deeply for some time. He sat -there all the day, gazing into the fire. - -Yes, he had taken the step that had suggested itself to him the previous -night. He had made up his mind to take advantage of the opportunity that -was afforded him of binding Beatrice to him by a bond which she at least -would believe incapable of rupture. The accident of his meeting with the -man whose views on the question of marriage had caused him to be thrust -out of the Church, and whose practices left him open to a criminal -prosecution, had suggested to him the means for binding to him the girl -whose truth he had no reason to doubt. - -He meant to perpetrate a fraud upon her. He had known of men entrapping -innocent girls by means of a mock marriage, and he had always regarded -such men as the most unscrupulous of scoundrels. He almost succeeded, -after a time, in quieting the whisperings by his conscience of the -word “fraud”--its irritating repetitions of this ugly word--by giving -prominence to the excellence of his intentions in the transaction which -he was contemplating. It was not a mock marriage--no, it was not, as -ordinary mock marriages, to be gone through in order to give a man -possession of the body of a woman, and to admit of his getting rid of -her when it would suit his convenience to do so. It was, he assured -his conscience, no mock marriage, since he was seeking it for no gross -purpose, but simply to banish the feeling of cold distrust which he had -now and again experienced. Had he not offered to free the girl from the -promise which she had given to him? Was that like the course which would -be adopted by a man endeavouring to take advantage of a girl by means -of a mock marriage? Was there anything on earth that he desired more -strongly than a real marriage with that same girl? There was nothing. -But it was, unfortunately, the case that a real marriage would mean ruin -to him; for he knew that his father would keep his word--when it suited -his own purpose--and refuse him his allowance upon the day that he -refused to sign a declaration to the effect that he was unmarried. - -The rite which Mr. Playdell had promised to perform between him and -Beatrice would enable him to sign the declaration with--well, with a -clear conscience. - -But in the meantime this same conscience continued gibing him upon his -defence of his conduct; asking him with an irritating sneer, if he would -mind explaining his position to the girl’s father?--if he was not simply -taking advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s life--of -the remarkable independence which she enjoyed, apparently with the -sanction of her father, to perpetrate a fraud upon her? - -For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound -argument--that is, argument that sounds well--and for general obstinacy, -there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in moderately -good working order. - -After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, -he sprang from his seat crying, “I’ll not do it--I’ll not do it!” - -He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the -words, “I’ll not do it--I’ll not do it!” - -In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote -a note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on -second thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an -equally short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be -advisable to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan -which he had suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into -its cover; but when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his -stamp-drawer was empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going -to his club to dine, and he knew that he could get stamps from the -hall-porter. - -He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on -entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe -conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary. - -At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. -He brightened up at the appearance of Harold. - -“I’ve just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to dine with -me,” he cried. - -“I’m sorry that I can’t congratulate you upon finding one,” said Harold. - -“Then I congratulate myself,” said Mr. Durdan, brightly. “You’re the -most companionable man that I know in town at present.” - -“Ah, then you’re not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is here just -now,” said Harold with a shrewd laugh. - -“Edmund Airey? Edmund Airey?” said Mr. Durdan. “Let me tell you that -your friend Edmund Airey is----” - -“Don’t say it in the open air,” said Harold. - -“Come inside and make the revelation to me.” - -“Then you will dine with me? Good! My dear fellow, my medical man has -warned me times without number of the evil of dining alone, or with a -newspaper--even the _Telegraph_. It’s the beginning of dyspepsia, he -says; so I wait at the door any time I am dining here until I get hold -of the right man.” - -“If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you’re -afraid of, you may reckon upon my services,” said Harold. “But to tell -you the truth, I’m a bit down myself to-night.” - -“What’s the matter with you--nothing serious?” said Mr. Durdan. - -“I’ve been working out some matters,” said Harold. - -“I know what’s the matter with you,” said the other. “That friend of -yours has been trying to secure you for the Government, and you were too -straightforward to be entrapped? Airey is a clever man--I don’t deny his -cleverness for a moment. Oh, yes; Mr. Airey is a very clever man.” It -seemed that he was now levelling an accusation against Mr. Airey that -his best friends would find difficulty in repudiating. “Yes, but you and -I, Wynne, are not to be caught by a phrase. The moment he fancied that I -was attracted to her--I say, fancied, mind--and that he fancied--it may -have been the merest fancy--that she was not altogether indifferent to -me, he forced himself forward, and I have good reason to believe that he -is now in town solely on her account. I give you my word, Wynne, I never -spoke a sentence to Miss Avon that all the world mightn’t hear. Oh, -there’s nothing so contemptible as a man like Airey--a fellow who is -attracted to a girl only when he sees that she is attracting other men. -Yes, I met a man yesterday who told me that Airey was in town. ‘Why -should he be in town now?’ I inquired. ‘There’s nothing going on in -town.’ He winked and said, ‘_cherchez la femme_’--he did upon my word. -Oh, the days of the Government are numbered. Will you try Chablis or -Sauterne?” - -Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis. - -For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan’s -prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of -Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any -stamps. - -He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night. - -Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat -the two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small -pieces. - -With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling -of distrust. - -Yes, he would make sure of her. - -He unlocked one of the drawers in his writing-table and brought out -a small _boule_ case. When he had found--not without a good deal of -searching--the right key for the box, he opened it. It contained an -ivory miniature of his mother, in a Venetian mounting, a few jewels, and -two small rings. One of them was set with a fine chrysoprase cameo of -Eros, and surrounded by rubies. The other was an old _in memoriam_ ring. - -He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time, -slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept -turning it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and -relocked the box and the drawer. - -“It will be hers,” he said. “Would I use my mother’s ring for this -ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud--if I meant to take advantage of it -to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with her, so may God deal -with me when my hour comes.” It was a ring that had been left to him -with a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had now chosen it for -the ceremony which was to be performed the next day. - -Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence -the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument -had done. - -The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after -noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had -been repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once -been a priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, -did not consider the rite a mockery. - -Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a -dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell -forward until his face was buried in his hands. - -It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial. - -Her hand--his mother’s ring was upon the third finger--was upon his -head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, “My husband--my -husband--I shall be a true wife to you for ever and ever. We shall live -trusting one another for ever, my beloved!” - -They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands -for a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head -against his. - -In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him, -looking into her eyes. - -“Oh, my love, my love,” he cried. “What am I that you should have given -to me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I should have asked -you to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as yours, Beatrice? -Was there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive me, Beatrice?” - -“Only once,” said she, “I felt that--I scarcely know what I felt, -dear--I think it was that your hurrying on our marriage showed--was it a -want of trust?” - -“I was a fool--a fool!” he said bitterly. “The temptation to bind you to -me was too great to be resisted. But now--oh, Beatrice, I will give up -my life to make you happy!” - - - - -CHAPTER XL.--ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. - -|THE next afternoon when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with -two letters in her hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, -letting her know that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least -a fortnight longer; the second was from Mrs. Lampson--she had paid -Beatrice a ten minutes’ visit the previous day--inviting her to stay for -a week at Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday. - -“What am I to do in the matter, my husband--you see how quickly I have -come to recognize your authority?” she cried, while he glanced at his -sister’s invitation. - -“My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and -other matters, by pleasing yourself,” said he. - -“No,” said she. “I will only do what you advise me. That, you should see -as a husband--I see it clearly as a wife--will give me a capital chance -of throwing the blame on you in case of any disappointment. Oh, yes, you -may be certain that if I go anywhere on your recommendation and fail to -enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at your door. That’s the way -with wives, is it not?” - -“I can’t say,” said he. “I’ve never had one from whom to get any hints -that would enable me to form an opinion.” - -“Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to -please myself?” said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was -extremely charming. - -“I’ve seen other men’s wives now and again,” said he. “It was a great -privilege.” - -“And they pleased themselves?” - -“They did not please me, at any rate. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go -down to my sister’s place next week. You should enjoy yourself.” - -“You will be there?” - -He shook his head. - -“I was to have been there,” said he; “but when I promised to go I had -not met you. When I found that you were to be in town, I told Ella, my -sister, that it was impossible for me to join her party.” - -“Of course that decides the matter,” said she. “I must remain here, -unless you change your mind and go to Abbeylands.” - -He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where -she was opening the old mahogany escritoire. - -“I particularly want you to go to my sister’s,” he said. “A reason has -just occurred to me--a very strong reason, why you should accept the -invitation, especially as I shall not be there.” - -“Oh, no,” said she, “I could not go without you.” - -“My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean to -be so graceful an exponent?” said he, standing behind her with a hand on -each of her shoulders. “The fact is, dearest, that far more than you -can imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to throw -people--my relations in particular--off the notion that something came -of our meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go to Abbeylands -while it was known that I had excused myself, you can understand what -the effect would be.” - -“The effect, so far as I’m concerned, would be that I should be -miserable, all the time I was away from you.” - -“The effect would be, that those people who may have been joining our -names together, would feel that they have been a little too precipitate -in their conclusions.” - -“That seems a very small result for so much self-sacrifice on our part, -Harold.” - -“It’s not so small as it may seem to you. I see now how important -it would be to me--to both of us--if you were to go for a week to -Abbeylands while I remain in town.” - -“Then of course I’ll go. Yes, dear; I told you that I would trust you -for ever. I placed all my trust in you yesterday. How many people would -condemn me for marrying you in such indecent haste--that is what they -would call it--and without a word of consultation with my father either? -When I showed my trust in you at that time--the most important in -my life--you may, I think, have confidence that I will trust you in -everything. Yes, I’ll go.” - -He had turned away from her. How could he face her when she was talking -in this way about her trust in him? - -“There has never been trust like yours, my beloved,” said he, after a -pause. “You will never regret it for a moment, my love--never, never!” - -“I know it--I know it,” said she. - -“The fact is, Beatrice,” said he, after another pause, “my relatives -think that if I were to marry Helen Craven I should be doing a -remarkably good stroke of business. They were right: it would be a good -stroke--of business.” - -“How odd,” cried Beatrice. She had become thoroughly interested. “I -never thought of such a possibility at Castle Innisfail. She is nice, I -think; only she does not know how to dress.” - -In an instant there came to his memory Mrs. Mowbray’s cynical words -regarding the extent of a woman’s forgiveness. - -“The question of being nice or of dressing well does not make any -difference so far as my friends are concerned,” said he. “All that is -certain is that Helen Craven has several thousands of pounds a year, and -they think that I should be satisfied with that.” - -“And so you should,” she cried, with the light of triumph in her eyes. -“I wonder if Mr. Airey knew what the wishes of your relatives were in -this matter. I should like to know that, because I now recollect that -he suggested something in that way when we talked together about you one -evening at the Castle.” - -“Edmund Airey gave me the strongest possible advice on the subject,” - said Harold. “Yes, he advised me to ask Helen Craven to be my wife. More -than that--I only learnt it a few days ago--so soon as you appeared at -the Castle, and he saw--he sees things very quickly--that I was in love -with you, he thought that if he were to interest you greatly, and -that if you found out that he was wealthy and distinguished, you might -possibly decline to fall in love with me, and so----” - -“And so fall in love with him?” she cried, starting up from her chair -at the desk. “I see now all that he meant. He meant that I should be -interested in him--I was, too, greatly interested in him--and that I -should be attracted to him, and away from you. But all the time he had -no intention of allowing himself to be attracted by me to the point -of ever asking me to marry him. In short, he was amusing himself at my -expense. Oh, I see it all now. I must confess that, now and again, I -wondered what Mr. Airey meant by placing himself so frequently by my -side. I felt flattered--I admit that I felt flattered. Can you imagine -anything so cruel as the purpose that he set himself to accomplish?” - -Her face had become pale. This only gave emphasis to the flashing of her -eyes. She was in a passion of indignation. - -“Edmund Airey and his tricks were defeated,” said Harold in a low voice. -“Yes, we have got the better of him, Beatrice, so much is certain.” - -“But the cruelty of it--the cruelty--oh, what does it matter now?” she -cried. Then her paleness vanished into a delicate roseate flush, as she -gave a laugh, and said, “After all, I believe that my indignation is due -only to my wounded vanity. Yes, all girls are alike, Harold. Our vanity -is our dominant quality.” - -“It is not so with you, Beatrice,” he said. “I know you truly, my dear. -I know that you would be as indignant if you heard of the same trickery -being carried on in respect of another girl.” - -“I would--I know I would,” she cried. “But what does it matter? As you -say, I--we--have defeated this Mr. Airey, so that my vanity at least can -find sweet consolation in reflecting that we have been cleverer than he -was. I don’t suppose that he could imagine anyone existing cleverer than -himself.” - -“Yes, I think that we have got the better of him,” said Harold. He was -a little surprised to find that she felt so strongly on the subject of -Edmund’s attitude in regard to herself. He did not think it wise to tell -her that that attitude was due to the timely suggestion of Helen. He -could not bring himself to do so. He felt that his doing so would be -to place himself on a level with the man who gives his wife during the -first year of their married life, a circumstantial account of the -many wealthy and beautiful young women who were anxious--to a point of -distraction--to marry him. - -He felt that there was no need for him to say anything about Helen--he -almost wished that he had said nothing about Edmund. - -“We got the better of him,” he said a second time. “Never mind Edmund -Airey. You must go to Abbeylands and amuse yourself. You will most -likely meet with Archie Brown there. Archie is the plainest looking and -probably the richest man of his age in England. He is to be made the -subject of an experiment at Abbeylands.” - -“Is he to be vivisected?” said she. She was now neither pale nor -roseate. She was herself once more. - -“There’s no need to vivisect poor Archie,” said he. “Everyone knows that -there’s nothing particular about Archie. No; we are merely trying a new -cure for him. He has not been in a very healthy state lately.” - -“If he is delicate, I suppose he will be thrown a good deal with us--the -females, the incapables--while the pheasant-shooting is going on.” - -“You will see how matters are managed at Abbeylands,” said Harold. “If -you find that Archie is attracted toward any girl who is distinctly -nice, you might--how does a girl assist her weaker sister to make up her -mind to look with friendly eyes upon such a one as Archie?” - -“Let me see,” said she. “Wouldn’t the best way be for girl number one to -look with friendly eyes on him herself?” - -Harold lay back on his chair and laughed at first; then he gazed at her -in wonder. - -“You are cleverer than Edmund Airey and Helen Craven when they combine -their wisdom,” said he. “Your woman’s instinct is worth more than their -experience.” - -“I never knew what the instincts of a woman were before this morning,” - said she. “I never felt that I had any need to exercise the instinct -of defence. I suppose the young seal, though it has never been in the -water, jumps in by instinct should it be attacked. Oh, yes, I dare say I -could swim as well as most girls of my age.” - -It was only when he had returned to his rooms that he fully comprehended -the force of her parable of the young seal. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI.--ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS. - -|THE next morning Archie drove one of his many machines round to -Harold’s rooms and broke in upon him before he had finished his -breakfast. - -“Hallo, my tarty chip,” cried Archie; “what’s the meaning of this?” - -He threw on the table an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting of -Mrs. Lampson. - -“What’s the meaning of what?” said Harold. “Have you got beyond the -restraint of Mr. Playdell alcoholically, that you ask me what’s the -meaning of that envelope?” - -“I mean what does the inside mean?” said Archie. - -“I’m sure you know better than I do, if you’ve read what’s inside it.” - -“Oh, you’re like one of the tarty chips in the courts that cross-examine -other tarty chips until their faces are blue,” said Archie. “There’s -no show for that sort of thing here. So just open the envelope and see -what’s inside.” - -“How can I do that and eat my kidneys?” said Harold. “I wish to heavens -you wouldn’t come here bothering me when I’m trying to get through a -tough kidney and a tougher leading article. What’s the matter with the -letter, Archie, my lad?” - -“It’s all right,” said Archie. “It’s an invite from your sister for -a big shoot at Abbeylands. What does it mean--that’s what I’d like to -know? Does it mean that decent people are going to make me the apple of -their eye, after all?” - -“I don’t think it goes quite so far as that,” said Harold. “I expect it -means that my sister has come to the end of her discoveries and she’s -forced to fall back on you.” - -“Oh, is that all?” Archie looked disappointed. “All? Isn’t it enough?” - said Harold. “Why, you’re in luck if you let her discover you. I knew -that her atheists couldn’t hold out. She used them up too quickly. One -should he economical of one’s genuine atheists nowadays.” - -“Great Godfrey! does she take me for an atheist?” shouted Archie. - -“Did you ever hear of an atheist shooting pheasants?” said Harold. “Not -likely. An atheist is a man that does nothing except talk, and talks -about nothing except himself. Now, you’re asked to the shoot, aren’t -you?” - -“That’s in the invite anyway.” - -“Of course. And that shows that you’re not taken for an atheist.” - -“I’m glad of that. I draw the line at atheism,” Archie replied with a -smile. - -“I hope you’ll have a good time among the pheasants.” - -“Do you suppose that I’ll go?” - -“I’m sure you will. I may have thought you a bit of a fool before I came -to know you, Archie--” - -“And since you heard that I had taken the Legitimate.” - -“Well, yes, even after that masterpiece of astuteness. But I would never -think that you’d be fool enough to throw away this chance.” - -“Chance--chance of what?” - -“Of getting among decent people. I told you that my sister has nothing -but decent people when there’s a shoot--there’s no Coming Man in -anything among the house-party. Yes, it’s sure to be comfortable. It’s -the very thing for you.” - -“Is it? I’m not so certain about it. The people there are pretty sure to -allude in a friendly spirit to my red hair.” - -“Well, yes, I think you may depend upon that. That means that you’ll get -on so well among them that they will take an interest in your -personality. If you get on particularly well with them they may even -allude to the simplicity of your mug. If they do that, you may be -certain that you are a great social success.” - -Archie mused. - -It was in this musing spirit that he took in a contemplative way a lump -of sugar out of the sugar bowl, turned it over between his fingers as -though it was something altogether new to him. Then he threw the lump up -to the ceiling, his face became one mouth, and the sugar disappeared. - -“I think I’ll go,” he said, as he crunched the lump. “Yes, I’ll be -hanged if I don’t go.” - -“That’s more than probable,” said Harold. - -“Yes, I’d like to clear off for a bit from this kennel.” - -“What kennel?” - -“This kennel--London. Do you go the length of denying that London’s a -kennel?” - -“I don’t do anything of the sort.” - -“You’d best not. I was thinking if a run to Australia, or California, or -Timbuctoo would not be healthy just now.” - -“Oh.” - -“Yes, I made up my mind yesterday, that if I don’t have better hands -soon, I’ll chuck up the whole game. That’s the sort of new potatoes that -I am.” - -“The Legitimate?” - -“The Legitimate be frizzled! Am I to continue paying for the suppers -that other tarty chips eat? That’s what I want you to tell me. You know -what a square deal is, Wynne, as well as most people.” - -“I believe I do.” - -“Well, then, you can tell me if I’m to pay for dry champagne for her -guests.” - -“Whose guests?” - -“Great Godfrey! haven’t I been telling you? Mrs. Mowbray’s guests. Who -else’s would they be? Do you mean to tell me that, in addition to giving -people free boxes at the Legitimate every night to see W. S. late of -Stratford upon Avon, it’s my business to supply dry champagne all round -after the performance?” - -“Well,” said Harold, “to speak candidly to you, I’ve always been of -the opinion that the ideal proprietor of a theatre is one who supplies -really comfortable stalls free, and has really sound champagne handed -round at intervals during the performance. I also frankly admit that -I haven’t yet met with any manager who quite realized my ideas in this -matter. Archie, my lad, the sooner you get down to Abbeylands the better -it will be for yourself.” - -“I’ll go. Mind you, I don’t cry off when I know the chaps that she asks -to supper--I’ll flutter the dimes for anyone I know; but I’m hanged if -I do it for the chaps that chip in on her invite. They’ll not draw cards -from my pack, Wynne. No, I’ll see them in the port of Hull first. That’s -the sort of new potatoes that I am.” - -“Give me your hand, Archie,” cried Harold. “I always thought you nothing -better than a millionaire, but I find that you’re a man after all.” - -“I’ll make things hum at the Legitimate yet,” said Archie--his voice was -fast approaching the shouting stage. “I’ll send them waltzing round. I -thought once upon a time that, when she laid her hand upon my head -and said, ‘Poor old Archie,’ I could go on for ever--that to see the -decimals fluttering about her would be the loveliest sight on earth -for the rest of my life. But I’m tired of that show now, Wynne. Great -Godfrey! I can get my hair smoothed down at a barber’s for sixpence, and -yet I believe that she charged me a thousand pounds for every time she -patted my head. A decimal for a pat--a pat!” - -“You could buy the whole Irish nation for less money, according to some -people’s ideas--but they’re wrong,” said Harold. - -“Wynne,” said Archie, solemnly. “I’ve been going it blind for some time. -Shakespeare’s a fraud. I’ll shoot those pheasants.” - -He had picked up his hat, and in another minute Harold saw him sending -his pair of chestnuts down the street at a pace that showed a creditable -amount of self-restraint on the part of Archie. - -Three days afterwards Harold got a letter from Mrs. Lampson, giving him -a number of commissions to execute for her--delicate matters that could -not be intrusted to any one except a confidential agent. The postscript -mentioned that Archie Brown had arrived a few days before and had -charmed every one with his shyness. On this account she could scarcely -believe, she said, that he was a millionaire. She added that Lady -Innisfail and her daughter had just arrived at Abbeylands, that the Miss -Avon about whom she had inquired, had accepted her invitation and was -coming to Abbeylands on the next day; and finally, Mrs. Lampson said -that her father was dull enough to make people believe that he was -really reformed. He was inquiring when Miss Avon was coming, and he -shared the fate of all men (and women) who were unfortunate enough to -be reformed: he had become deadly dull. Lady Innisfail had assured her, -however, that it was very rarely that a Hardened Reprobate permanently -reformed--even with the incentive of acute rheumatism--before he was -sixty-five, so that it would be unwise to be despondent about -Lord Fotheringay. If this was so--and Lady Innisfail was surely an -authority--Mrs. Lampson said that she looked forward to such a lapse on -the part of her father as would restore him to the position of interest -which he had always occupied in the eyes of the world. - -Harold lay back in his chair and laughed heartily at the reference made -by his sister to the shyness of Archie, and also to the fact of Norah -Innisfail’s sitting at the table with the Young Reprobate as well as the -Old. He wondered if the conversation had yet turned upon the management -of the Legitimate Theatre. - -It was after he had lunched on the next Tuesday that Harold received -this letter--written by his sister the previous day. He had passed -an hour with Beatrice, who was to start by the four-twenty train for -Abbeylands station. He had said goodbye to her for a week, and already -he was feeling so lonely that he was soon pacing his room calling -himself a fool for having elected to remain in town while she was to go. - -He thought how they might have had countless strolls through the fine -park at Abbeylands--through the picturesque ruins of the old Abbey--on -the banks of the little trout stream. Instead of being by her side among -those interesting scenes, he would have to remain--he had been foolish -enough to make the choice--in the neighbourhood of nothing more joyous -than St. James’s Palace. - -This was bad enough; but not merely would he be away from the landscapes -at Abbeylands, the elements of life in those landscapes would be -represented by Beatrice and Another. - -Yes; she would certainly appear with someone at her side--in the place -he might have occupied if he had not been such a fool. - -An hour had passed before he had got the better of his impulse to call -a hansom and drive to the railway terminus and take a seat beside her in -the train. When the clock had struck four, and it was therefore too late -for him to entertain the idea of going with her, he became more inclined -to take a reasonable view of the situation. - -“I was right.” he said, as he seated himself in front of the fire, -and stared into the smouldering coals. “Yes, I was right. No one must -suspect that we are--bound to one another”--the words were susceptible -of a sufficiently liberal interpretation. “The penetration of Edmund -Airey will be at fault for the first time, and the others who had so -many suspicions at Castle Innisfail, will find themselves completely at -fault.” - -He began to think how, though he had been cruelly dealt with by Fate in -some respects--in respect of his own father, for instance, and also in -respect of his own poverty--he had still much to be thankful for. - -He was beloved by the loveliest woman whom he had ever seen--the only -woman for whom he had ever felt a passion. And the peculiar position -which she occupied, had enabled him to see her every day and to kiss her -exquisite face--there was none to make him afraid. Such obstacles in the -way of a lover’s freedom as the Average Father, the Vigilant Mother -and the Athletic Brother he had never encountered. And then a curious -circumstance--the thought of Beatrice as a part of the landscapes around -Abbeylands caused him to lay special emphasis upon this--had enabled him -to bind the girl to him with a bond which in her eyes at least--yes, in -his eyes too, by heaven, he felt--was not susceptible of being loosened. - -Yes, the ways of Providence were wonderful, he felt. If he had not met -Mr. Playdell.... and so forth. - -But now Beatrice was his own. She might stray through the autumn -woods by the side of Edmund Airey or any man whom she might meet at -Abbeylands; she would feel upon her finger the ring that he had placed -there--the ring that---- - -He sprang to his feet with a sudden cry. - -“Good God! the Ring! the Ring!” - -He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It pointed to four-seventeen. - -He pulled out his watch. It pointed to four-twenty-two. - -He rushed to the sofa where an overcoat was lying. He had it on him in a -moment. He snatched up a railway guide and stuffed it into his pocket. - -In another minute he was in a hansom, driving as fast as the hansomeer -thought consistent with public safety--a trifle over that which the -police authorities thought consistent with public safety--in the -direction of the Northern Railway terminus. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII.--ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - -|HE tried, while in the hansom, to unravel the mysteries of the system -by which passengers were supposed to reach Brackenshire. He found the -four-twenty train from London indicated in its proper order. This was -the train by which he had invariably travelled to Abbeylands--it was the -last train in the day that carried passengers to Abbeylands Station, for -the station was on a short branch line, the junction being Mowern. - -On reaching the terminus he lost no time in finding a responsible -official--one whose chastely-braided uniform looked repressful of tips. - -“I want to get to Mowern Junction before the four-twenty train from here -goes on to Abbeylands. Can I do it?” said Harold. - -“Next train to the Junction five-thirty-two, sir,” said the official. - -“That’s too late for me,” said Harold. “The train leaves the Junction -for Abbeylands a quarter of an hour after arriving at Mowern. Is there -no local train that I might manage to catch that would bring me to the -Junction?” - -“None that would serve your purpose, sir.” - -Harold clearly saw how it was that this company could never get their -dividend over four per cent. - -“Why is there so long a wait at Mowern?” he asked. - -“Waits for Ditchford Mail, sir.” - -“And at what time does a train start for Ditch-ford?” - -“Can’t tell, sir. Ditchford is on the Nethershire system--they have -running powers over our line to Mowern.” - -Harold whipped out his guide, and found Ditch-ford in the index. By an -inspiration he turned at once to the page devoted to the Nethershire -service of trains. He found that, by an exquisite system of timing the -trains, it was possible to reach a station a mile from Ditchford on the -one line, just six minutes after the departure of the last local train -to Ditchford on the other line. It took a little ingenuity, no doubt, -on the part of the Directors of both lines to accomplish this, but still -they managed to do it. - -“I beg pardon, sir,” said an official wearing a uniform that suggested -tolerance of views in the matter of tips--the more important official -had moved away. “I beg pardon, sir. Why not take the four-fifty-five -to Mindon, and change into the Ditchford local train--that’ll reach the -junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was -stationed at change into the Ditchford local train--that’ll reach the -junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was -stationed at that part of the system.” - -To glance at the clock, and to perceive that he had time enough to drive -to the Nethershire terminus, and to transfer a coin to the unconscious -but not reluctant hand of the official of the liberal views, occupied -Harold but a moment. At four-fifty-five he was in the Nethershire train -on his way to Mindon. - -He had not waited to verify the man’s statement as to the trains, but -in the railway carriage he did so, and he found that the beautiful -complications of the two systems were at least susceptible of the -interpretation put on them. - -For the next two hours Harold felt that he could devote himself, if -he had the mind, to the problem of the ring that had been so suddenly -suggested to him. - -It did not require him to spend more than the merest fraction of this -time in order to convince him that the impulse upon which he had acted, -was one that he would have been a fool to repress. - -The ring which he had put on her finger, and which she had worn -since, and would most certainly wear--he had imagined her doing so--at -Abbeylands, could not fail to be recognized both by his father and his -sister. It had belonged to his mother, and it was unique. It had flashed -upon him suddenly that, unless he was content that his father and sister -should learn that he had given her that ring, it would be necessary for -him to prevent Beatrice from wearing it even for an hour at Abbeylands. - -Apart altogether from the question of the circumstances under which he -had put the ring upon her finger--circumstances which he had good reason -for desiring to conceal--the fact that he had given to her the object -which he valued most highly in the world, and which his father and -sister knew that he so valued, would suggest to both these persons as -much as would ruin him. - -His father would, he knew, be extremely glad to discover some pretext to -cut off the last penny of his allowance; and assuredly he would regard -this gift of the ring as an ample pretext for adopting such a course of -action. Indeed, Lord Fotheringay had never been at a loss for a pretext -for reducing his son’s allowance; and now that he was posing--with -but indifferent success, as Harold had learned from Mrs. Lampson’s -postscript--as a Reformed Sinner, he would, his son knew, think that, -in cutting off his son’s allowance, he was only acting consistently with -the traditions of Reformed Sinners. - -The Reformed Sinner is usually a sinner whose capacity to enjoy the -pleasures of sin has become dulled, and thus he is intolerant of the -sins of others, and particularly intolerant of the capacity of others to -enjoy sin. This is why he reduces the allowances of his children. Like -the man who advances to the position of teetotal lecturer, after having -served for some time as the teetotal lecturer’s Example, he knows all -about the evil which he means to combat--to be more exact, which he -means his children to combat. - -All this Harold knew perfectly well. He knew that the only difference -that the reform of his father would make to him, was that, while his -father had formerly cut down his allowance with a courteously worded -apology, he would now stop it altogether without an apology. - -How could he have failed to remember, when he put that ring upon her -finger, how great were the chances that it would be seen there by his -father or his sister? - -This was the question which occupied his thoughts for the first hour -of his journey. He lay back looking out on the gray October landscapes -through which the train rushed--the wood glowing in crimson and brown -like a mighty smouldering furnace--the groups of children picking -blackberries on the embankments--the canal boat moving slowly along the -gray waterway--and he asked himself how he had been such a fool as to -overlook the likelihood of the ring being seen on her hand by his father -or his sister. - -The truth was, that he had at that time not considered the possibility -of her going to Abbey-lands. He knew that Mrs. Lampson intended inviting -her; but he felt certain that, when she heard that he was not going, she -would not accept the invitation. She would not have accepted it, if it -had not suddenly occurred to him that the fact of her going while he -remained in town would be to his advantage. - -Would he be in time to prevent the disaster which he foresaw would occur -if she appeared in the drawing-room at Abbeylands wearing the ring? - -He looked at his watch. The train was three minutes late in reaching -several of the stations on its route, and it was delayed for another -three minutes when there was only a single line of rails. How would -it be possible for the train to make up so great a loss during the -remainder of the journey? - -He reminded the guard at one of many intolerable stoppages, that the -train was long behind its time. The guard could not agree with him, it -was only about seven minutes late, he assured Harold. - -On it went, and it seemed as if the engine-driver had a clearer sense of -his responsibilities than the guard, for during the next thirty miles, -he managed to save over two minutes. All this Harold noticed with more -interest than he had ever taken in the details of any railway journey. - -When at last Mindon was reached, and he left the train to change into -the one which was to carry him on to the Junction, he found that this -train had not yet come up. Here was another point to be considered. -Would the train come up in time? - -He was not left for long in suspense. The long row of lighted carriages -ran up to the platform before he had been waiting for two minutes, and -in another two minutes the train was steaming away with him. - -He looked at his watch once more, and then he was able to give himself -a rest, for he saw that unless some accident were to happen, he would be -at Mowern Junction before the train should leave for Abbeylands Station -on the branch line. - -In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the -branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of -one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice. - -The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment -and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it. - -“Harold! How on earth--” she began. - -“I have a rather important message for you,” he said. “Will you take a -turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The train does -not start for six minutes.” - -She was out of the carriage in a moment. “Mr. Wynne has a message for -me--it is probably from Mrs. Lampson,” she said to her maid, who was in -the same compartment. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII.--ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - -|WHAT can be the matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have -travelled by the same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am -so glad to see you. You have changed your mind--you are coming on with -me? Oh, I see it all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful -surprise.” - -The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm--he -could feel the ring on her finger. - -“No, no,” said he; “everything remains as it was this morning. I only -wish that I were going on with you. Providentially something occurred to -me when I was sitting alone after lunch. That is why I came. I managed -to catch a train that brought me here just now--the train I was in ran -past this platform and I saw your face.” - -“What can have occurred to you that you could not tell me in a letter?” - she asked, her face still bearing the look of glad surprise that had -come to it when she had heard the sound of his voice. - -“We shall have to go into a waiting-room, or--better still--an empty -carriage,” said he. “I see several men whom I know, and--worse luck! -women--they are on their way to Abbeylands, and if they saw us together -in this confidential way, they would never cease chattering when they -arrived. We shall get into a compartment--there is one that still -remains unlighted, it will be the best for our purpose; there will be no -chance of a prying face appearing at the window.” - -“Shall we have time?” she asked. - -“Plenty of time. By getting into the carriage you will run no chance of -being left behind--the worst that can happen is that I may be carried on -with you.” - -“The worst? Oh, that is the best--the best.” They had strolled to the -end of the platform where it was dimly lighted, and in an instant, -apparently unobserved by anyone, they had got into an unlighted -compartment at the rear of the train, and Harold shut the door -quietly, so as not to attract the attention of the three or four men in -knickerbockers who were stretching their legs on the platform until the -train was ready to start. - -“We are fortunate,” said he. “Those men outside will be your -fellow-guests for the week. None of them will think of glancing into -a dark carriage; but if one of them does so, he will be nothing the -wiser.” - -“And now--and now,” she cried. - -“And now, my dearest, you remember the ring that I put upon your -finger?” - -“This ring? Do you think it likely that I have forgotten it already?” - she whispered. - -“No, no, dearest; it was I who forgot it,” he said. “It was I who forgot -that my father and my sister are perfectly certain to recognize that -ring if you wear it at Abbeylands: they will be certain to see it on -your linger, and they will question you as to how it came into your -possession.” - -“Of course they will,” she said, after a pause. “You told me that it was -a ring that belonged to your mother. There can only be one such ring in -the world. Oh, they could not fail to recognize it. The little chubby -wicked Eros surrounded by the rubies--I have looked at the design every -day--every night--sometimes the firelight gleaming upon the circle of -rubies has made them seem to me a band of blood. Was that the idea of -the artist who made the design, I wonder--a circle of blood with the god -Eros in the centre.” - -She had taken off her glove, and had laid the hand with the ring in one -of his hands. - -He had never felt her hand so soft and warm before. His hand became -hot through holding hers. His heart was beating as it had never beaten -before. - -The force of his grasp pressed the sharply cut cameo into his flesh. The -image of that wicked little god, the son of Aphrodite, was stamped upon -him. It seemed as if some of his blood would mingle with the blood that -sparkled and beat within the heart of the rubies. - -He had forgotten the object of his mission to her. Still holding her -hand with the ring, he put his arm under the sealskin coat that reached -to her feet, and held her close to him while he kissed her as he had -never before kissed her. - -Suddenly he seemed to recollect why he was with her. He had not hastened -down from London for the sake of the kiss. - -“My beloved, my beloved!” he murmured--each word sounded like a sob--“I -should like to remain with you for ever.” - -She did not say a word. She did not need to say a word. He could feel -the tumult of her heart, and she knew it. - -“For God’s sake, Beatrice, let me speak to you,” he said. - -It was a strange entreaty. His arm was about her, his hand was holding -one of hers, she was simply passive by his side; and yet he implored of -her to let him speak to her. - -It was some moments before she could laugh, however; which was also -strange, for the humour of the matter which called for that laugh, was -surely capable of being appreciated by her immediately. - -She gave a laugh and then a sigh. - -The carriage was dark, but a stray gleam of light from a side platform -now and again came upon her face, and her features were brought into -relief with the clearness and the whiteness of a lily in a jungle. - -As she gave that laugh--or was it a sigh?--he started, perceiving that -the expression of her features was precisely that which the artist in -the antique had imparted to the features of the little chrysoprase Eros -in the centre of that blood-red circle of the ring. - -“Why do you laugh, Beatrice?8 said he. - -“Did I laugh, Harold?” said she. “No--no--I think--yes, I think it was a -sigh--or was it you who sighed, my love?” - -“God knows,” said he. “Oh, the ring--the ring!” - -“It feels like a band of burning metal,” she said. - -“It is almost a pain for me to wear it. Have you not heard of the -curious charms possessed by rings, Harold--the strange spells which they -carry with them? The ring is a mystery--a mystic symbol. It means what -has neither beginning nor ending--it means perfection--completeness--it -means love--love’s completeness.” - -“That is what your ring must mean to us, my beloved,” said he. “Whether -you take it from your finger or let it remain there, it will still mean -the completeness of such love as is ours.” - -“And I am to take it off, Harold?” - -“Only so long as you stay at Abbeylands, Beatrice. What does it matter -for one week? You will see, dearest, how my plans--my hopes--must -certainly he destroyed if that ring is seen on your finger by my father -or my sister. It is not for the sake of my plans only that I wish you to -refrain from wearing it for a week; it is for your sake as well.” - -“Would they fancy that I had stolen it, dear?” she asked, looking up to -his face with a smile. - -“They might fancy worse things than that, Beatrice,” said he. “Do -not ask me. You may be sure that I am advising you aright--that the -consequences of that ring being recognized on your finger would be more -serious than you could understand.” - -“Did I not say something to you a few days ago about the completeness of -my trust in you, Harold?” she whispered. “Well, the ring is the symbol -of this completeness also. I trust you implicitly in everything. I have -given myself up to you. I will do whatever you may tell me. I will not -take the ring off until I reach Abbeylands, but I shall take it off -then, and only replace it on my finger every night.” - -“My darling, my darling! Such love as you have given to me is God’s best -gift to the world.” - -He had committed himself to an opinion practically to the same effect -upon more than one previous occasion. - -And now, as then, the expression of that opinion was followed by a long -silence, as their faces came together. - -“Beatrice,” he said, in a tremulous voice. - -“Harold.” - -“I shall go on with you to Abbeylands. Come what may, we shall not now -be separated.” - -But they were separated that very instant. The carriage was flooded with -light--the chastened flood that comes from an oil lamp inserted in a -hollow in the roof--and they were no longer in each others arms. They -heard the sound of the porter’s feet on the roof of the next carriage. - -“It is so good of you to come,” said she. - -There was now perhaps three inches of a space separating them. - -“Good?” said he. “I’m afraid that’s not the word. We shall be under one -roof.” - -“Yes,” she said slowly, “under one roof.” - -“Tickets for Ashmead,” intoned a voice at the carriage window. - -“We are for Abbeylands Station,” said Harold. - -“Abb’l’ns,” said the guard. “Why, sir, you know the Abb’l’ns train -started six minutes ago.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV.--ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A SYSTEM. - -|HAROLD was out of the compartment in a moment. Did the guard mean that -the train had actually left for Abbeylands? It had left six minutes -before, the guard explained, and the station-master added his guarantee -to the statement. - -Harold looked around--from platform to platform--as if he fancied that -there was a conspiracy between the officials to conceal the train. - -How could the train leave without taking all its carriages with it? - -It did nothing of the kind, the station-master said, firmly but -respectfully. - -The guard went on with his business of cutting neat triangles out of -the tickets of the passengers in the carriages that were alongside the -platform--passengers bound for Ashmead. - -“But I--we--my--my wife and I got into one of the carriages of the -Abbeylands train,” said Harold, becoming indignant, after the fashion -of his countrymen, when they have made a mistake either on a home or -foreign railway. “What sort of management is it that allows one -portion of a train to go in one direction and another part in another -direction?” - -“It’s our system, sir,” said the official. “You see, sir, there’re never -many passengers for either the Abbeyl’n’s”--being a station-master he -did not do an unreasonable amount of clipping in regard to the -names--“or the Ashm’d branch, so the Staplehurst train is divided--only -we don’t light the lamps in the Ashm’d portion until we’re ready to -start it. Did you get into a carriage that had a lamp, sir?” - -“I’ve seen some bungling at railway stations before now,” said Harold, -“but bang me if I ever met the equal of this.” - -“This isn’t properly speaking a station, sir, it’s a junction,” said -the official, mildly, but with the force of a man who has said the last -word. - -“That simply means that greater bungling may be found at a junction than -at a station,” said Harold. “Is it not customary to give some notice -of the departure of a train at a junction as well as a station, my good -man?” - -The official became reasonably irritated at being called a good man. - -“The train left for Abbeyl’n’s according to reg’lation, sir,” said he. -“If you got into a compartment that had no lamp----” - -“Oh, I’ve no time for trifling,” said Harold. “When does the next train -leave for Abbey-lands?” - -“At eight-sixteen in the morning,” said the official. - -“Great heavens! You mean to say that there’s no train to-night?” - -“You see, if a carriage isn’t lighted, sir, we----” - -The man perceived the weakness of Harold’s case--from the standpoint -of a railway official--and seemed determined not to lose sight of it. -“Contributory negligence” he knew to be the most valuable phrase that a -railway official could have at hand upon any occasion. - -“And how do you expect us to go on to Abbeylands to-night?” asked -Harold. - -“There’s a very respectable hotel a mile from the junction, sir,” said -the man. “Ruins of the Priory, sir--dates back to King John, page 84 -_Tourist’s Guide to Brackenshire_.” - -“Oh,” said Harold, “this is quite preposterous.” He went to where -Beatrice was seated watching, with only a moderate amount of interest, -the departure of five passengers for Ashmead. - -“Well, dear?” said she, as Harold came up. - -“For straightforward, pig-headed stupidity I’ll back a railway company -against any institution in the world,” said he. “The last train has -left for Abbeylands. Did you ever know of such stupidity? And yet the -shareholders look for six per cent, out of such a system.” - -“Perhaps,” said she timidly--“perhaps we were in some degree to blame.” - -He laughed. It was so like a woman to suggest the possibility of some -blame attaching to the passengers when a railway company could be -indicted. To the average man such an idea is as absurd as beginning to -argue with a person at whom one is at liberty to swear. - -“It seems that there is a sort of hotel a mile away,” said he. “We -cannot be starved, at any rate.” - -“And I--you--we shall have to stay there?” said she. - -He gave a sort of shrug--an Englishman’s shrug--about as like the real -thing as an Englishman’s bow, or a Chinaman’s cheer. - -“What can we do?” said he. “When a railway company such as this--oh, -come along, Beatrice. I am hungry--hungry--hungry!” - -He caught her by the arm. - -“Yes, Harold--husband,” said she. - -He started. - -“Husband! Husband!” he said. “I never thought of that. Oh, my -beloved--my beloved!” - -He stood irresolute for a moment. - -Then he gave a curious laugh, and she felt his hand tighten upon her arm -for a moment. - -“Yes,” he whispered. “You heard the words that--that man said while our -hands were together? ‘Whom God hath joined’--God--that is Love. Love -is the bond that binds us together. Every union founded on Love is -sacred--and none other is sacred--in the sight of heaven.” - -“And you do not doubt my love,” she said. - -“Doubt it? oh, my Beatrice, I never knew what it was before now.” They -left the station together, after he had written and despatched in her -name a telegram to her maid, directing her to explain to Mrs. Lampson -that her mistress had unfortunately missed the train, but meant to go by -the first one in the morning. - -By chance a conveyance was found outside, and in it they drove to the -Priory Hotel which, they were amazed to find, promised comfort as well -as picturesqueness. - -It was a long ivy-covered house, and bore every token of being a portion -of the ancient Priory among the ruins of which it was standing. Great -elms were in front of the house, and on one side there were apple trees, -and at the other there was a garden reaching almost to where a ruined -arch was held together by its own ivy. - -As they were in the act of entering the porch, a ray of moonlight -gleamed upon the ruins, and showed the trimmed grass plots and neat -gravel walks among the cloisters. - -Harold pointed out the picturesque effect to Beatrice, and they stood -for some moments before entering the house. - -The old waiter, whose moderately white shirt front constituted a very -distinctive element of the hall with its polished panels of old oak, did -not bustle forward when he saw them admiring the ruins. - -“Upon my word,” said Harold, entering, “this is a place worth seeing. -That touch of moonlight was very effective.” - -“Yes, sir,” said the waiter; “I’m glad you’re pleased with it. We try to -do our best in this way for our patrons. Mrs. Mark will be glad to know -that you thought highly of our moonlight, sir.” - -The man was only a waiter, but he was as solemn as a butler, as he -opened the door of a room that seemed ready to do duty as a coffee-room. -It had a low groined ceiling, and long narrow windows. - -An elderly maid was lighting candles in sconces round the walls. - -“Really,” said Harold, “we may be glad that the bungling at the junction -brought us here.” - -“Yes, sir,” said the man with waiter-like acquiescence; “they do bungle -things sometimes at that junction.” - -“We were on our way to Abbeylands,” said Harold, “but those idiots on -the platform allowed us to get into the wrong carriages--the carriages -that were going to Ashmead. We shall stay here for the night. The -station-master recommended us to go here, and I’m much obliged to him. -It’s the only sensible--” - -“Yes, sir: he’s a brother to Mrs. Mark--Mrs. Mark is our proprietor,” - said the waiter. - -“_Mrs_. Mark,” said Harold. - -“Yes, sir: she’s our proprietor.” - -Harold thought that, perhaps, when the owner of an hotel was a woman, -she might reasonably be called the proprietor. - -“Oh, well, perhaps a maid might show my--my wife to a room, while I see -what we can get for dinner--supper, I suppose we should call it.” - -The middle-aged woman who was lighting the candles came forward smiling, -as she adroitly extinguished the wax taper by the application of her -finger and thumb. With her Beatrice disappeared. - -Harold quite expected that he was about to come upon the weak element -in the management of this picturesque inn. But when he found that a cold -pheasant as well as some hot fish was available for supper, he admitted -that the place was perfect. There was no wine card, but the old waiter -promised a Champagne for which, he said, Mr. Lampson, of Abbeylands, had -once made an offer. - -“That will do for us very well,” said Harold. “Mr. Lampson would -not make an offer for anything--wine least of all--of which he was -uncertain.” - -The waiter went off in the leisurely style that was only consistent with -the management of an establishment that dated back to King John; and in -a few minutes Beatrice appeared, having laid aside her sealskin coat, -and her hat. - -How exquisite she seemed as she stood for an instant in the subdued -light at the door! - -And she was his. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV.--ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. - -|SHE was his. - -He felt the joy of it as she stood at the door in her beautifully -fitting travelling dress. - -The thought sent an exultant glow through his veins, as he looked at her -from where he was standing at the hearth. (There was no “cosy corner” - abomination.) - -She was his. - -He went forward to meet her, and put out both his hands to her. - -She placed a hand in each of his. - -“How delightfully warm you are,” she said. “You were standing at the -fire.” - -“Yes,” he said. “I was at the fire; in addition, I was also thinking -that you are mine.” - -“Altogether yours now,” she said looking at him with that trustful smile -which should have sent him down on his knees before her, but which did -not do more than cause his eyes to look at her throat instead of gazing -straight into her eyes. - -They seated themselves on one of the old window-seats, and talked face -to face, listlessly watching the old waiter lay a white cloth on a -portion of the black oak table. - -When they had eaten their fish and pheasant--Harold wondered if the -latter had come from the Abbeylands’ preserves, and if Archie Brown had -shot it--they returned to the window-seat, and there they remained for -an hour. - -He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to -the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds. - -She was his. - -The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom -candlestick with a box of matches. - -“Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?” he inquired. - -“I require nothing, thank you,” said Harold. - -“Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “The candles in the sconces will burn -for another hour. If that will not be long enough--” - -“It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely comfortable, -and I wish you goodnight,” said Harold. - -“Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam.” - -This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon -the stairs. - -“At last--at last!” whispered Harold, as he put an arm on the deep -embrasure of the window behind her. - -She let her shapely head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. Then -she looked up to his face. - -“Who could have thought it?” she cried. “Who could have predicted that -evening when I stood on the cliffs and sent my voice out in that wild -way across the lough, that we should be sitting here to-night?” - -“I knew it when I got down to the boat and drew your hands into mine by -that fishing-line,” said he. “When the moon showed me your face, I knew -that I had seen the face for which I had been searching all my life. -I had caught glimpses of that face many times in my life. I remember -seeing it for a moment when a great musician was performing an -incomparable work--a work the pure beauty of which made all who listened -to it weep. I can hear that music now when I look upon your face. It -conveys to me all that was conveyed to me by the music. I saw it -again when, one exquisite dawn, I went into a garden while the dew was -glistening over everything. There came to me the faint scent of violets. -I thought that nothing could be lovelier; but in another moment, the -glorious perfume of roses came upon me like a torrent. The odour of the -roses and the scent of the violets mingled, and before my eyes floated -your face. When the moonlight showed me your face on that night beside -the Irish lough I felt myself wondering if it would vanish.” - -“It has come to stay,” she whispered, in a way that gave the sweetest -significance to the phrase that has become vulgarized. - -“It came to stay with me for ever,” he said. “I knew it, and I felt -myself saying, ‘Here by God’s grace is the one maid for me.’” - -He did not falter as he looked down upon her face--he said the words -“God’s grace” without the least hesitancy. - -The moonlight that had been glistening on the ivy of the broken arches -of the ancient Priory, was now shining through the diamond panes of -the window at which they were sitting. As her head lay back it was -illuminated by the moon. Her hair seemed delicate threads of spun glass -through which the light was shining. - -One of the candles flared up for a moment in its socket, then dwindled -away to a single spark and then expired. - -“You remember?” she whispered. - -“The seal-cave,” he said. “I have often wondered how I dared to tell you -that I loved you.” - -“But you told me the truth.” - -“The truth. No, no; I did not love you then as I regard loving now. Oh, -my Beatrice, you have taught me what ‘tis to love. There is nothing in -the world but love, it is life--it is life!” - -“And there are none in the world who love as you and I do.” - -His face shut out the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence -before she said, “It was only when you had parted from me every day that -I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad -Good-byes--sad Good-nights out of the moonlight from hers. There was a -long silence before she said, “It was only when you had parted from me -every day that I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter -moments! Those sad Good-byes--sad Good-nights!” - -“They are over, they are over!” he cried. The lover’s triumph rang -through his words. “They are over. We have come to the night when no -more Good-nights shall be spoken. What do I say? No more Good-nights? -You know what a poet’s heart sang--a poet over whose head the waters of -passion had closed? I know the song that came from his heart--beloved, -the pulses of his heart beat in every line:” - - - “‘Good-night! ah, no, the hour is ill - -‘ That severs those it should unite: - -‘ Let us remain together still, - - Then it will be good night. - - - “’ How can I call the lone night good, - - Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? - - Be it not said--thought--understood; - - Then it will be good night. - - - “‘To hearts that near each other move - -‘ From evening close to morning light, - - The night is good because, oh, Love, - - They never say Good-night.’” - - -His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were -closed and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh--a sigh that -had something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his -neck, and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone. - -How had she gone? - -Whither had she gone? - -How long had he been alone? - -He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room. - -Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his -arms? Had he been repeating Shelley’s poem in the hearing of no one? - -He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old -Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch -where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. -It was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one -window above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated. - -It had no drapery--he could see through it half way into the room -beyond. - -Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from -the wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved -Head of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies. - -He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until--until.... - -There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony. - -His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling -whiteness beneath the light of the candles. - -He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which -he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand -on the handle of the door. - -There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly -watching the struggle. - -It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul. - -The man’s fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his hands -across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them. - -Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started -up, and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled--madly--blindly--away -from the house. - -Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone--he only fell -upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground. - -When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot -of an ancient prostrate Cross. - -He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his -parched lips the cry, “Christ have mercy upon me!” - -He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp -stone. - -This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward. - -He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance. - -She was saved! - -And he--he had saved his soul alive! - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI.--ON A BED OF LOGS. - - -|ONWARD he fled, he knew not whither; he only knew that he was flying -for the safety of his soul. - -He passed far beyond the limits of the Priory grounds, but he did not -reach the high road. He crossed a meadow and came upon a trout stream. -He walked beside it for an hour. At the end of that time there was no -moonlight to glitter upon its surface. Clouds had come over the sky and -drops of rain were beginning to fall. - -He crossed the stream by a little bridge, and reached the border of a -wood. It was now long past midnight. He had been walking for two hours, -but he had no consciousness of weariness. It was not until the rain was -streaming off his hair that he recollected that he had no hat. But on -still he went through the darkness and the rain, as though he were being -pursued, and that every step he took was a step toward safety. - -He came upon a track that seemed to lead through the wood, and upon this -track he went for several miles. The ground was soft, and at some places -the rain had turned it into a morass. The autumn leaves lay in drifts, -sodden and rotting. Into more than one of these he stumbled, and when he -got upon his feet again, the damp leaves and the mire were clinging to -him. - -For three more hours he went on by the winding track through the wood. -In the darkness he strayed from it frequently, but invariably found it -again and struggled on, until he had passed right through the wood and -reached a high road that ran beside it. - -As though he had been all the night wandering in search for this road, -so soon as he saw it he cried, “Thank God, thank God!” - -But something else may have been in his mind beyond the satisfaction of -coming upon the road. - -At the border of the wood where the track broadened out, there was a -woodcutter’s rough shed. It was piled up with logs of various sizes, and -with trimmed boughs awaiting the carts to come along the road to carry -them away. He entered the shed, and, overpowered with weariness, sank -down upon a heap of boughs; his head found a resting place in a forked -branch and in a moment he was sound asleep. - -His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it -might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the -window. - -True; but his soul was saved. - -He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him. - -The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that -came from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with -the smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small -branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices. - -He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not -realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself. -Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he -said, “Thank God, thank God!” - -Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held -bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a -constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable. - -The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They -stood shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high. - -The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them, -whether in regard to attack or defence. - -“Well, you’re awake, my gentleman,” said the man with the truncheon. - -The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of -strength, aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in -the shed. - -“Yes, I believe I’m awake,” said Harold. “Is the morning far advanced?” - -“That’s as may be,” said the truncheon-holder, shrewdly, and after a -pause of considerable duration. - -“You’re not the man to compromise yourself by a hasty statement,” said -Harold. - -“No,” said the man, after another pause. - -“May I ask what is the meaning of this rather imposing demonstration?” - said Harold. - -“Ay, you may, maybe,” replied the man. “But it’s my business to tell -you that--” here he paused and inflated his lungs and person -generally-- “that all you say now will be used as evidence against -you.” - -“That’s very official,” said Harold. “Does it mean that you’re a -constable?” - -“That it do; and that you’re in my charge now. Close up, bill-hooks, and -stand firm,” the man added to his companions. - -“Don’t trumle for we,” said one of the billhook-holders. - -“You see there’s no use broadening vi’lent-like,” said the -truncheon-holder. - -“That’s clear enough,” said Harold. “Would it be imprudent for me to -inquire what’s the charge against me?” - -“You know,” said the policeman. - -“Come, my man,” said Harold; “I’m not disposed to stand this farce any -longer. Can’t you see that I’m no vagrant--that I haven’t any of your -logs concealed about me. What part of the country is this? Where’s the -nearest telegraph office?” - -“No matter what’s the part,” said the constable; “I’ve arrested you -before witnesses of full age, and I’ve cautioned you according to the -Ack o’ Parliament.” - -“And the charge?” - -“The charge is the murder.” - -“Murder--what murder?” - -“You know--the murder of the Right Honourable Lord Fotheringay.” - -“What!” shouted Harold. “Lord--oh, you’re mad! Lord Fotheringay is my -father, and he’s staying at Abbeylands. What do you mean, you idiot, by -coming to me with such a story?” The policeman winked in by no means a -subtle way at the two men with the bill-hooks; he then looked at Harold -from head to foot, and gave a guffaw. - -“The son of his lordship--the murdered man--you heard that, friends, -after I gave the caution according to the Ack o’ Parliament?” he said. - -“Ay, ay, we heard--leastways to that effeck,” replied one of the men. - -“Then down it goes again him,” said the constable. “He’s a -gentleman-Jack tramp--and that’s the worst sort--without hat or head -gear, and down it goes that he said he was his lordship’s son.” - -“For God’s sake tell me what you mean by talking of the murder of Lord -Fotheringay,” said Harold. “There can be no truth in what you said. Oh, -why do I wait here talking to this idiot?” He took a few steps toward one -end of the shed. The men raised their bill-hooks, and the constable made -an aggressive demonstration with his truncheon. - -Against Stupidity the gods fight in vain, but now and again a man with -good muscles can prevail against it. Harold simply dealt a kick upon -the heavy handle of the bill-hook nearest to him, and it swung round -and caught in the stomach the second man, who immediately dropped his -implement. He needed both hands to press against his injured person. - -The constable ran to the other end of the shed and blew his whistle. - -Harold went out in the opposite direction and got upon the high road; -but before he had quite made up his mind which way to go, he heard the -clatter of a horse galloping. He saw that a mounted constable was coming -up, and he also noticed with a certain amount of interest, that he was -drawing a revolver. - -Harold stood in the centre of the road and held up his hand. - -One of the few occasions when a man of well developed muscles, if he is -wise, thinks himself no better than the gods, is when Stupidity is in -the act of drawing a revolver. - -“Are you the sergeant of constabulary?” Harold inquired, when the man -had reined in. He still kept his revolver handy. - -“Yes, I’m the sergeant of constabulary. Who are you, and what are you -doing here?” said the man. - -“He’s the gentleman-Jack tramp that the lads found asleep in the shed, -sergeant,” said the constable, who had hurried forward with the naked -truncheon. “The lads came on him hiding here, when they were setting -about their day’s work. They ran for me, and that’s why I sent for you. -I’ve arrested him and cautioned him. He was nigh clearing off just now, -but I never took an eye off him. Is there a reward yet, sergeant?” - -“Officer,” said Harold. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s son. For God’s -sake tell me if what this man says is true--is Lord Fotheringay -dead--murdered?” - -“He’s dead. You seem to know a lot about it, my gentleman,” said the -sergeant. “You’re charged with his murder. If you make any attempt at -resistance, I’ll shoot you down like a dog.” - -The man had now his revolver is his right hand. Harold looked first at -him, and then at the foolish man with the truncheon. He was amazed. What -could the men mean? How was it that they did not touch their helmets to -him? He had never yet been addressed by a policeman or a railway porter -without such a token of respect. What was the meaning of the change? - -This was really his first thought. - -His mind was not in a condition to do more than speculate upon this -point. It was not capable of grasping the horrible thing suggested by -the men. - -He stood there in the middle of the road, dazed and speechless. It was -not until he had casually looked down and had seen the condition of his -feet and legs and clothes that, passing from the amazed thought of -the insolence of the constables, into the amazement produced by his -raggedness--he was apparently covered with mire from head to foot--the -reason of his treatment flashed upon him; and in another instant every -thought had left him except the thought that his father was dead. His -head fell forward on his chest. He felt his limbs give way under him. -He staggered to the low hank at the side of the road and managed to seat -himself. He supported his head on his hands, his elbows resting on his -knees. - -There he remained, the four men watching him; for the interest which -attaches to a distinguished criminal in the eyes of ignorant rustics, is -almost as great as that which he excites among the leaders of society, -who scrutinize him in the dock through opera glasses, and eat _pâté de -foie gras_ sandwiches beside the judge. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII.--ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - -|SOME minutes had passed before Harold had sufficiently recovered to be -able to get upon his feet. He could now account for everything that -had happened. His father must have been found dead under suspicious -circumstances the previous day, and information had been conveyed to the -county constabulary. The instinct of the constabulary being to connect -all crime with tramps, and his own appearance, after his night of -wandering, as well as the conditions under which he had been found, -suggesting the tramp, he had naturally been arrested. - -He knew that he could only suffer some inconvenience for an hour or so. -But what would be the sufferings of Beatrice? - -“The circumstances under which I am found are suspicious enough to -justify my arrest,” he said to the mounted man. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s -son.” - -“Gammon! but it’ll be took down,” said the constable with the truncheon. - -“Hold your tongue, you fool!” cried the sergeant to his subordinate. - -“I can, of course, account for every movement of mine, yesterday and the -day before,” said Harold. “What hour is the crime supposed to have taken -place? It must have been after four o’clock, or I should have received a -telegram from my sister, Mrs. Lampson. I left London shortly before five -last evening.” - -“If you can prove that, you’re all right,” said the sergeant. “But -you’ll have to give us your right name.” - -“You’ll find it on the inside of my watch,” said Harold. - -He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the -sergeant. - -“You’re a fool!” said the sergeant, looking at the hack of the watch. -“This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It has a crown over -a crest, and arms with supporters.” - -“Of course,” said Harold. “I forgot that it was my father’s watch -before he gave it to me.” The sergeant smiled. The constable and the two -bill-hook men guffawed. - -“Give me the watch,” said Harold. - -The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket. - -“You’ve put a rope round your neck this minute,” said he. “Handcuffs, -Jonas.” - -The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold’s -hands instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his -revolver out of its case. - -“It has never occurred before this minute,” said the constable. - -“What do you mean? Where’s the handcuffs?” cried the sergeant. - -“Never before,” said the constable, “I took them out to clean them -with sandpaper, sergeant--emery and oil’s recommended, but give me -sandpaper--not too fine but just fine enough. Is there any man in the -county that can show as bright a pair of handcuffs as myself, sergeant? -You know.” - -“Show them now,” said the sergeant. - -“You’ll have to come to the house with me, for there they be to be,” - replied the constable. “Ay, but I’ve my truncheon.” - -“Which way am I to go with you?” said Harold. “You don’t think that I’m -such a fool as to make the attempt to resist you? I can’t remain here -all day. Every moment is precious.” - -“You’ll be off soon enough, my good man,” said the sergeant. “Keep -alongside my horse, and if you try any game on with me, I’ll be equal to -you.” He wheeled his horse and walked it in the direction whence he had -come. Harold kept up with it, thinking his thoughts. The man with the -truncheon and the two men who had wielded the billhooks marched in file -beside him. Marching in file had something official about it. - -It was a strange procession that appeared on the shining wet road, -with the dripping autumn trees on each side, and the gray sodden clouds -crawling up in the distance. - -How was he to communicate with her? How was he to let Beatrice know that -she was to return to London immediately? - -That was the question which occupied all his thoughts as he walked -with bowed head along the road. The thought of the position which he -occupied--the thought of the tragic incident which had aroused the -vigilance of the constable--the desire to learn the details of the -terrible thing that had occurred--every thought was lost in that -question: - -“How am I to prevent her from going on to Abbeylands?” - -Was it possible that she might learn at the hotel early in the morning, -that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered? When the news of the murder had -spread round the country--and it seemed to have done so from the course -that the woodcutters had adopted on coming upon him asleep--it would -certainly be known at the hotel. If so, what would Beatrice do? - -Surely she would take the earliest train back to London. - -But if she did not hear anything of the matter, would she then remain at -the hotel awaiting his return? - -What would she think of him? What would she think of his desertion of -her at that supreme moment? - -Can a woman ever forgive such an act of desertion? Could Beatrice ever -forgive his turning away from her love? - -Was he beginning to regret that he had fled away from the loveliest -vision that had ever come before his eyes? - -Did Saint Anthony ever wish that he had had another chance? - -If for a single moment Harold Wynne had an unworthy thought, assuredly -it did not last longer than a single moment. - -“Whatever may happen now--whether she forgives me or forsakes me--thank -God--thank God!” - -This was what his heart was crying out all the time that he walked along -the road with bowed head. He felt that he had been strong enough to save -her--to save himself. - -The procession had scarcely passed over more than a quarter of a mile of -the road, when a vehicle appeared some distance ahead. - -“Steady,” said the sergeant. “It’s the Major in his trap. I sent a -mounted man for him. You’ll be in trouble about the handcuffs, Jonas, my -man.” - -“Maybe the murderer would keep his hands together to oblige us,” - suggested the constable. - -“I’ll not be a party to deception,” said his superior. “Halt!” - -Harold looked up and saw a dog-cart just at hand. It was driven by a -middle-aged gentleman, and a groom was seated behind. Harold had an -impression that he had seen the driver previously, though he could -not remember when or where he had done so. He rather thought he was an -officer whom he had met at some place abroad. - -The dog-cart was pulled up, and the officials saluted in their own way, -as the gentleman gave the reins to his groom and dismounted. - -“An arrest, sir,” said the sergeant. “The two woodcutters came upon him -hiding in their shed at dawn, and sent for the constable. Jonas, -very properly, sent for me, and I despatched a man for you, sir. When -arrested, he made up a cock-and-bull story, and a watch, supposed to be -his murdered lordship’s, was found concealed about his person. It’s now -in my possession.” - -“Good,” said the stranger. Then he subjected Harold to a close scrutiny. - -“I know now where I met you,” said Harold. “You are Major Wilson, the -Chief Constable of the County, and you lunched with us at Abbeylands two -years ago.” - -“What! Mr. Wynne!” cried the man. “What on earth can be the meaning of -this? Your poor father--” - -“That is what I want to learn,” said Harold eagerly. “Is it more than a -report--that terrible thing?” - -“A report? He was found at six o’clock last evening by a keeper on the -outskirts of one of the preserves.” - -“A bullet--an accident? he may have been out shooting,” said Harold. - -“A knife--a dagger.” - -Harold turned away. - -“Remain where you are, sergeant,” said Major Wilson. “Let me have a word -with you, Mr. Wynne,” he added to Harold. - -“Certainly,” said Harold. His voice was shaky. “I wonder if you chance -to have a flask of brandy in your cart. You can understand that I’m not -quite--” - -“I’m sorry that I have no brandy,” said Major Wilson. “Perhaps you -wouldn’t mind sitting on the bank with me while you explain--if you -wish--I do not suggest that you should--I suppose the constables -cautioned you.” - -“Amply,” said Harold. “I find that I can stand. I don’t suppose that any -blame attaches to them for arresting me. I am, I fear, very disreputable -looking. The fact is that I was stupid enough to miss the train from -Mowern junction last night, and I went to the Priory Hotel. I came out -when the night was fine, without my hat, and I---- had reasons of my own -for not wishing to return to the hotel. I got into the wood and wandered -for several hours along a track I found. I got drenched, and taking -shelter in the woodcutters’ shed, I fell asleep. That is all I have to -say. I have not the least idea what part of the country this is: I must -have walked at least twenty miles through the night.” - -“You are not a mile from the Priory Hotel,” said Major Wilson. - -“That is impossible,” cried Harold. “I walked pretty hard for five -hours.” - -“Through the wood?” - -“I practically never left the track.” - -“You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood -instead of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone -Woods. Mr. Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard -of or saw in my life.” - -“Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I shall -be inconvenienced for long,” said Harold. “It is a shocking thing for a -son to be suspected even for a moment of the murder of his own father; -but sometimes a curious combination of circumstances----” - -“Of course--of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg of you. -Did you leave London yesterday?” - -“Yes, by the four-fifty-five train.” - -“Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?” - -“I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the -collector, the return portion is in my pocket.” - -He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and -took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it. - -“Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?” he then -inquired. - -“I’m afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the train to -go to Abbeylands without me,” said Harold. “That was at ten minutes past -seven o’clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I made elaborate inquiries -from the railway officials in London between half past four and the hour -of the train’s starting. I also spoke to the station-master at Mindon, -asking him if he was certain that the train would arrive at the junction -in time.” Major Wilson’s face brightened. Before it had been somewhat -overcast. - -“A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up -everything,” said Major Wilson. “Yes, everything except--wasn’t that -midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?” - -“Yes,” said Harold, after a pause. “It was extremely odd. So odd that -I know that you will pardon my attempting to explain it--at least just -now. You will, I think, be satisfied if you have evidence that I was in -London yesterday afternoon. I am anxious to go to my sister without -delay. Surely some clue must be forthcoming as to the ruffian who did -the deed.” - -“The only clue--if it could be termed a clue--is the sheath of the -dagger,” replied Major Wilson. “It is the sheath of an ordinary belt -dagger, such as is commonly worn by the peasantry in Southern Italy and -Sicily. Lord Fotheringay lived a good deal abroad. Do you happen to know -if he became involved in any quarrel in Italy--if there was any reason -to think that his life had been threatened?” - -Harold shook his head. - -“My poor father returned from abroad a couple of months ago, and joined -Lady Innisfail’s party in Ireland. I have only seen him once in -London since then. He must have been followed by some one who fancied -that--that--” - -“That he had been injured by your father?” - -“That is what I fear. But my father never confided his suspicions--if he -had any on this matter--to me.” - -They had walked some little way up the road. They now returned slowly -and silently. - -A one-horse-fly appeared in the distance. When it came near, Harold -recognized it as the one in which he had driven with Beatrice from the -station to the hotel. - -“If you will allow me,” said Harold to Major Wilson, “I will send to the -hotel for my overcoat and hat.” - -“Do so by all means,” said Major Wilson. “There is a decent little -inn some distance on the road, where you will be able to get a brush -down--you certainly need one. I’ll give my sergeant instructions to send -some telegrams at the junction.” - -“Perhaps you will kindly ask him to return to me my watch,” said Harold. -“I don’t suppose that he will need it now.” - -Harold stopped the fly, and wrote upon a card of his own the following -words, “_A shocking thing has happened that keeps me from you. My poor -father is dead. Return to town by first train._” - -He instructed the driver to go to the Priory Hotel and deliver the card -into the hand of the lady whom he had driven there the previous evening, -and then to pay Harold’s bill, drive the lady to the junction, and -return with the overcoat and hat to the inn on the road. - -Harold gave the man a couple of sovereigns, and the driver said that he -would be able easily to convey the lady to the junction in time for the -first train. - -While the sergeant went away to send the Chief Constable’s telegrams, -Major Wilson and Harold drove off together in the dog-cart--the man with -the truncheon and the men who had carried the bill-hooks respectfully -saluted as the vehicle passed. - -In the course of another half hour, Harold was in the centre of a cloud -of dust, produced by the vigorous action of an athlete at the little -inn, who had been engaged to brush him down. When he caught sight of -himself in a looking-glass on entering the inn, Harold was as much -amazed as he had been when he heard from the Chief Constable that he had -been wandering round the wood all night. He felt that he could not blame -the woodcutters for taking him for a tramp. - -He managed to eat some breakfast, and then he fly came up with his -overcoat and hat. He spoke only one sentence to the driver. - -“You brought her to the train?” - -“Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir.” - -He handed Harold an envelope. - -Inside was a sheet of paper. - -“_Dearest--dearest--You have all my sympathy--all my love. Come to me -soon._” - -These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice. - -He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the -bed and burst into tears. - -It was ten years since he had wept. - -Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer. - -It was ten years since he had prayed. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII--ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL INCIDENT. - -|THIS is not the story of a murder. However profitable as well as -entertaining it would be to trace through various mysteries, false -alarms, and intricacies the following up of a clue by the subtle -intelligence of a detective, until the rope is around the neck of the -criminal, such profit and entertainment must be absent from this story -of a man’s conquest of the Devil within himself. Regarding the incident -of the murder of Lord Fotheringay much need not be said. - -The sergeant appeared at the inn with replies to the telegrams that -he had been instructed to send to the railway officials, and they were -found to corroborate all the statements made by Harold. A ticket of the -number of that upon the one which Harold still retained, had been issued -previous to the departure of the four-fifty-five train from London. - -“Of course, I knew what the replies would be,” said Major Wilson. “But -you can understand my position.” - -“Certainly I can,” said Harold. “It needs no apology.” - -They drove to the junction together to catch the train to Abbeylands -station. An astute officer from Scotland Yard had been telegraphed for, -to augment the intelligence of the County Constabulary Force in the -endeavour to follow up the only clue that was available, and Major -Wilson was to travel with the London officer to the scene of the crime. - -In a few minutes the London train came up, and the passengers for -the Abbeylands line crossed to the side platform. Among them Harold -perceived his own servant. The man was dressed in black, and carried a -portmanteau and hat-box. He did not see his master until he had reached -the platform. Then he walked up to Harold, laid down the portmanteau -and endeavoured--by no means unsuccessfully--to impart some -emotion--respectful emotion, and very respectful sympathy, into the act -of touching his hat. - -“I heard the sad news, my lord,” said the man, “and I took the liberty -of packing your lordship’s portmanteau and taking the first train to -Abbeylands. I took it for granted that you would be there, my lord.” - -“You acted wisely, Martin,” said Harold. “I will ask you not to make any -change in addressing me for some days, at least.” - -“Very good, my lord--I mean, sir,” said the man. - -He had not acquired for more than a minute the new mode of address, and -yet he had difficulty in relinquishing it. - -Abbeylands was empty of the guests who, up to the previous evening, had -been within its walls. From the mouth of the gamekeeper, who had found -the body of Lord Fotheringay, Harold learned a few more particulars -regarding his ghastly discovery, but they were of no importance, though -the astute Scotland Yard officer considered them--or pretended to -consider them--to be extremely valuable. - -For a week the detectives were very active, and the newspapers announced -daily that they had discovered a clue, and that an arrest might be -looked for almost immediately. - -No arrest took place, however; the detectives returned to their -head-quarters, and the mild sensation produced by the heading of a -newspaper column, “The Murder of Lord Fotheringay” was completely -obliterated by the toothsome scandal produced by the appearance of a -music-hall artist as the co-respondent in a Duchess’s divorce case. It -was eminently a case for sandwiches and plovers’ eggs; and the costumes -which the eaters of these portable comestibles wore, were described -in detail by those newspapers which everyone abuses and--reads. The -middle-aged rheumatic butterfly was dead and buried; and though many -theories were started--not by Scotland Yard, however--to account for -his death, no arrests were made. Whoever the murderer was, he remained -undetected. (A couple of years had passed before Harold heard a highly -circumstantial story about the appearance of a foreign gentleman with -extremely dark eyes and hair, in the neighbourhood of Castle Innisfail, -inquiring for Lord Fotheringay a few days after Lord Fotheringay had -left the Castle). - -Mrs. Lampson, the only daughter of the deceased peer, had received so -severe a shock through the tragic circumstances of her father’s death, -that she found it necessary to take a long voyage. She started for Samoa -with her husband in his steam yacht. It may be mentioned incidentally, -however, that, as the surface of the Bay of Biscay was somewhat ruffled -when the yacht was going southward, it was thought advisable to change -the cruise to one in the Mediterranean. Mrs. Lampson turned up on the -Riviera in the spring, and, after entertaining freely there for some -time, an article appeared above her signature in a leading magazine -deploring the low tone of society at Monte Carlo and on the Riviera -generally. - -It was in the railway carriage on their way to London from -Abbeylands--the exact time was when Harold was in the act of repeating -the stanzas from Shelley--that Helen Craven and Edmund Airey conversed -together, sitting side by side for the purpose. - -“He is Lord Fotheringay now,” remarked Miss Craven, thoughtfully. - -Edmund looked at her with something of admiration in his eyes. The young -woman who, an hour or two after being shocked at the news of a tragedy -enacted at the very door of the house where she had been a guest, could -begin to discuss its social bearing, was certainly a young woman to be -wondered at--that is, to be admired. - -“Yes,” said Edmund, “he is now Lord Fotheringay, whatever that means.” - -“It means a title and an income, does it not?” said she. - -“Yes, a sort of title and, yes, a sort of income,” said he. - -“Either would be quite enough to marry and live on,” said Helen. - -“He contrived to live without either up to the present.” - -“Yes, poorly.” - -“Not palatially, certainly, but still pleasantly.” - -“Will he ask her to marry him now, do you think?” - -“Her?” - -“Yes, you know--Beatrice Avon.” - -“Oh--I think that--that I should like to know what you think about it.” - -“I think he will ask her.” - -“And that she will accept him?” - -She did not know how much thought he had been giving to this question -during some hours--how eagerly he was waiting her reply. - -“No.” she said; “I believe that she will not accept him, because she -means to accept you--if you give her a chance.” - -The start that he gave was very well simulated. Scarcely so admirable -from a standpoint of art was the opening of his eyes accompanied by a -little exclamation of astonishment. - -“Why are you surprised?” she said, as if she was surprised at his -surprise--so subtly can a clever young woman flatter the cleverest of -men. - -He shook his head. - -“I am surprised because I have just heard the most surprising -sentence that ever came upon my ears. That is saying a good deal--yes, -considering how much we have talked together.” - -“Why should it be surprising?” she said. “Did you not call upon her in -town?” - -“Yes, I called upon her,” he replied, wondering how she had come to know -it. (She had merely guessed it.) - -“That would give her hope.” - -“Hope?” - -“Hope. And it was this hope that induced her to accept Mrs. Lampson’s -invitation, although she must have known that Mrs. Lampson’s brother -was not to be of the party. I have often wondered if it was you or Lord -Fotheringay who asked Mrs. Lampson to invite her?” - -“It was I,” said Edmund. - -Her eyes brightened--so far as it was possible for them to brighten. - -“I wonder if she came to know that,” said Helen musingly. “It would be -something of a pity if she did not know it.” - -“For that matter, nearly everything that happens is a pity,” said he. - -“Not everything,” said she. “But it is certainly a pity that the person -who had the bad taste to stab poor Lord Fotheringay did not postpone his -crime for at least one day. You would in that case have had a chance of -returning by the side of Beatrice Avon instead of by the side of some -one else.” - -“Who is infinitely cleverer,” said Edmund. - -At this point their conversation ended--at least so far as Harold and -Beatrice were concerned. - -Helen felt, however, that even that brief exchange of opinions had been -profitable. Her first thought on hearing of the ghastly discovery of -the gamekeeper, was that all her striving to win Harold had been in -vain--that all her contriving, by the help of Edmund Airey, had been to -no purpose. Harold would now be free to marry Beatrice Avon--or to ask -her to marry him; which she believed was much the same thing. - -But in the course of a short time she did not feel so hopeless. She -believed that Edmund Airey only needed a little further flattery to -induce him to resume his old attitude in regard to Beatrice; and the -result of her little chat with him in the train showed her not merely -that, in regard to flattery, he was pretty much as other men, only, of -course, he required it to be subtly administered--but also that he had -no intention of allowing his compact in regard to Beatrice to expire -with their departure from Castle Innisfail. He admitted having called -upon her in London, and this showed Helen very plainly that his attitude -in respect of Beatrice was the result of a rather stronger impulse -than the desire to be of service to her, Helen, in accordance with -the suggestions which she had ventured to make during her first frank -interview with him. - -She made up her mind that he would not require in future to be -frequently reminded of that frank interview. She knew that there exists -a more powerful motive for some men’s actions than a desire to forward -the happiness of their fellow-men. - -This was her reflection at the precise moment that Harold’s face was -bent down to the face of Beatrice, while he whispered the words that -thrilled her. - -As for Edmund Airey, he, too, had his thoughts, and, like Helen, he -considered himself quite capable of estimating the amount of importance -to be attached to such an incident as the murder of Lord Fotheringay, -as a factor in the solution of any problem that might suggest itself. -A murder is, of course, susceptible of being regarded from a social -standpoint. The murder of Lord Fotheringay, for instance, had broken up -what promised to be an exceedingly interesting party at Abbeylands. A -murder is very provoking sometimes; and when Edmund Airey heard Lady -Innisfail complain to Archie Brown--Archie had become a great friend -of hers--of the irritating features of that incident--when he heard -an uncharitable man declare that it was most thoughtless of Lord -Fotheringay to get a knife stuck into his ribs just when the pheasants -were at their best, he could not but feel that his own reflections were -very plainly expressed. - -He had not been certain of himself during the previous two months. For -the first time in his life he did not see his way clearly. It was -in order to improve his vision that he had begged Mrs. Lampson--with -infinite tact, she admitted to her brother--to invite Beatrice to -Abbeylands. He rather thought that, before the visit of Beatrice -should terminate, he would be able to see his way clearly in certain -directions. - -But now, owing to the annoying incident that had occurred, the -opportunity was denied him of improving his vision in accordance -with the prescription which he had prepared to effect this purpose; -therefore---- - -He had reached this point in his reflections when the special train, -which Mr. Lampson had chartered to take his guests back to town, ran -alongside the platform at the London terminus. - -This was just the moment when Harold looked up to the window from the -Priory grounds and saw that vision of white glowing beauty. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX.--ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CONFESSION. - -|HE stood silent, without taking a step into the room, when the door had -been closed behind him. - -With a cry she sprang from her seat in front of the fire and put out her -hands to him. - -Still he did not move a step toward her. He remained at the door. - -Something of fear was upon her face as she stood looking at him. He was -pale and haggard and ghostlike. She could not but perceive how strongly -the likeness to his father, who had been buried the previous day, -appeared upon his face now that it was so worn and haggard--much more so -than she had ever seen his father’s face. - -“Harold--Harold--my beloved!” she cried, and there was something of fear -in her voice. “Harold--husband--” - -“For God’s sake, do not say that, Beatrice!” - -His voice was hoarse and quite unlike the voice that had whispered the -lines of Shelley, with his face within the halo of moonlight that had -clung about her hair. - -She was more frightened still. Her hands were clasped over her -heart--the lamplight gleamed upon the blood-red circle of rubies on the -one ring that she wore--it had never left her finger. - -He came into the room. She only retreated one step. - -“For God’s sake, Beatrice, do not call me husband! I am not your -husband!” - -She came toward him; and now the look of fear that she had worn, became -one of sympathy. Her eyes were full of tears as she said, “My poor -Harold, you have all the sympathy--the compassion--the love of my heart. -You know it.” - -“Yes,” he said, “I know it. I know what is in your heart. I know its -purity--its truth--its sweetness--that is why I should never have come -here, knowing also that I am unworthy to stand in your presence.” - -“You are worthy of all--all--that I can give you.” - -“Worthy of contempt--contempt--worthy of that for which there is no -forgiveness. Beatrice, we have not been married. The form through which -we went in this room was a mockery. The man whom I brought here was not -a priest. He was guilty of a crime in coming here. I was guilty of a -crime in bringing him.” - -She looked at him for a few moments, and then turned away from him. - -She went without faltering in the least toward the chair that still -remained in front of the fire. But before she had taken more than a -few steps toward it, she looked back at him--only for a second or two, -however; then she reached the chair and seated herself in it with her -back to him. She looked into the fire. - -There was a long silence before he spoke again. - -“I think I must have been mad,” he said. “Mad to distrust you. It was -only when I was away from you that madness came upon me. The utter -hopelessness of ever being able to call you mine took possession of me, -body and soul, and I felt that I must bind you to me by some means. An -accident suggested the means to me. God knows, Beatrice, that I meant -never to take advantage of your belief that we were married. But when -I felt myself by your side in the train--when I felt your heart beating -against mine that night--I found myself powerless to resist. I was -overcome. I had cast honour, and truth, yes, and love--the love that -exists for ever without hope of reward--to the winds. Thank God--thank -God that I awoke from my madness. The sight which should have made me -even more powerless to resist, awoke me to a true sense of the life -which I had been living for some hours, and by God’s grace I was strong -enough to fly.” - -Again there was a long silence. He could see her finely-cut profile as -she sat upright, looking into the fire. He saw that her features had -undergone no change whatever while he was speaking. It seemed as if his -recital had in no respect interested her. - -The silence was appalling. - -She put out her hand and took from a small table beside her, the hook -which apparently she had been reading when he had entered. She turned -over the leaves as if searching for the place at which she had been -interrupted. - -He came beside her. - -“Have you no word for me--no word of pity--of forgiveness--of farewell?” - he said. - -She had apparently found her place. She seemed to be reading. - -“Beatrice, Beatrice, I implore of you--one word--one word--any word!” - -He had clutched her arm as he fell on his knees passionately beside her. -The book dropped to the floor. She was on her feet at the same instant. - -“Oh God--oh God, what have I done that I should be the victim of these -men?” she cried, not in a strident voice, but in a low tone, tremulous -with passion. “One man thinks it a good thing to amuse himself by -pretending that I interest him, and another whom I trusted as I would -have trusted my God, endeavours to ruin my life--and he has done it--he -has done it! My life is ruined!” - -She had never looked at him while he was speaking to her. She had not -been able for some time to comprehend the full force of the revelation -he had made to her; but so soon as she had felt his hand upon her arm, -she seemed in a moment to understand all. - -Now she looked at him as he knelt at her feet with his head bowed down -to the arm of the chair in which she had been sitting--she looked down -upon him; and then with a cry as of physical pain, she flung herself -wildly upon a sofa, sobbing hysterically. - -He was beside her in a moment. - -“Oh, Beatrice, my love, my love, tell me what reparation I can make,” he -cried. “Beatrice, have pity upon me! Do not say that I have ruined your -life. It was only because I could not bear the thought that there was -a chance of losing you, that I did what I did. I could not face that, -Beatrice!” - -She still lay there, shaken with sobs. He dared not put his hand upon -her. He dared not touch one of her hands with his. He could only stand -there by her side. Every sob that she gave was like a dagger’s thrust -to him. He suffered more during those moments than his father had done -while the hand of the assassin was upon him. - -The long silence was broken only by her sobs. - -“Beatrice--Beatrice, you will say one word to me--one word, Beatrice, -for God’s sake!” - -Some moments had passed while she struggled hard to control herself. - -It was long before she was successful. - -“Go--go--go!” she cried, without raising her head from the satin cushion -of the sofa. “Oh, Harold, Harold, go!” - -“I will go,” he said, after another long pause. “I will go. But I leave -here all that I love in the world--all that I shall ever love. I was -false to myself once--only once; I shall never be so again. I shall -never cease loving you while I live, Beatrice. I never loved you as I do -now.” - -She made no sign. - -Even when she heard the door of the room open and close, she did not -rise. - -And the fire burnt itself out, and the lamp burnt itself out, but still -she lay there in her tears. - - - - -CHAPTER L.--ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - - -|HIS worst forebodings had come to pass. That was the one feeling which -Harold had on leaving her. - -He had scarcely ventured to entertain a hope that the result of his -interview with her and of his confession to her would be different. - -He knew her. - -That was why he had gone to her without hope. He knew that her nature -was such as made it impossible for her to understand how he could have -practised a fraud upon her; and he knew that understanding is the first -step toward forgiving. - -Still, there ever pervades the masculine mind an idea that there is no -limit to a woman’s forgiveness. - -The masculine mind has the best of reasons for holding fast to this -idea. It is the result of many centuries of experience of woman--of many -centuries of testing the limits of woman’s forgiveness. The belief that -there is nothing that a woman will not forgive in a man whom she loves, -is the heritage of man--just as the heritage of woman is to believe -that nothing that is done by a man whom she loves, stands in need of -forgiveness. - -Thus it is that men and women make (occasionally) excellent companions -for one another, and live together (frequently) in harmony. - -Thus it was that, in spite of the fact that his reason and his knowledge -of the nature of Beatrice assured him that his confession of the fraud -in which he had participated against her would not be forgiven by her, -there still remained in the mind of Harold Wynne a shadowy hope that she -might yet be as other women, who, understanding much, forgive much. - -He left her presence, feeling that she was no as other women are. - -That was the only grain of comfort that remained with him. He loved her -more than he had ever done before, because she was not as other women -are. - -She could not understand how that cold distrust had taken possession of -him. - -She knew nothing of that world in which he had lived all his life--a -world quite full of worldliness--and therefore she could not understand -how it was that he had sought to bind her to him beyond the possibility -(as he meant her to think) of ever being separated from him. She -had laid all her trust in him. She had not even claimed from him the -privilege of consulting with someone--her father or someone with whom -she might be on more confidential terms--regarding the proposition which -he had made to her. No, she had trusted him implicitly, and yet he had -persevered in regarding her as belonging to the worldly ones among whom -he had lived all his life. - -He had lost her. - -He had lost her, and he deserved to lose her. This was his thought as -he walked westward. He had not the satisfaction of feeling that he was -badly treated. - -The feeling on the part of a man that he has been badly treated by a -woman, usually gives him much greater satisfaction than would result -from his being extremely well treated by the same, or, indeed, by any -other woman. - -But this blessed consciousness of being badly treated was denied to -Harold Wynne. He had been the ill-treater, not the ill-treated. He -reflected how he had taken advantage of the peculiar circumstances of -the girl’s life--upon the absence of her father--upon her own trustful -innocence--to carry out the fraud which he had perpetrated upon her. -Under ordinary circumstances and with a girl of an ordinary stamp, such -a fraud would have been impossible. He was well aware that a girl living -under the conditions to which most girls are subjected, would have -laughed in his face had he suggested the advisability of marrying him -privately. - -Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she -enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not -cause him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot. - -One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was -why he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, “Thank God--thank -God!” - -He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card. - -“I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord,” said -Martin. - -“The lady?” - -Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come -to him. - -“Yes, my lord; Miss Craven,” said Martin, handing him the card. “But she -said that perhaps you would see her.” - -“_Only for a minute_,” were the words written in pencil on Miss Craven’s -card. - -“Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven,” said Harold. - -“Very good, my lord.” - -She stood at the door. The light outside was very low; so was the light -in the room. - -Between two dim lights was where Helen looked her best. A fact of which -she was well aware. - -She seemed almost pretty as she stood there. - -She had made up pale, which she considered appropriately sympathetic on -her part. And, indeed, there can scarcely be a difference of opinion on -this point. - -In delicate matters of taste like this she rarely-made a mistake. - -“It was so good of you to come,” said he, taking her hand. - -“I could not help it, Harold,” said she. - -“Mamma is in the brougham; she desired me to convey to you her deepest -sympathy.” - -“I am indeed touched by her thoughtfulness,” said Harold. “You will tell -her so.” - -“Mamma is not very strong,” said Helen. “She would not come in with me. -She, too, has suffered deeply. But I felt that I must tell you face to -face how terribly shocked we were--how I feel for you with all my heart. -We have always been good friends--the best of friends, Harold--at least, -I do not know where I should look in the world for another such friend -as you.” - -“Yes, we were always good friends, Helen,” said he; “and I hope that we -shall always remain so.” - -“We shall--I feel that we shall, Harold,” said she. - -Her eyes were overflowing with tears, as she put out a hand to him--a -hand which he took and held between both his own, but without speaking a -word. “I felt that I must go to you if only for a moment--if only to say -to you as I do now, ‘I feel for you with all my heart. You have all my -sympathy.’ That is all I have to say. I knew you would allow me to see -you, and to give you my message. Good-bye.” - -“You are so good--so kind--so thoughtful,” said he. “I shall always feel -that you are my friend--my best friend, Helen.” - -“And you may always trust in my friendship--my--my--friendship,” said -she. “You will come and see us soon--mamma and me. We should be so glad. -Lady Innisfail wanted me to go with her to Netherford Hall--several of -your sister’s party are going with Lady Innisfail; but of course I could -not think of going. I shall go nowhere for some time--a long time, I -think. We shall be at home whenever you call, Harold.” - -“And you may be certain that I shall call soon,” said he. “Pray tell -Mrs. Craven how deeply touched--how deeply grateful I am for -her kindness. And you--you know that I shall never forget your -thoughtfulness, Helen.” - -Her eyes were still glistening as he took her hand and pressed it. She -looked at him through her tears; her lips moved, but no words came. She -turned and went down the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, and -then Martin met her, opened the hall-door, and saw her put into the -brougham by her footman. - -“Well,” said her mother, when the brougham got upon the wood pavement. -“Well, did you find the poor orphan in tears and comfort him?” Mrs. -Craven was not devoid of an appreciation of humour of a certain form. -She had lived in Birmingham for several years of her life. - -“Dear mamma,” said Helen, “I think you may always trust to me to know -what is right to do upon all occasions. My visit was a success. I knew -that it would be a success. I know Harold Wynne.” - -“I know one thing,” said Mrs. Craven, “and that is, that he will never -marry you. Whatever Harold Wynne might have done, Lord Fotheringay will -never marry you, my dear. Make up your mind to that.” - -Her daughter laughed in the way that a daughter laughs at a prophetic -mother clad in sables, with a suspicion of black velvet and beads -underneath. - - - - -CHAPTER LI.--ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND OTHERS. - -|DURING the next few days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot -have his father murdered without attracting a considerable amount of -attention to himself. Cards “_With deepest sympathy_” were left upon him -by the hundred, and the majority of those sympathizers drove away to -say to their friends at their clubs what a benefactor to society was the -person who had run that knife into the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some -suggested that a presentation should be got up for that man; and when -someone asked what the police meant by taking so much trouble to find -the man, another ventured to formulate the very plausible theory that -they were doing so in order to force him to give sittings to an eminent -sculptor for a statue of himself with the knife in his hand, to be -erected by public subscription outside the House of Lords. - -“Yes; _pour encourager les autres!_” said one of the sympathizers. - -Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now? - -It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic -end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated. - -It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence. - -The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a -standpoint. - -They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord -Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of -displaying their ingenuity. - -They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of -questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his -tastes. - -They wondered if he had an enemy. - -They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the -daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy -they would be on the track of the assassin. - -After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure -of Providence. - -Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through -the medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered -in order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of -Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective -force. - -Other newspapers--they were mostly the organs of the Opposition--sneered -at the Home Secretary. - -Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of -his club, that the days of the Government were numbered. - -Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers; -and as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family -than any of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he -was determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and -to do so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes, -as well as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the -result of his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the -trouble that they entailed. - -He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve -thousand pounds a year, if he really wished--as he said he did--to make -provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping in -repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county. - -Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under -twelve hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on -twelve thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so -soon as he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was -that, by his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying -this sudden increase in revenue. - -If he had only been patient--if he had only been trustful for one week -longer! - -He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly--his cruelty--his -fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of -individual responsibility. - -He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise -he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided -carrying out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer -puppy--where would the Evolutionists be without their pointer -puppy?--can avoid pointing. - -Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done -would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question. -The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of -relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few -persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from -swearing; which seems rather a pity. - -Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr. -Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing -his sympathy for his friend’s bereavement. His only allusion to the -bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard. - -Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything, -Harold might depend on his doing it. - -Harold said, “Thank you, old chap, I don’t think I can reasonably ask -you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that -have yet to run from ten to sixty years.” - -“Therein the patient must minister to himself,” said Edmund. “I suppose -it is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any -advice--well, you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone -the length of taking my advice--yes, sometimes. That’s more than the -majority of people do--unless my advice bears out their own views. -Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when -he has made up his mind what course to adopt.” - -“I have always found your counsel good,” said Harold. “You know men and -their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women.” - -Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well -acquainted with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that -suggested a doubt of his capacity. - -“Women--and their motives?” said he. - -“Quite so,” said Harold. “Their motives. You once assured me that there -was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that -is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the -motives of woman; though it would be reasonable--at least as reasonable -as most talk of women--to speak of the motives of a woman.” - -“What woman do you speak of?” said Edmund, quickly. - -“I speak as a fool--broadly,” said Harold. “I feel myself to be a fool, -when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian -the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the -country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an -Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories, -and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads -while Brian was telling them.” - -“There’s no doubt about that,” said Edmund. - -“By the way, didn’t you ask me for my advice on some point during one of -those days on the Irish lough?” - -“If I did, I’m certain that I received good counsel from you,” said -Harold. - -“You did. But you didn’t take it,” said Edmund, with a laugh. - -“I told you once that you hadn’t given me time. I tell you so again,” - said Harold. - -“Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund. - -“You understand women--and their motives,” said Harold. “Yes, Miss -Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have often wondered -why you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an agreeable -addition to the party at Abbeylands.” - -Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour--not for a second did -his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend. - -“The fact was,” said he--and he smiled as he spoke--“I was under the -impression that your father--ah, well, if he hadn’t that mechanical -rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the walking doll -and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me upon one -occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was amused.” - -“And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am -beginning to understand something of men--and their motives,” remarked -Harold. - -“If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and fathom -the object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about Siberia. -They are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the horrors of -exile in Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible for what -goes on there. And the worst of it is that they’ll do it, too. Do you -remember Bulgaria?” - -“Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong -programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform.” - -“I’m trying to think out something at the present moment. Well, -good-bye. Don’t fail to let me know if I can do anything for you.” - -He had been gone some time before Harold smiled--not the smile of a man -who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but the -sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at fault -when he has thought the worst about one of his friends. - -There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part -of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as -much to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect -composure with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding -his motive in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson--with infinite tact--that -Beatrice Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he -had an interest to know. - -Edmund Airey’s acquaintance with men--and women--had led him to feel -sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the suggestion made -by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if he had any -particular reason for making that suggestion. This was perfectly plain -to Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking about for some -time with that answer ready for the question which had just been put to -him. - -“He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment,” said Harold, while -that bitter smile was still upon his features. - -And he was right. - - - - -CHAPTER LII.--ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE. - -|MR. AIREY had called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy -entertainment at Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to -find her at home. Now, however, he was more lucky. She had already two -visitors with her in the big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced. - -He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he -entered. He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so; -only he hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he -knew himself to be. He would not have liked them--whoever they were---to -leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were -close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider -themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her -quick flush as he entered. - -He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years. - -Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of -pleasure made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was -so good of him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush -would increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he -quickly perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his -sudden appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale -rather than roseate. - -He noticed this when her visitors--they were feeble folk, the head of a -department in the Museum and his sister--had left the house. - -“It is delightful to be face to face with you once more,” he said. “I -seem to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am beside you -again.” - -She gave a little laugh--did he detect something of scorn in its -ring?--as she said, “Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater ocean that -we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men that flows -around us.” - -No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it. - -“I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide,” said he. “I -see you with your feet among the purple heather--I wonder if there was a -sprig of white about it--along the shores of the Irish lough. I see you -in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing from the west, making -the green one red.” - -She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been -witnessed from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond -the headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and -pretended to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know -how close the tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh? - -“So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan’s views on the Irish -question, I shall be quite satisfied,” said she. “Poor Mr. Durdan! How -he saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the phenomena of Nature! -The sunset--the sea--the clouds--all had more or less to do with the -Irish question.” - -“And he was not altogether wrong,” said Edmund. “Mr. Durdan is a man -of scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes stumbles across a -truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish question----” - -“Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe,” - said she. “Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the -Government are numbered.” - -“He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of -persons,” said Edmund. - -“And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic,” said she. - -“We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we not?” - said he. - -“We have talked confidently at least.” - -“And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon.” - -“All?” - -“Well, perhaps, I made some reservations.” - -“Oh.” - -“Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations of -mine--some day.” - -He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not -be overlooked. - -“And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure.” - -She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her. -The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face. - -That was what the effect suggested to him. - -He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining -through her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before. - -She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her -word, “confidently.” - -He repeated the word. - -“Confidently--confidently;” then he shook his head. “Alas! no. A man who -speaks confidently on the subject of his aspirations--on the subject of -a supreme aspiration--is a fool.” - -“And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man was -master of his fate,” said she. - -“Did I?” said he. “That must have been when you first appeared among us -at Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since then.” - -“For example?” said she. - -“Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned,” he -replied, with scarcely a pause. - -She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely -resembling in its tone her first--that one which caused him to wonder if -there was a touch of scorn in its ripple. - -He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing -that he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on? - -She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading -him on when at Castle Innis-fail--among the purple heather or the -crimson sunsets about which he had been talking--and yet he had been -led on. He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an -understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of -the slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is -when aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative -of every change--of every motive. - -“I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you,” said he, and -his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he had been -saying--had he not been announcing an acquirement of modesty?--“Yes, if -you had been with us at Abbeylands you might have become associated in -my mind with the glory of the colour of an autumn woodland. But it was, -of course, fortunate for you that you got the terrible news in time to -prevent your leaving town.” - -He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the -rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her -gown. The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had -said, or from what she fancied he was about to say? - -It was a nice question. - -But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming -that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord -Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without -emotion. - -“I wonder if you care for German Opera,” said he. There could scarcely -be even the most subtle connection between this and his last remark. -She looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he had -spoken. Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and -German Opera become apparent. - -“German Opera, Mr. Airey?” - -“Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the Opera -House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every performance, -I believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German Opera--she has -even sat out a performance of ‘Parsifal’--and I know that she is eager -to make converts. She would be delighted to call upon you when she -returns from Brighton.” - -“It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will be -there--I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?” - -He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave -of her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, “You -will be there?” - -She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases, -“I should love to go. You will be there?” She was looking critically at -the toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make a thorough -examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were busy tying -knots on the girdle of her gown. - -He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was -conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward -silence by saying--not quite casually, of course, but still in not too -pointed a way, “Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my -devotion will be for German Opera, however.” The words were well chosen, -he felt. They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those words that -she had uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so charming. Only, -of course, being a man, he could choose his words. They were -artificial--the result of a choice; whereas it was plain that she could -not choose but utter the phrases that had come from her. She was a girl, -and so spoke impulsively and from her heart. - -“Meantime,” said she--she had now herself almost under control again, -and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she put out her -hand to meet his. “Meantime, you will come again to see me? My father is -greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also would, I know, be -very pleased to see you.” - -“I hope that you will be pleased,” said he. “If so, I will -call--occasionally--frequently.” - -“Frequently,” said she, and once again--but only for a moment this -time--she scrutinized her foot. - -“Frequently,” said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could choose his -tones as well as his words. - -He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him--the -satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken -cleverly, but acted cleverly--which is quite a different thing. - -Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling -upon her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had -been under the impression that he would do well to see her and make his -proposal to her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The -moment that he had heard of Lord Fotheringay’s death, it had occurred to -him that he would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After -due consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in -the first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to -make him feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice. - -Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a -hurry. - -“_I should love to go--you will be there_.” - -Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence -of the phrases had not been the result of art or thought. - -He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon -an impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days -that he had passed by her side--carrying out the compact which he had -made with Helen Craven--had produced an impression upon her far more -powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a -space of time. - -In short, she was his. - -That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his -resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing -his views on this point. - -Was he in love with her? - -He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII.--ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. - -|IT was commonly reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of -publicity that the days of the Government were numbered. - -There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before -the month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of -Siberia was spreading through the length and breadth of the land. -The active and observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of -England, Scotland, and perhaps--so far as they allowed themselves to -be understood--of Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the -question altogether. - -Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his -campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an -agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try -to move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings -remained intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are -burst that the British householder will join in any agitation that may -be started. The British farmer invariably turns out the Government after -a bad harvest; and there can be but little doubt that a succession of -wet summers would make England republican. - -It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the -atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this -England of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years -became the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of -great commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet -summer, and none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the -household water-pipes. - -The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees -Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the -agitation made itself felt. - -“The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled,” we were -told. “Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush down the -manhood of England,” we were assured. “The Heart was still there--it was -beating still; and wherever the Heart of an Englishman beats there was -found a foe--a determined, resolute foe--nay, an irresistible foe, to -tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known that was equal -to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble men and -women--women--women--to a living death among the snows of Siberia? -Could any one present form an idea of the horrors of a Siberian winter?” - (Cries of “Yes, yes,” from householders whose water-pipes had burst.) -“Well, in the name of our common humanity--in the name of our common -sympathies--in the name of England (cheers)--England, mind you, with her -fleet, that in spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part -of the Government, was still the mistress of the main--(loud cheers) -England, mind you, whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity -of a Government that had refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at -Woolwich and Aldershot--(tremendous cheers) in the name of this grand -old England of ours let those who were responsible for Siberia--that -blot upon the map of Europe”--(the agitator is superior to -geography)--“let them be told that their day is over. Let the Government -that can look with callous eyes upon such horrors as are enacted among -the frosts and snows of Siberia be told that its day is over (cheers). -Did anyone wish to know something of these horrors?” [‘Yes, yes!’) -“Well, here was a book written by a correspondent to a New York journal, -and which, consequently, was entitled to every respect”.... and so -forth. - -That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every -meeting. And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed -up the labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the -agricultural question, and several other questions, with the stories of -Siberian horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of -the Government. - -The friends of the Government were at their wits’ end to know how to -reply to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out -that England was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this -sophistry was too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst, -and those who were responsible for it were hooted on every platform. - -It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a -Dinner at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully -sensible of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only -carrying out the desire of the people of England, in postponing -consideration of this vast question until a still greater question -had been settled. After long and careful deliberation, Her Majesty’s -Ministers had resolved to submit to the country a programme the first -item of which was the Conversion of the Jews. - -The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The -friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days -they knew that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a -political factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A -Government that had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be -supported by England--this great Christian England of ours. - -“My Lords and Gentlemen,” said the Prime Minister, “the contest on which -we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is a contest of -England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My Lords and -Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty’s Ministers will be on the side of -Religion.” - -It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government. - -It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were -broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal -for making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon -pretty frequently--much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone -in all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and -upon several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey’s box by the -side of the enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having -remained in her stall from the beginning to the end of “Parsifal.” - Mr. Airey never missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He -missed all the others. - -Only once did he venture to introduce Harold’s name in her drawing-room. -He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and then he watched -her narrowly as he said, “By the way, I have never come upon him here. -Does he not call upon you?” - -There was only a little brightening of her eyes--was it scorn?--as -she replied: “Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a very -different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now.” - -“I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly -changed, poor fellow!” said Edmund. - -“Greatly changed--not ill?” she said. - -He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety--or was it -merely womanly curiosity? - -“Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father’s death and -the circumstances attending it affected him deeply.” - -“It gave him a title at any rate.” - -The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer -suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay. - -“You are too hard on him, Beatrice,” said Edmund. She had come to be -Beatrice to him for more than a week--a week in which he had been twice -in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his opera box. - -“Too hard on him?” said she. “How is it possible for you to judge what -is hard or the opposite on such a point?” - -“I have always liked Harold,” said he; “that is why I must stand up for -him.” - -“Ah, that is your own kindness of heart,” said she. “I remember how you -used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember that when you -told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter against the -destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others, not -nearly so good, were wealthy.” - -“I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that. Oh, -yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist on -your not being too hard on him.” - -He laughed, and so did she--yes, after a little pause. - -“Come again--soon,” she said, as she gave him her hand, which he -retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes--they were more -than usually lustrous--and said, - -“Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don’t you remember what I said to you -in this room--it seems long ago, we have come to be such close friends -since--what I said about my aspirations--my supreme aspiration?” - -“I remember it,” said she--her voice was very low. - -“I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice,” said he. - -Then he dropped her hand and was gone. - -He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the -residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he -found about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large -circle. - -It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of -manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for -him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room--an alcove -that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings. - -“The advice that I gave to you was good,” said he. - -“Your advice was that I should make no move whatever,” said she. “That -could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to make any move -in my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once, and then we -were out. Have you learned anything?” - -“I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry Harold -Wynne,” said Edmund. - -“Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so apt -to rush at conclusions.” - -“Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process, though -it is the slower.” - -“That is a confession--crawling! But how have you found out that she -will not marry him?” - -“He has treated her very badly.” - -“That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If -women declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of -spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present.” - -“She will not marry him.” - -“Will she marry you?” - -Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and -it was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement. - -“Will she marry you?” she cried, in a voice that had a strident ring -about it. “Will she marry you?” - -“I think it highly probable,” said he. - -She looked at him in silence for a long time. - -“Let us return to the room,” said she. - -They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV.--ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER. - -|IT was a few days after Edmund Airey had made his revelation--if it -was a revelation--to Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in -the person of Archie Brown. The second week in January had now come. The -season of German Opera was over, and Parliament was about to assemble; -but neither of these matters was engrossing the attention of Archie. -That he was in a state of excitement anyone could see, and before he had -even asked after Harold’s health, he cried, “I’ve fired out the lot of -them, Harry; that’s the sort of new potatoes I am.” - -“The lot of what?” asked Harold. - -“Don’t you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists,” said Archie. - -“The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don’t surely expect me to believe -that you possess sufficient political power to influence the fortunes of -a French dynasty.” - -“French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists--the actors, the -carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare, and -Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I’ve fired out the lot of them, -and be hanged to them!” - -“Oh, I see; you’ve fired out Shakespeare?” - -“He’s eternally fired out, so far as I’m concerned. Why should I end my -days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of hundred years -ago--may be more?” - -“Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?” - -“I’ve made things hum at the Legitimate this morning”--Archie had once -spent three months in the United States--“and now I’ve made the lot of -them git. I’ve made W. S. git.” - -“And Mrs. Mowbray?” - -“She gits too.” - -“She’ll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you’re not wanting in -courage.” - -“What courage was there needed for that?”--Archie had picked up a quill -pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to balance it on the -toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. “What courage is needed to -tell a chap that’s got hold of your watch chain that the time has come -for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn’t I the master of the lot of -them? Do you fancy that the manager was my master? Do you fancy that -Mrs. Mowbray was my--I mean, do you think that I’m quite an ass?” - -“Well, no,” said Harold--“not quite.” - -“Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing out a -crowd of navvies when he found that they didn’t pay? Not he. And do you -suppose that I haven’t inherited some of his good qualities?” - -“And when does the Legitimate close its doors?” - -“This day week. Those doors have been open too long already. -Seventy-five pounds for the Widow’s champagne for the Christmas -week--think of that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray’s friends drink nothing but -Clicquot. She expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it -Shakespeare. If you grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained -to the tarty chips at Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he -get off? Don’t you believe it, Harry.” - -“Nothing shall induce me.” - -“The manager’s only claim to have earned his salary is that he has been -at every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of people to -send orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that the most -valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people who will -accept orders. That’s theatrical enterprise nowadays. They say it’s the -bicycle that has brought it about.” - -“Anyhow you’ve quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your hand; Archie. -You’re a man.” - -“Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my -head again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager’s office. She -didn’t pat my head, Harry--the day is past for pats, and so I told her. -The day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She gave me a -look when I said that--if she could give such looks on the stage she’d -crowd the house--and then she cried, ‘Nothing on earth shall induce me -ever to speak to you again.’ ‘I ask nothing better,’ said I. After that -she skipped. I promised Norah that I’d do it, and I have done it.” - -“You promised whom?” - -“Norah. Great Godfrey! you don’t mean to say that you haven’t heard that -Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?” - -“Norah--Innisfail--and--you--you?” - -Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced -Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him. - -“What are you laughing about?” said Archie. “You shouldn’t laugh, -considering that it was you that brought it about.” - -“I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can’t for -the life of me see how--” - -“Didn’t you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and didn’t I -meet Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I fancied that I was -getting fond of her mother?” - -“Oh, yes; I can understand that,” said Harold, who was fully acquainted -with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success. - -“But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady Innisfail’s -part--so she explained when--ah--later on. Then I went with her to Lord -Innisfail’s place at Netherford and--well, there’s no explaining these -things. Norah is the girl for me! I’ve felt a better man for knowing -her, Harry. It’s not every girl that a chap can say that of--mostly the -other way. Lord Innisfail heard something about the Legitimate business, -and he said that it was about time I gave it up; I agreed with him, and -I’ve given it up.” - -“Archie,” said Harold, “you’ve done a good morning’s work. I was going -to advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again--never to grant her an -interview--she’s an edged tool--but after what you’ve done, I feel that -it would be a great piece of presumption on my part to offer you any -advice.” - -“Do you know what it is?” said Archie, in a low and very confidential -voice: “I’m not quite so sure of her character as I used to be. I know -you always stood up for her.” - -“I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time,” said -Harold. - -“Was that seventy-five pound’s worth of the Widow swallowed by one lover -in a week?” asked Archie. “Oh, I’m sick of the whole concern. Don’t you -mention Shakespeare to me again.” - -“I won’t,” said Harold. “But it strikes me that Shakespeare is like -Madame Roland’s Liberty.” - -“Whose Liberty?” - -“Madame Roland’s.” - -“Oh, she’s a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They’re all Madames -there. I dare say I’ve got a bill from her to pay with the rest of them. -Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I’m off. I thought I’d drop -in and tell you all that happened, as you’re accountable for my meeting -Norah.” - -“You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations,” said -Harold. “Accept the same yourself.” - -“You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn’t you?” said -Archie. “How was it that you didn’t fall in love with Norah when you -were there? That’s what has puzzled me. How is it that every tarty chip -didn’t want to marry her? Oh, I forgot that you--well, wasn’t there a -girl with lovely eyes in Ireland?” - -“You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes,” said Harold. - -“She had wonderful gray eyes,” said Archie. Harold became grave. “Oh, -yes, Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them wide open. She -told me a good deal about their party in Ireland. She took it for -granted that you--” - -“Archie,” said Harold, “like a good chap don’t you ever talk about that -to me again.” - -“All right, I’ll not,” said Archie. “Only, you see, I thought that you -wouldn’t mind now, as everyone says that she’s going to marry Airey, the -M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you’d be glad to hear that I’d -fired out the Legitimate.” - -“So I am--very glad.” - -Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to -balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other. - -He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him -gathering up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into -the square. - -It had fallen--the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund Airey. - -Could he blame her? - -He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the -severest punishment--such punishment as was now in her power to inflict. -She had trusted him with all her heart--all her soul. She had given -herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud. -That was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness. - -He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any -bitterness--all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of his -own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey’s cleverness. He did not -know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which he -came, after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of -the relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund -Airey’s cleverness was the more abhorrent. - -But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James’s, drove with his customary -rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to Norah. - -Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of -Archie to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this -devotion should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that -it absorbed a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by -Archie that no one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray’s character, -yet, like Harold--perhaps even better than Harold--she knew that Mrs. -Mowbray was an extremely well-dressed woman. She listened with interest -to Archie’s account of how he had accomplished that process of “firing -out” in regard to the Legitimate artists; and when he had told her all, -she could not help wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well -dressed in the future as she had been in the past. - -Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how -Harold had congratulated him. - -“You didn’t forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr. Airey is -going to marry Miss Avon?” said Norah. - -“Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?” he asked. - -“Good gracious! You didn’t suggest that you were commissioned by me to -tell him that?” - -“Not likely. That’s not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was on the -cautious side, and I didn’t even mention the name of the girl.” He did -not think it necessary to say that the reason for his adoption of this -prudent course was that he had forgotten the name of the girl. “No, but -when I told him that Airey was going to marry her, he gave me a look.” - -“A look? What sort of a look?” - -“I don’t know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a surgeon who had -just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut up. Then he -turned to me and said as gravely as a parson--a bit graver than some -parsons--that he’d feel obliged to me if I’d never mention her name -again.” - -“But you hadn’t mentioned her name, you said.” - -“Neither I had. He didn’t mention it either. I can only give you an idea -of what he said, I won’t take my oath about the exact words. But I’ll -take my oath that he was more knocked down than any chap I ever came -across.” - -“I knew it,” said Norah. “He’s in love with her still. Mamma says he’s -not; but I know perfectly well that he is. She doesn’t care a scrap for -Mr. Airey.” - -“How do you know that?” - -“I know it.” - -“Oh.” - - - - -CHAPTER LV.--ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN. - -|IT was early on the same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received -intimation of a visitor--a lady, the butler said, who gave the name of -Mrs. Mowbray. - -“I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I’ll see her,” was the -reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home. - -“Was it possible,” she thought, “that her visitor was the Mrs. -Mowbray whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all the -illustrated papers?” - -Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at -herself in a mirror--for a girl does not like to appear before a woman -of the highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is -consistent with tradition--her mind was set at rest. There may have been -many Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a -figure, and such a face. - -She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking -for some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent -on the face of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her -visitor. - -She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray’s set of sables had cost -someone--perhaps even Mrs. Mowbray herself--seven hundred guineas. - -“Thank you, I will not sit down,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I feel that I must -apologize for this call.” - -“Oh, no,” said Beatrice. - -“Oh, yes; I should,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I will do better, however, for -I will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss Avon, I have heard -so much about you during the past few months from--from--several people, -I could not help being interested in you--greatly interested indeed.” - -“That was very kind of you,” said Beatrice, wondering what further -revelation was coming. - -“I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used to -know Lady Innisfail long ago.” - -“Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?” asked -Beatrice. - -“Well, not exactly,” said Mrs. Mowbray; “but it was some of Lady -Innisfail’s guests--some who were entertained at the Irish Castle. -I used also to know Mrs. Lampson--Lord Fotheringay’s daughter. How -terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her brother.” - -“I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since,” said Beatrice, “but--” - -“You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say that -I hope you have seen him--that you still see him? Do not think me -a gossiping, prying old woman--I suppose I am old enough to be your -mother--for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss Avon. He is -the best man on earth.” - -Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to -Harold. Her flush had not decreased. - -“I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord Fotheringay, -Mrs. Mowbray,” said Beatrice, somewhat unequally. - -“Do not say that,” said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of pleading -tones. “Do not say that. You would make me feel how very gross has been -my effrontery in coming to you.” - -“No, no; please do not think that,” cried Beatrice, yielding, as every -human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the gracious -manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece of -insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming -from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another -woman’s compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her -resources, both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a -young cub such as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of -fascination. She knew that she would never pat Archie’s red head again. - -“Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard my -visit as an insolent intrusion.” - -Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully -appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that -mellifluous voice--by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes -that were resting upon her face. - -“He is so fond of you,” Mrs. Mowbray went on. “There is no lover’s -quarrel that will not vanish if looked at straight in the face. Let -me look at yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that demon -of distrust can be exorcised.” Beatrice had become pale. The word -_distrust_ had broken the spell of the Siren. - -“Mrs. Mowbray,” said she, “I must tell you again that on no -consideration--on no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord Fotheringay -with you.” - -“Why not with me, my child?” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Because I distrust -you--no I don’t mean that. I only mean that--that you have given me no -reason to trust you. Why have you come to me in this way, may I ask -you? It is not possible that you came here on the suggestion of Lord -Fotheringay.” - -“No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is going -to marry,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile. - -Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs. -Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face. - -Then she took a step toward the bell rope. “One moment,” said Mrs. -Mowbray. “Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?” - -Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been -less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled -it gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, “I -shall marry him if I please.” - -She was feminine. - -So was Mrs. Mowbray. - -“Will you?” she said. “Do you fancy for a moment--are you so infatuated -that you can actually fancy that I--I--Gwendoline Mowbray, will allow -you--you--to take Edmund Airey away from me? Oh, the child is mad--mad!” - -“Do you mean to tell me,” said Beatrice, coming close to her, “that -Edmund Airey is--is--a lover of yours?” - -“Ah,” said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, “you do not live in our world, my -child.” - -“No, I do not,” said Beatrice. “I now see why you have come to me -to-day.” - -“I told you why.” - -“Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover.” - -“_Has been?_ My child, it is only when I please that a lover of mine -becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund -Airey to associate with my ‘have beens.’ It was from him that I learned -all about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from Ireland -merely as ‘a gray eye or so.’ You still mean to marry him?” - -“I still mean to do what I please,” said Beatrice. She had now reached -the bell rope and she pulled it very gently. - -“You are an extremely beautiful young person,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “But -you have not been able to keep close to you a man like Harold Wynne--a -man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you expect--” - -Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her -sentence to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with -a stranger. - -Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart -at the door through which her visitor had passed. - -It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she -retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had -participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray’s sables were incomparably the -finest that she had ever seen. - -Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before -the butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In -another minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a -true-hearted girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry -an eligible man, or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise. - -“I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice,” said -Norah. “That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the news.” - -“I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the -least,” said Beatrice. - -“My news concerns myself,” said Norah. - -“Then it’s sure to interest me,” cried Beatrice. - -“It’s so funny! But yet it’s very serious,” said Norah. “The fact is -that I’m going to marry Archie Brown.” - -“Archie Brown?” said Beatrice. “I hope he is the best man in the -world--he should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah.” - -“I thought perhaps you might have known him,” said Norah. “I find that -there are a good many people still who do not know Archie Brown, -in spite of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done for -Shakespeare.” - -“The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?” - -“Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in -Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the -interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the -people had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is -very much disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the -Lord Chamberlain isn’t nearly particular enough in the plays that he -allows to be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the -theatres--they are never sure that something objectionable will not be -played--and go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted. Archie -says he’ll turn the Legitimate into a Music Hall--that is, if he can’t -sell the lease.” - -“Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my -dearest Norah.” - -“If you had come down to Abbeylands in time--before that awful thing -happened--you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma took a -great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the same. -At any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He’s such a good fellow, -with red hair--not the sort that the old Venetian painters liked, but -another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features--his mouth, for -instance--are too large, but if you look at him in one position, when -he has his face turned away from you, he’s quite--quite--ah--quite -curious--almost nice. You’ll like him, I know.” - -“I’m sure of it,” said Beatrice. - -“Yes; and he’s such a friend of Harold Wynne’s,” continued the -artful Norah. “Why, what’s the matter with you, Beatrice? You are as -pale--dearest Beatrice, you and I were always good friends. You know -that I always liked Harold.” - -“Do not talk about him, Norah.” - -“Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that.” - -“He is gone--gone away.” - -“Not he. He’s too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was with him -to-day, and when he heard that--well, the way some people are talking -about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog--Archie -told me so.” - -“Oh, do not talk of him, Norah.” - -“Why should I not?” - -“Because--ah, because he’s the only one worth talking about, and now -he’s gone from me, and I’ll never see him again--never, never again!” - Before she had come to the end of her sentence, Beatrice was lying -sobbing on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa--the same cushion that -had absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave her. - -“My dearest Beatrice,” whispered Norah, kneeling beside her, with her -face also down a spare corner of the cushion, “I have known how you were -moping here alone. I’ve come to take you away. You’ll come down with us -to our place at Netherford. There’s a lake with ice on it, and there’s -Archie, and many other pretty things. Oh, yes, you’ll come, and we’ll -all be happy.” - -“Norah,” cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, “Mr. Airey will be -here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say that he -would be here, and I know what he means.” Mr. Airey did call in half an -hour, and he found Beatrice--as he felt certain she should--waiting to -receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved -of. - -But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together -beyond those just recorded. - - - - -CHAPTER LVI.--ON THE BITTER CRY. - -|EDMUND AIREY drank his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him, -and while doing so, he told her of the progress that was being made -by the agitation of the Opposition and the counter agitation of the -Government. There was no disguising the fact that the country--like the -fool that it was--had been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There -was nothing like a bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of -the country. If any cry was only bitter enough it would succeed. -Fortunately, however, the Government, in its appeal against the Atheism -of the Continent, had also struck a chord that vibrated through the -length and breadth of England and Scotland. The Government orators were -nightly explaining that no really sincere national effort had ever been -made to convert the Jews. To be sure, some endeavours had been made from -time to time to effect this great object--in the days of Isaac of York -the gridiron and forceps had been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring -about the conversion of the Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent -agency of drawing-room meetings and a house-to-house collection had been -resorted to; but the results had been disappointing. Statistics were -forthcoming--nothing impresses the people of Great Britain more than a -long array of figures, Edmund Airey explained--to show that, whereas, on -any part of the West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for -one pound sterling 348 negroes could be converted--the rate was 0.01 -where rum was prohibited--yet for a subscription of five pounds, one -could only depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race--something less than half -an adult Hebrew--being converted. The Government orators were asking how -long so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue, -and so forth. - -Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days -Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment -to the Address, “That in the opinion of this House no programme of -legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a -protest against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia.” - -If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to -a Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be -compelled to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice. - -She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of -the political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist -Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, “My sympathies are -certainly with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment.” - -He laughed in his superior way. - -“That is so like a girl,” said he. “You are carried away by your -sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any question.” - -“I dare say you are right,” said she, smiling. “Our conscience is not -susceptible of those political influences to which you referred just -now.” - -“‘They are dangerous guides--the feelings’,” said he, “at least from a -standpoint of politics.” - -“But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which -humanity may be viewed,” said she. - -“There are,” said he. “And I also join with you in saying, ‘thank God!’ -Do you fancy that I am here to-day--that I have been here so frequently -during the past two months, from a political motive, Beatrice?” - -“I cannot tell,” she replied. “Have you not just said that the feelings -are dangerous guides?” - -“They lead one into danger,” said he. “There can be no doubt about -that.” - -“Have you ever allowed them to lead you?” she asked, with another smile. - -“Only once, and that is now,” said he. “With you I have thrown away -every guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have believed -it possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all things -are possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think it -possible that you could marry me.” - -She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was -not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond -him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A -full minute had passed before she said, “You should not have come to me -with that request, Mr. Airey. - -“Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other impulse -than that of my feelings?” - -“How can I tell?” she said, and now she was looking at him. “How can I -tell which you hold dearer--political advancement, or my love?” - -“How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?” he said -reproachfully--almost mournfully. “Why am I waiting anxiously for your -acceptance of my offer, if I do not hold your love more precious than -all other considerations in the world?” - -“Do you so hold it?” - -“Indeed I do.” - -“Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with Siberia. -Vote for the Amendment of the Opposition.” - -“What can you mean, Beatrice?” - -“I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me that -you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don’t make -this the price of my love, remember. I don’t make any compact to marry -you if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you will -have proved to me that your words are true--that you hold something -higher than political expediency.” - -She looked at him. - -He looked at her. - -There was a long pause. - -“You are unreasonable. I cannot do it,” he said. - -“Good-bye,” said she. - -He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not -take it. - -“You really mean me to vote against my party?” said he. - -“What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party -considerations?” said she. - -“It would mean self-effacement politically,” said he. “Oh, you do not -appreciate the gravity of the thing.” - -He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room. - -She remained silent where he had left her. - -“I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this,” he -continued, from the fireplace. “You do not understand the consequences -of my voting against my party.” - -“Perhaps I do not,” said she. “But I have given you to understand the -consequences of not doing so.” - -“Then we must part,” said he, approaching her. “Good-bye,” said she, -once more. - -He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then -he dropped it. - -“Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?” said he. “Do you really mean to -put me to this test?” - -“I never was more in earnest in my life,” said she. “Think over the -matter--let me entreat of you to think over it,” he said, earnestly. - -“And you will think over it also?” - -“Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to be -carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you.” - -“Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman,” said she, very meekly. - -She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away. - -And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of -her femininity. - -And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives. - -“Papa,” said Beatrice, from the door of the historian’s study. “Papa, -Mr. Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry him.” - -“That’s right, my dear,” said the great historian. “Marry him, or anyone -else you please, only run away and play with your dolls now. I’m very -busy.” - -This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely -the answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such -a _ménage_ as that which prevailed under his roof. - - - - -CHAPTER LVII.--ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - -|THE next day Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their -home in Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed -its doors, and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen’s Speech was read, -and a member of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia. -The Debate on the Address began. - -On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian’s -house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting -Lady Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the -debate--the Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night--he -drove in great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was -still in Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following -day. - -He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram, -gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office. - -The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail, -Netherford Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following -words, “_I will do it. Edmund_.” - -He did it. - -He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls -of the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the -unhappy wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a -Siberian exile, and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious -grounds (ironical cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment. - -He went into the lobby with the Opposition. - -It was an Irish member who yelled out “Judas!” - -The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a -“scene” in the House. - -Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst -of an African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons -express themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had -been present upon the occasion of a “scene” in the House of Commons. -He would, from a commanding position in the Strangers’ Gallery, have -learned all that he had set his heart upon acquiring--and more. - -It was while the “scene” was being enacted that Edmund Airey had put -into his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his club. - -“_Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m_.,” were the words that -the hall-porter had written on the back of the form. - -The next day he drove to the historian’s, and inquired if Miss Avon had -returned. - -She was in the drawing-room, the butler said. - -With triumph--a sort of triumph--in his heart, and on his face, he -ascended the staircase. - -He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely -there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were -more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she -had on a travelling dress. - -“Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?” he -cried, exultantly. - -“Done what?” she inquired. “I have seen no newspaper to-day.” - -“What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last night -for the Amendment?” he cried. - -“I heard nothing,” she replied. - -“I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, but -it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could -not be sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday, -Beatrice.” - -“Stop,” she said. “I was married to Harold Wynne an hour ago.” - -He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair. - -“You have made a fool of me,” he said. - -“No,” she said. “I could not do that. If I had got your telegram in time -last evening I would have replied to it, telling you that, whatever step -you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. Harold Wynne, you -see, came to me again. I had promised to marry him when we were together -at that seal-hunt, but--well, something came between us.” - -“And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!” - -“If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey? -Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you -entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a -more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to -make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing -with sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of -yours, Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the -terms of your compact--or is it a contract?--with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I -know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you.” - -He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her -little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted -with the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred -to Mrs. Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed -him. - -He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives. - -“Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination,” said he, -rising. “You have ruined my career.” - -She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had -never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled -him--that was how he put it--to take. She had not even had the interest -to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she had -not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were -plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That -was his one comforting thought. - -She laughed. - -“Oh, no, Mr. Airey,” said she. “Your career is not ruined. Clever men -are not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever man--so clever as -to be able to make me clever, if that were possible.” - -“You have crushed me,” he said. “Good-bye.” - -“If I wished to crush you I should have married you,” said she. “No -woman can crush a man unless she is married to him. Good-bye.” - -The butler opened the door. “Is my husband in yet?” she asked of the -man. - -“His lordship has not yet returned, my lady,” said the butler, who had -once lived in the best families--far removed from literature--and who -was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect. - -“Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I’m afraid,” she -said, turning to Mr. Airey. - -“I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay.” - -“I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now. -Good-bye, Mr. Airey.” - -He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven’s house. It was -the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the -message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits, -pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of -office. - -Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that -apartment. She understood its lights. - -He found that she had read the newspapers. - -She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand. - -“What on earth did you mean by voting--” she began. - -“You may well ask,” said he. “I was a fool. I was made a fool of by that -girl. She made me vote against my party.” - -“And she refuses to marry you now?” - -“She married Harold Wynne an hour ago.” - -Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of -news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa. - -“Yes,” resumed Edmund. “She is ill-treated by one man, but she marries -him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn’t that like a woman? She has -ruined my career.” - -Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very -unmusical laugh--a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about -some of its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears -which that paroxysm of laughter had caused. - -“You are a fool, indeed!” said she. “You are a fool if you cannot see -that your career is just beginning. People are talking of you to-day -as the Conscientious One--the One Man with a Conscience. Isn’t the -reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in England?” - -“Helen,” he cried, “will you marry me? With our combined money we can -make ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?” - -“I will,” she said. “I will marry you with pleasure--now. I will marry -anyone--now.” - -“Give me your hand, Helen,” he cried. “We understand one another--that -is enough to start with. And as for that other--oh, she is nothing but a -woman after all!” - -He never spoke truer words. - -But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly. - -Did she? - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Gray Eye or So, Complete, by -Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO, COMPLETE *** - -***** This file should be named 51947-0.txt or 51947-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/4/51947/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Gray Eye or So, Complete - In Three Volumes--Volume I, II and III: Complete - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51947] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO, COMPLETE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -Author of "I Forbid The Banns," "Dalreen," "Sojourners Together," -"Highways And High Seas," Etc. - -In Three Volumes Complete: Volumes I, II and III - -Sixth Edition - -London: Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row - - -1893 - - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO, Volume I - - - - -CHAPTER I.--ON CERTAIN ABSTRACTIONS. - - -I WAS talking about woman in the abstract," said Harold. - -The other, whose name was Edmund--his worst enemies had never -abbreviated it--smiled, lifted his eyes unto the hills as if in search -of something, frowned as if he failed to find it, smiled a cat's-paw of -a smile--a momentary crinkle in the region of the eyes--twice his lips -parted as if he were about to speak; then he gave a laugh--the laugh of -a man who finds that for which he has been searching. - -"Woman in the abstract?" said he. "Woman in the abstract? My dear -Harold, there is no such thing as woman in the abstract. When you talk -about Woman enthusiastically, you are talking about the woman you love; -when you talk about Woman cynically, you are talking about the woman who -won't love you." - -"Maybe your honours never heard tell of Larry O'Leary?" said the -Third--for there was a Third, and his name was Brian; his duty was to -row the boat, and this duty he interpreted by making now and again an -elaborate pretence of rowing, which deceived no one. - -"That sounds well," said Harold; "but do you want it to be applied? -Do you want a test case of the operation of your epigram--if it is an -epigram?" - -"A test case?" - -"Yes; I have heard you talk cynically about woman upon occasions. Does -that mean that you have been unloved by many?" - -Again the man called Edmund looked inquiringly up the purple slope of -the hill. - -"You're a wonderful clever gentleman," said Brian, as if communing with -himself, "a wonderful gentleman entirely! Isn't he after casting his -eyes at the very spot where old Larry kept his still?" - -"No," said Edmund; "I have never spoken cynically of women. To do so -would be to speak against my convictions. I have great hope of Woman." - -"Yes; our mothers and sisters are women," said Harold. "That makes -us hopeful of women. Now we are back in the wholesome regions of the -abstract once more, so that we have talked in a circle and are precisely -where we started, only that I have heard for the first time that you are -hopeful of Woman." - -"That's enough for one day," said Edmund. - -"Quite," said Harold. - -"You must know that in the old days the Excise police looked after the -potheen--the Royal Irish does it now," said the Third. "Well, as I say, -in the old days there was a reward of five pounds given by the Excisemen -for the discovery of a private still. Now Larry had been a regular hero -at transforming the innocent smiling pratie into the drink that's the -curse of the country, God bless it! But he was too wary a lad for the -police, and he rolled keg after keg down the side of Slieve Gorm. At -last the worm of his still got worn out--they do wear out after a dozen -years or so of stiff work--and people noticed that Larry was wearing out -too, just through thinking of where he'd get the three pound ten to buy -the new machinery. They tried to cheer him up, and the decent boys was -so anxious to give him heart that there wasn't such a thing as a sober -man to be found in all the country side. But though the brave fellows -did what they could for him, it was no use. He never got within three -pound five of the three pound ten that he needed. But just as things was -at their worst, they mended. Larry was his old self again, and the word -went round that the boys might get sober by degrees. - -"Now what did our friend Larry do, if you please, but take his old -worn-out still and hide it among the heather of the hill fornenst -us--Slieve Glas is its name--and then he goes the same night to the -Excise officer, in the queer secret way. - -"'I'm in a bad way for money, or it's not me that would be after turning -informer,' says he, when he had told the officer that he knew where the -still was concealed. - -"'That's the worst of you all,' says the officer. 'You'll not inform on -principle, but only because you're in need of money.' - -"'More's the pity, sir,' says Larry. - -"'Where's the still?' says the officer. - -"'If I bring you to it,' says Larry, 'it must be kept a dead secret, for -the owner is the best friend I have in the world.' - -"'You're a nice chap to inform on your best friend,' says the officer. - -"'I'll never be able to look at him straight in the face after, and -that's the truth,' says Larry. - -"Well, your honours, didn't Larry lead the officer and a couple of the -Excisemen up the hill in the dark of the early morning, and sure enough -they came upon the old still, hid among the heather. It was captured, -and Larry got the five pound reward, and was able to buy a brand-new -still with the money, besides having thirty shillings to the good in his -pocket. After that, was it any wonder that he became one of the greatest -informers in the country? By the Powers, he made a neat thing out of -the business of leading the officers to his own stills and pocketing the -reward. He was thirty shillings to the good every time. Ah, Larry was a -boy!" - -"So I judge," said the man called Edmund, with an unaffected laugh--he -had studied the art of being unaffected. "But you see, it was not of the -Man but of the Woman we were talking." - -"That's why I thought that the change would be good for your honours," -remarked Brian. "When gentlemen that I've out in this boat with me, -begin to talk together in a way that has got no sense in it at all, I -know that they're talking about a woman, and I tell them the story of -Larry O'Leary." - -Neither the man called Edmund, nor the man called Harold, talked any -more that day upon Woman as a topic. - - - - -CHAPTER II.--ON A GREAT HOPE. - -I THINK you remarked that you had great hope of Woman," said Harold, -the next day. The boat had drifted once again into the centre of the -same scene, and there seemed to be a likelihood of at least two of the -boat's company drifting back to the topic of the previous afternoon. - -"Yes, you certainly admitted that you had great hope of Woman." - -"And so I have. Woman felt, long ago; she is beginning to feel again." - -"You don't think that feeling is being educated out of her? I certainly -have occasional suspicions that this process is going on. Why, just -think of the Stafford girl. She can tell you at a moment's notice -the exact difference between an atheist, an infidel, an agnostic, a -freethinker, and the Honest Doubter." - -"She has been reading modern fiction--that's all. No, I don't think that -what is called education makes much difference to a woman. After all, -what does this thing called education mean? It simply means that a girl -can read all the objectionable passages of the ancient poets without the -need of a translation. I have hope of Woman because she is frequently so -intensely feminine." - -"Maybe you never heard tell of how the Widdy MacDermott's cabin came to -be a ruin," said the Third. - -"Feeling and femininity will, shall I say, transform woman into our -ideal?" said Harold. - -"Transform is too strong a word," said Edmund. "And as for our ideal, -well, every woman is the ideal of some man for a time." - -"And that truth shows not only how lowly is the ideal of some men, but -also how unwise it is to attempt to speak of woman in the abstract. I -begin to think that what you said yesterday had a grain of truth in it, -though it was an epigram." - -"The Widdy MacDermott--oh, the Widdy Mac-Dermott," said the Third, as -though repeating the burden of a ballad. "They made a pome about her -in Irish, that was near as full of nonsense as if it had been in the -English. You see when Tim, her husband, went to glory he left the cow -behind him, taking thought for the need of his widdy, though she hadn't -been a widdy when he was acquainted with her. Well, your honours, the -byre was a trifle too near the edge of the bog hole, so that when one -end fell out, there wasn't much of the mud walls that stood. Then one -blessed morning the childer came running into the cabin to tell their -mother that the cow was sitting among the ruins of its home." - -"A Marius of the farmyard," remarked Edmund. - -"Likely enough, sir. Anyhow, there she sat as melancholy as if she was -a Christian. Of course, as the winter was well for'ard it wouldn't do to -risk her life by leaving her to wander about the bogs, so they drove -her into the cabin--it was a tight fit for her, passing through the -door--she could just get in and nothing to spare; but when she was -inside it was warm and comfortable that the same cow made the cabin, -and the childer were wondering at the end of a month how they could -have been such fools as to shiver through the winter while the cow was -outside. - -"In another month some fine spring days came, and the cabin was a bit -close and stuffy with the cow inside, and the widdy herself turned the -animal's head to the door and went to drive her out for exercise and -ventilation. But the way the beast had been fed and petted told upon -her, and by the Powers, if she didn't stick fast in the doorway. - -"They leathered her in the cabin and they coaxed her from outside, but -it was all of no use. The craythur stood jammed in the door, while the -childer crawled in and out of the cabin among her hind legs--the fore -legs was half a cow's length outside. That was the situation in the -middle of the day, and all the neighbours was standing round giving -advice, and calling in to the widdy herself--who, of course, was a -prisoner in the cabin--not to lose heart. - -"'It's not heart I'm afeard of losing--it's the cow,' says she. - -"Well, your honours, the evening was coming on, but no change in the -situation of affairs took place, and the people of the country-side was -getting used to the appearance of the half cow projecting beyond the -door of the cabin, and to think that maybe, after all, it was nothing -outside the ordinary course of events, when Barney M'Bratney, who does -the carpentering at the Castle, came up the road. - -"He took in the situation with the glance of the perfessional man, and -says he, 'By the Powers, its a case of the cow or the cabin. Which would -ye rather be after losing, Widdy?' - -"'The cabin by all means,' says she. - -"'You're right, my good woman,' says he. 'Come outside with you.' - -"Well, your honours, the kindly neighbours hauled the widdy outside over -the back of the cow, and then with a crowbar Barney attacked the walls -on both sides of the door. In ten minutes the cow was free, but the -cabin was a wreck. - -"Of course his lardship built it up again stronger than it ever was, -but as he wouldn't make the door wide enough to accommodate the cow--he -offered to build a byre for her, but that wasn't the same--he has never -been so respected as he was before in the neighbourhood of Ballyboreen." - -"That's all very well as a story," said Edmund; "but you see we were -talking on the subject of the advantages of the higher education of -woman." - -"True for you, sir," said Brian. "And if the Widdy MacDermott had been -born with eddication would she have let her childer to sleep with the -cow?" - -"Harold," said Edmund, "there are many side lights upon the general -question of the advantages of culture in women." - -"And the story of the Widdy MacDermott is one of them?" said Harold. - -"When I notice that gentlemen that come out in the boat with me begin -to talk on contentious topics, I tell them the story of how the Widdy -MacDermott's cabin was wrecked," said Brian. - - - - -CHAPTER III.--ON HONESTY AND THE WORKING MAN. - -DON'T you think," remarked Edmund, the next day, as the boat drifted -under the great cliffs, and Brian was discharging with great ability -his normal duty of resting on his oars. "Don't you think that you should -come to business without further delay?" - -"Come to business?" said Harold. - -"Yes. Two days ago you lured me out in this coracle to make a -communication to me that I judged would have some bearing upon your -future course of life. You began talking of Woman with a touch of -fervour in your voice. You assured me that you were referring only to -woman in the abstract, and when I convinced you--I trust I convinced -you--that woman in the abstract has no existence, you got frightened--as -frightened as a child would be, if the thing that it has always -regarded as a doll were to wink suddenly, suggesting that it had an -individuality, if not a distinction of its own--that it should no longer -be included among the vague generalities of rags and bran. Yesterday you -began rather more boldly. The effects of education upon the development -of woman, the probability that feeling would survive an intimate -acquaintance with Plato in the original. Why not take another onward -step today? In short, who is she?" - -Harold laughed--perhaps uneasily. - -"I'm not without ambition," said he. - -"I know that. What form does your ambition take? A colonial judgeship, -after ten years of idleness at the bar? A success in literature that -shall compensate you for the favourable criticisms of double that -period? The ownership of the Derby winner? An American heiress, moving -in the best society in Monte Carlo? A co-respondency in brackets with a -Countess? All these are the legitimate aspirations of the modern man." - -"Co-respondency as a career has, no doubt, much to recommend it to some -tastes," said Harold. "It appears to me, however, that it would be easy -for an indiscreet advocate to over-estimate its practical value." - -"You haven't been thinking about it?" - -"You see, I haven't yet met the countess." - -"What, then, in heaven's name do you hope for?" - -"Well, I would say Parliament, if I could be sure that that came within -the rather narrow restrictions which you assigned to my reply. You said -'in heaven's name.'" - -"Parliament! Parliament! Great Powers! is it so bad as that with you?" - -"I don't say that it is. I may be able to get over this ambition as I've -got over others--the stroke oar in the Eight, for instance, the soul of -Sarasate, the heart of Miss Polly Floss of the Music Halls. Up to the -present, however, I have shown no sign of parting with the surviving -ambition of many ambitions." - -"I don't say that you're a fool," said the man called Edmund. He did not -speak until the long pause, filled up by the great moan of the Atlantic -in the distance and the hollow fitful plunge of the waters upon the -rocks of the Irish shore, had become awkwardly long. "I can't say that -you're a fool." - -"That's very good of you, old chap." - -"No; I can't conscientiously say that you're a fool." - -"Again? This is becoming cloying. If I don't mistake, you yourself do a -little in the line I suggest." - -"What would be wisdom--comparative wisdom--on my part, might be -idiotcy--" - -"Comparative idiotcy?" - -"Sheer idiotcy, on yours. I have several thousands a year, and I can -almost--not quite--but I affirm, almost, afford to talk honestly to the -Working man. No candidate for Parliament can quite afford to be honest -to the Working man." - -"And the Working man returns the compliment, only he works it off on the -general public," said Harold. - -The other man smiled pityingly upon him--the smile of the professor of -anatomy upon the student who identifies a thigh bone--the smile which -the _savant_ allows himself when brought in contact with a discerner of -the obvious. - -"No woman is quite frank in her prayers--no politician is quite honest -with the Working man." - -"Well. I am prepared to be not quite honest with him too." - -"You may believe yourself equal even to that; but it's not so easy as -it sounds. There is an art in not being quite honest. However, that's a -detail." - -"I humbly venture so to judge it." - -"The main thing is to get returned." - -"The main thing is, as you say, to get the money." - -"The money?" - -"Perhaps I should have said the woman." - -"The woman? the money? Ah, that brings us round again in the same circle -that we traversed yesterday, and the day before. I begin to perceive." - -"I had hope that you would--in time." - -"I shouldn't wonder if we heard the Banshee after dark," said the Third. - -"You are facing things boldly, my dear Harold," said Edmund. - -"What's the use of doing anything else?" inquired Harold. "You know how -I am situated." - -"I know your father." - -"That is enough. He writes to me that he finds it impossible to continue -my allowance on its present scale. His expenses are daily increasing, he -says. I believe him." - -"Too many people believe in him," said Edmund. "I have never been among -them." - -"But you can easily believe that his expenses are daily increasing." - -"Oh, yes, I am easily credulous on that point. Does he go the length of -assigning any reason for the increase?" - -"It's perfectly preposterous--he has no notion of the responsibilities -of fatherhood--of the propriety of its limitations so far as an exchange -of confidences is concerned. Why, if it were the other way--if I were to -write to tell him that I was in love, I would feel a trifle awkward--I -would think it almost indecent to quote poetry--Swinburne--something -about crimson mouths." - -"I dare say; but your father--" - -"He writes to tell me that he is in love." - -"In love?" - -"Yes, with some--well, some woman." - -"Some woman? I wonder if I know her husband." There was a considerable -pause. - -Brian pointed a ridiculous, hooked forefinger toward a hollow that from -beneath resembled a cave, half-way up the precipitous wall of cliffs. - -"That's where she comes on certain nights of the year. She stands at the -entrance to that cave, and cries for her lover as she cried that night -when she came only to find his dead body," said Brian, neutralizing the -suggested tragedy in his narrative by keeping exhibited that comical -crook in his index finger. "Ay, your honours, it's a quare story of -pity." Both his auditors looked first at his face, then at the crook in -his finger, and laughed. They declined to believe in the pity of it. - -"It is preposterous," said Harold. "He writes to me that he never quite -knew before what it was to love. He knows it now, he says, and as it's -more expensive than he ever imagined it could be, he's reluctantly -compelled to cut down my allowance. Then it is that he begins to talk of -the crimson mouth--I fancy it's followed by something about the passion -of the fervid South--so like my father, but like no other man in the -world. He adds that perhaps one day I may also know 'what'tis to love.'" - -"At present, however, he insists on your looking at that form of -happiness through another man's eyes? Your father loves, and you are to -learn--approximately--what it costs, and pay the expenses." - -"That's the situation of the present hour. What am I to do?" - -"Marry Helen Craven." - -"That's brutally frank, at any rate." - -"You see, you're not a working man with a vote. I can afford to be frank -with you. Of course, that question which you have asked me is the one -that was on your mind two days ago, when you began to talk about what -you called 'woman in the abstract.'" - -"I dare say it was. We have had two stories from Brian in the meantime." - -"My dear Harold, your case is far from being unique. Some of its -elements may present new features, but, taken as a whole, it is -commonplace. You have ambition, but you have also a father." - -"So far I am in line with the commonplace." - -"You cannot hope to realize your aims without money, and the only way by -which a man can acquire a large amount of money suddenly, is by a deal -on the Stock Exchange or at Monte Carlo, or by matrimony. The last is -the safest." - -"There's no doubt about that. But--" - -"Yes, I know what's in your mind. I've read the scene between Captain -Absolute and his father in 'The Rivals'--I read countless fictions up to -the point where the writers artlessly introduce the same scene, then I -throw away the books. With the examples we have all had of the -success of the _mariage de convenance_ and of the failure of the -_mariage d'amour_ it is absurd to find fault with the Johnsonian -dictum about marriages made by the Lord Chancellor." - -"I suppose not," said Harold. "Only I don't quite see why, if Dr. -Johnson didn't believe that marriages were made in heaven, there was any -necessity for him to run off to the other extreme." - -"He merely said, I fancy, that a marriage arranged by the Lord -Chancellor was as likely to turn out happily as one that was--well, made -in heaven, if you insist on the phrase. Heaven, as a match-maker, has -much to learn." - -"Then it's settled," said Harold, with an affectation of cynicism -that amused his friend and puzzled Brian, who had ears. "I'll have to -sacrifice one ambition in order to secure the other." - -"I think that you're right," said Edmund. "You're not in love just -now--so much is certain." - -"Nothing could be more certain," acquiesced Harold, with a laugh. "And -now I suppose it is equally certain that I never shall be." - -"Nothing of the sort. That cynicism which delights to suggest that -marriage is fatal to love, is as false as it is pointless. Let any man -keep his eyes open and he will see that marriage is the surest guarantee -that exists of the permanence of love." - -"Just as an I O U is a guarantee--it's a legal form. The money can be -legally demanded." - -"You are a trifle obscure in your parallel," remarked Edmund. - -"I merely suggested that the marriage ceremony is an I O U for the debt -which is love. Oh, this sort of beating about a question and making it -the subject of phrases can lead nowhere. Never mind. I believe that, on -the whole, the grain of advice which I have acquired out of your bushel -of talk, is good, and is destined to bear good fruit. I'll have my -career in the world, that my father may learn 'what'tis to love.' My -mind is made up. Come, Brian, to the shore!" - -"Not till I tell your honour the story of the lovely young Princess -Fither," said the boatman, assuming a sentimental expression that was -extremely comical. - -"Brian, Prince of Storytellers, let it be brief," said Edmund. - -"It's to his honour I'm telling this story, not to your honour, Mr. -Airey," said Brian. "You've a way of wrinkling up your eyes, I notice, -when you speak that word 'love,' and if you don't put your tongue in -your cheek when anyone else comes across that word accidental-like, you -put your tongue in your cheek when you're alone, and when you think over -what has been said." - -"Why, you're a student of men as well as an observer of nature, O -Prince," laughed Edmund. - -"No, I've only eyes and ears," said Brian, in a deprecating tone. - -"And a certain skill in narrative," said Harold. "What about the -beauteous Princess Fither? What dynasty did she belong to?" - -"She belonged to Cashelderg," replied Brian. "A few stones of the ruin -may still be seen, if you've any imagination, on the brink of the cliff -that's called Carrigorm--you can just perceive its shape above the cove -where his lordship's boathouse is built." - -"Yes; I see the cliff--just where a castle might at one time have been -built. And that's the dynasty that she belonged to?" said Harold. - -"The same, sir. And on our side you may still see--always supposing that -you have the imagination--" - -"Of course, nothing imaginary can be seen without the aid of the -imagination." - -"You may see the ruins of what might have been Cashel-na-Mara, where the -Macnamara held his court--Mac na Mara means Son of the Waves, you must -know." - -"It's a matter of notoriety," said Edmund. - -"The Macnamaras and the Casheldergs were the deadliest of enemies, and -hardly a day passed for years--maybe centuries--without some one of the -clan getting the better of the other. Maybe that was how the surplus -population was kept down in these parts. Anyhow there was no talk, so -far as I've heard, of congested districts in them days. Well, sir, it -so happened that the Prince of the Macnamaras was a fine, handsome, and -brave young fellow, and the Princess Fither of Cashelderg was the most -beautiful of Irish women, and that's saying a good deal. As luck would -have it, the young people came together. Her boat was lost in a fog one -night and drifting upon the sharp rocks beyond the headland. The cries -of the poor girl were heard on both sides of the Lough--the blessed -Lough where we're now floating--but no one was brave enough to put out -to the rescue of the Princess--no one, did I say? Who is it that makes a -quick leap off the cliffs into the rolling waters beneath? He fights his -way, strong swimmer that he is! through the surge, and, unseen by any -eye by reason of the fog, he reaches the Princess's boat. Her cries -cease. And a keen arises along the cliffs of Carrigorm, for her friends -think that she has been swallowed up in the cruel waves. The keen goes -on, but it's sudden changed into a shout of joy; for a noble young -figure appears as if by magic on the cliff head, and places the precious -burden of her lovely daughter in the arms of her weeping mother, and -then vanishes." - -"And so the feud was healed, and if they didn't live happy, we may," -said Edmund. - -"That's all you know about the spirit of an ancient Irish family -quarrel," said Brian pityingly. "No, sir. The brave deed of the young -Prince only made the quarrel the bitterer. But the young people had -fallen in love with each other, and they met in secret in that cave that -you see there just above us--the Banshee's Cave, it's called to this -day. The lovely Princess put off in her boat night after night, and -climbed the cliff face--there was no path in them days--to where her -lover was waiting for her in the cave. But at last some wretch unworthy -of the name of a man got to learn the secret and told it to the -Princess's father. With half-a-dozen of the clan he lay in wait for the -young Prince in the cave, and they stabbed him in twelve places with -their daggers. And even while they were doing the murder, the song -of the Princess was heard, telling her lover that she was coming. -She climbed the face of the cliff and with a laugh ran into the -trysting-place. She stumbled over the body of her lover. Her father -stole out of the darkness of the cave and grasped her by the wrist. -Then there rang out over the waters the cry, which still sounds on some -nights from a cave--the cry of the girl when she learned the truth--the -cry of the girl as, with a superhuman effort, she released herself from -her father's iron grasp, and sprang from the head of the cliff you see -there above, into the depths of the waters where we're now floating." - -There was a pause before Edmund remarked, "Your story of the -Montague-Macnamaras and the Capulet-Casheldergs is a sad one, Brian. And -you have heard the cry of the young Princess with your own ears, I dare -say?" - -"That I have, your honour. And it's the story of the young Princess -Fither and her lover that I tell to gentlemen that put their tongues -in their cheeks when they're alone, and thinking of the way the less -knowing ones talk of love and the heart of a woman." - -Both Edmund and Harold began to think that perhaps the Irish boatman was -a shrewder and a more careful listener than they had given him. - - - - -CHAPTER IV.--ON FABLES. - -VERY amusing indeed was Edmund's parody of the boatman's -wildly-romantic story. The travesty was composed for the benefit of Miss -Craven, and the time of its communication was between the courses of the -very excellent dinner which Lord Innisfail had provided for his numerous -guests at his picturesque Castle overlooking Lough Suangorm--that -magnificent fjord on the West Coast of Ireland. Lord Innisfail was a -true Irishman. When he was away from Ireland he was ever longing to be -back in it, and when he was in Ireland he was ever trying to get away -from it. The result of his patriotism was a residence of a month in -Connaught in the autumn, and the rest of the year in Connaught Square or -Monte Carlo. He was accustomed to declare--in England--that Ireland -and the Irish were magnificent. If this was his conviction, his -self-abnegation, displayed by carefully avoiding both, except during a -month every year, was all the greater. - -And yet no one ever gave him credit for possessing the virtue of -self-abnegation. - -He declared--in England--that the Irish race was the finest on the face -of the earth, and he invariably filled his Castle with Englishmen. - -He was idolized by his Irish tenantry, and they occasionally left a few -birds for his guests to shoot on his moors during the latter days of -August. - -Lord Innisfail was a man of about fifty years of age. His wife was -forty and looked twenty-five: their daughter was eighteen and looked -twenty-four. - -Edmund Airey, who was trying to amuse Miss Craven by burlesquing the -romance of the Princess Fither, was the representative in Parlament of -an English constituency. His father had been in business--some people -said on the Stock Exchange, which would be just the opposite. He had, -however, died leaving his son a considerable fortune extremely well -invested--a fact which tended strongly against the Stock Exchange -theory. His son showed no desire to go on the turf or to live within -reach to the European gaming-table. If there was any truth in the Stock -Exchange theory, this fact tended to weaken the doctrine of heredity. - -He had never blustered on the subject of his independence of thought or -action. He had attached himself unobtrusively to the Government party -on entering Parlament, and he had never occasioned the Whips a moment's -anxiety during the three years that had elapsed since the date of his -return. He was always found in the Government Lobby in a division, and -he was thus regarded by the Ministers as an extremely conscientious -man. This is only another way of saying that he was regarded by the -Opposition as an extremely unscrupulous man. - -His speeches were brief, but each of them contained a phrase which told -against the Opposition. He was wise enough to refrain from introducing -into any speech so doubtful an auxiliary as argument, in his attempts -to convince the Opposition that they were in the wrong. He had the good -sense to perceive early in his career that argument goes for nothing in -the House of Commons, but that trusted Governments have been turned out -of office by a phrase. This power of perception induced him to cultivate -the art of phrase-making. His dexterity in this direction had now -and again made the Opposition feel uncomfortable; and as making the -Opposition feel uncomfortable embodies the whole science of successful -party-government in England, it was generally assumed that, if the -Opposition could only be kept out of power after the General Election, -Edmund Airey would be rewarded by an Under-Secretaryship. - -He was a year or two under forty, tall, slender, and so -distinguished-looking that some people--they were not his friends--were -accustomed to say that it was impossible that he could ever attain to -political distinction. - -He assured Miss Craven that, sitting in the stern sheets of the boat, -idly rocking on the smooth swell that rolled through the Lough from the -Atlantic, was by far the most profitable way of spending two hours of -the afternoon. Miss Craven doubted if this was a fact. "Where did the -profit come in except to the boatman?" she inquired. - -Mr. Airey, who knew that Miss Craven was anxious to know if Harold had -been of the profitable boating-party, had no idea of allowing his powers -of travesty to be concealed by the account, for which the young woman -was longing, of Harold and the topics upon which he had conversed. He -assured her that it was eminently profitable for anyone interested in -comparative mythology, to be made acquainted with the Irish equivalent -to the Mantuan fable. - -"Fable!" almost shrieked Miss Craven. "Mantuan fable! Do you mean to -suggest that there never was a Romeo and Juliet?" - -"On the contrary, I mean to say that there have been several," said Mr. -Airey. "They exist in all languages. I have come unexpectedly upon them -in India, then in Japan, afterwards they turned up, with some delicate -Maori variations, in New Zealand when I was there. I might have been -prepared for them at such a place as this You know how the modern -melodramas are made, Miss Craven?" - -"I have read somewhere, but I forget. And you sat alone in the boat -smoking, while the boatman droned out his stories?" remarked the young -woman, refusing a cold _entre_. - -"I will tell you how the melodramas are made," said Mr. Airey, refusing -to be led up to Harold as a topic. "The artist paints several effective -pictures of scenery and then one of the collaborateurs--the man who -can't write, for want of the grammar, but who knows how far to go with -the public--invents the situation to work in with the scenery. Last of -all, the man who has grammar--some grammar--fills in the details of the -story." - -"Really! How interesting! And that's how Shakespeare wrote 'Romeo and -Juliet'? What a fund of knowledge you have, Mr. Airey!" - -Mr. Airey, by the method of his disclaimer, laid claim to a much larger -fund than any that Miss Craven had attributed to him. - -"I only meant to suggest that traditional romance is evolved on the same -lines," said he, when his deprecatory head-shakes had ceased. "Given the -scenic effects of 'Romeo and Juliet,' the romance on the lines of 'Romeo -and Juliet' will be forthcoming, if you only wait long enough. When you -pay a visit to any romantic glen with a torrent--an amateurish copy of -an unknown Salvator Rosa--ask for the 'Lover's Leap' and it will be -shown to you." - -"I'll try to remember." - -"Given, as scenic details, the ruin of a Castle on one side of -the Lough, the ruin of a Castle on the other, and the names of the -hereditary enemies, the story comes naturally--quite as naturally--not -to say overmuch about it--as the story of the melodrama follows the -sketch of the scenic effects in the theatre. The transition from -Montague to Macnamara--from Capulet to Cashelderg is easy, and there -you are." - -"And here we are," laughed Miss Craven. "How delightful it is to be able -to work out a legend in that way, is it not, Mr. Durdan?" and she turned -to a man sitting at her left. - -"It's quite delightful, I'm sure," said Mr. Durdan. "But Airey is only -adapting the creed of his party to matters of everyday life. What people -say about his party is that they make a phrase first and then look out -for a policy to hang upon it. Government by phrase is what the country -is compelled to submit to." - -Mr. Durdan was a prominent member of the Opposition. - - - - -CHAPTER V.--ON A PERILOUS CAUSEWAY. - -MISS CRAVEN laughed and watched Mr. Airey searching for a reply beneath -the frill of a Neapolitan ice. She did not mean that he should find -one. Her aim was that he should talk about Harold Wynne. The dinner had -reached its pianissimo passages, so to speak. It was dwindling away into -the _marrons glacs_ and _fondants_ stage, so she had not much time left -to her to find out if it was indeed with his friend Edmund Airey that -Harold had disappeared every afternoon. - -Edmund Airey knew what her aim was. He was a clever man, and he -endeavoured to frustrate it. Ten minutes afterwards he was amazed to -find that he had told her all that she wanted to know, and something -over, for he had told her that Harold was at present greatly interested -in the question of the advisability of a man's entering public life by -the perilous causeway--the phrase was Edmund Airey's--of matrimony. - -As he chose a cigar for himself--for there was a choice even among -Lord Innisfail's cigars--he was actually amazed to find that the girl's -purpose had been too strong for his resolution. He actually felt as if -he had betrayed his friend to the enemy--he actually put the matter in -this way in his moment of self-reproach. - -Before his cigar was well alight, however, he had become more reasonable -in his censorship of his own weakness. An enemy? Why, the young woman -was the best friend that Harold Wynne could possibly have. She was -young--that is, young enough--she was clever--had she not got the better -of Edmund Airey?--and, best of all, she was an heiress. - -"The perilous causeway of matrimony"--that was the phrase which had come -suddenly into his mind, and, in order to introduce it, he had sent the -girl away feeling that she was cleverer than he was. - -"The perilous causeway of matrimony," he repeated. "With a handrail of -ten thousand a year--there is safety in that." - -He looked down the long dining-hall, glistening with silver, to where -Harold stood facing the great window, the square of which framed a dim -picture of a mountain slope, purple with heather, that had snared the -last light of the sunken sun. The sea horizon cut upon the slope not far -from its summit, and in that infinity of Western distance there was a -dash of drifting crimson. - -Harold Wynne stood watching that picture of the mountain with the -Atlantic beyond, and Edmund watched him. - -There was a good deal of conversation flying about the room. The smokers -of cigarettes talked on a topic which they would probably have called -Art. The smokers of pipes explained in a circumstantial way, that -carried suspicion with it to the ears of all listeners, their splendid -failures to secure certain big fish during the day. The smokers of -cigars talked of the Horse and the House--mostly of the Horse. There -was a rather florid judge present--he had talked himself crimson to the -appreciative woman who had sat beside him at dinner, on the subject of -the previous racing-season, and now he was talking himself purple on the -subject of the future season. He had been at Castle Innisfail for three -days, and he had steadily refused to entertain the idea of talking -on any other subject than the Horse from the standpoint of a possible -backer. - -This was the judge, who, during the hearing of a celebrated case a few -months before--a case that had involved a reference to an event known -as the City and Suburban, inquired if that was the name of a Railway -Company. Hearing that it was a race, he asked if it was a horse race or -a dog race. - -Harold remained on his feet in front of the window, and Edmund remained -watching him until the streak of crimson had dwindled to a flaming Rahab -thread. The servants entered the room with coffee, and brought out many -subtle gleams from the old oak by lighting the candles in the silver -sconces. - -Every time that the door was opened, the sound of a human voice (female) -trying, but with indifferent success, to scale the heights of a -song that had been saleable by reason of its suggestions of -passion--drawing-room passion--saleable passion--fought its way through -the tobacco smoke of the dining-hall. Hearing it fitfully, such men as -might have felt inclined to leave half-smoked cigars for the sake of the -purer atmosphere of the drawingroom, became resigned to their immediate -surroundings. - -A whisper had gone round the table while dinner was in progress, that -Miss Stafford had promised--some people said threatened--to -recite something in the course of the evening. Miss Stafford was a -highly-educated young woman. She spoke French, German, Italian -and Spanish. This is only another way of saying that she could -be uninteresting in four languages. In addition to the ordinary -disqualifications of such young women, she recited a little--mostly -poems about early childhood, involving a lisp and a pinafore. She wished -to do duty as an object lesson of the possibility of combining with an -exhaustive knowledge of mathematical formul, the strongest instincts of -femininity. Mathematics and motherhood were not necessarily opposed to -one another, her teachers had assured the world, through the medium -of magazine articles. Formul and femininity went hand in hand, they -endeavoured to prove, through the medium of Miss Stafford's recitations; -so she acquired the imaginary lisp of early childhood, and tore a -pinafore to shreds in the course of fifteen stanzas. - -It was generally understood among men that one of these recitations -amply repaid a listener for a careful avoidance of the apartment where -it took place. - -The threat that had been whispered round the dinner-table formed an -excuse for long tarrying in front of the coffee cups and Bndictine. - -"Boys," at length said Lord Innisfail, endeavouring to put on an -effective Irish brogue--he thought it was only due to Ireland to put on -a month's brogue. "Boys, we'll face it like men. Shall it be said in the -days to come that we ran away from a lisp and a pinafore?" Then suddenly -remembering that Miss Stafford was his guest, he became grave. "Her -father was my friend," he said. "He rode straight. What's the matter -with the girl? If she does know all about the binomial-theorem and -German philosophy, has she not some redeeming qualities? You needn't -tell me that there's not some good in a young woman who commits to -memory such stuff as that--that what's its name--the little boy that's -run over by a 'bus or something or other and that lisps in consequence -about his pap-pa. No, you needn't argue with me. It's extremely kind of -her to offer to recite, and I will stand up for her, confound her! And -if anyone wants to come round with the Judge and me to the stables while -she's reciting, now's the time. Will you take another glass of claret, -Wynne?" - -"No, thank you," said Harold. "I'm off to the drawing-room." - -He followed the men who were straggling into the great square hall where -a billiard table occupied an insignificant space. The skeleton of an -ancient Irish elk formed a rather more conspicuous object in the hall, -and was occasionally found handy for the disposal of hats, rugs, and -overcoats. - -"She is greatly interested in the Romeo and Juliet story," remarked -Edmund, strolling up to him. - -"She--who?" asked Harold. - -"The girl--the necessary girl. The--let us say, alternative. The--the -handrail." - -"The handrail?" - -"Yes. Oh, I forgot: you were not within hearing. There was something -said about the perilous causeway of matrimony." - -"And that suggested the handrail idea to you? No better idea ever -occurred even to you, O man of many ideas, and of still more numerous -phrases." - -"She is responsive--she is also clever--she is uncommonly clever--she -got the better of me." - -"Say no more about her cleverness." - -"I will say no more about it. A man cannot go a better way about -checking an incipient passion for a young woman than by insisting on -her cleverness. We do not take to the clever ones. Our ideal does not -include a power of repartee." - -"Incipient passion!" - -There was a suspicion of bitterness in Harold's voice, as he repeated -the words of his friend. - -"Incipient passion! I think we had better go into the drawing-room." - -They went into the drawing-room. - - - - -CHAPTER VI.--ON THE INFLUENCE OF AN OCEAN. - -MISS CRAVEN was sitting on a distant sofa listening, or pretending to -listen, which is precisely the same thing, with great earnestness to the -discourse of Mr. Durdan, who, besides being an active politician, had a -theory upon the question of what Ibsen meant by his "Master Builder." - -Harold said a few words to Miss Innisfail, who was trying to damp her -mother's hope of getting up a dance in the hall, but Lady Innisfail -declined to be suppressed even by her daughter, and had received -promises of support for her enterprise in influential quarters. Finding -that her mother was likely to succeed, the girl hastened away to entreat -one of her friends to play a "piece" on the pianoforte. - -She knew that she might safely depend upon the person to whom she -applied for this favour, to put a stop to her mother's negotiations. -The lady performed in the old style. Under her hands the one instrument -discharged the office of several. The volume of sound suggested that -produced by the steam orchestra of a switchback railway. - -Harold glanced across the room and perceived that, while the performer -was tearing notes by the handful and flinging them about the place--up -in the air, against the walls--while her hands were worrying the bass -notes one moment like rival terrier puppies over a bone, and at other -times tickling the treble rather too roughly to be good fun--Miss -Craven's companion had not abandoned the hope of making himself audible -if not intelligible. He had clearly accepted the challenge thrown down -by the performer. - -Harold perceived that a man behind him had furtively unlatched one of -the windows leading to the terrace, and was escaping by that means, and -not alone. From outside came the hearty laughter of the judge telling an -open-air story to his host. People looked anxiously toward the -window. Harold shook his head as though suggesting that that sort of -interruption must be put a stop to at once, and that he was the man to -do it. - -He went resolutely out through the window. - -"'Which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court,'" said -Edmund, in the ear of Lady Innisfail. - -He spoke too soon. The judge's laugh rolled along like the breaking of -a tidal wave. It was plain that Harold had not gone to remonstrate with -the judge. - -He had not. He had merely strolled round the terrace to the entrance -hall. Here he picked up one of the many caps which were hanging there, -and putting it on his head, walked idly away from the castle, hearing -only the floating eulogy uttered by the judge of a certain well-known -jockey who was, he said, the kindliest and most honourable soul that had -ever pulled the favourite. - -A longing had come to him to hurry as far as he could from the Castle -and its company--they were hateful to him just at that instant. The -shocking performance of the woman at the pianoforte, the chatter of his -fellow-guests, the delicate way in which his friend Edmund Airey made -the most indelicate allusions, the _nisi prius_ jocularity of the -judge--he turned away from all with a feeling of repulsion. - -And yet Lord Innisfail's cook was beyond reproach as an artist. - -Harold Wynne had accepted the invitation of Lady Innisfail in cold -blood. She had asked him to go to Castle Innisfail for a few weeks in -August, adding, "Helen Craven has promised to be among our party. You -like her, don't you?" - -"Immensely," he had replied. - -"I knew it," she had cried, with an enthusiasm that would have shocked -her daughter. "I don't want a discordant note at our gathering. If you -look coldly on Helen Craven I shall wish that I hadn't asked you; but if -you look on her in--well, in the other way, we shall all be happy." - -He knew exactly what Lady Innisfail meant to convey. It had been hinted -to him before that, as he was presumably desirous of marrying a girl -with a considerable amount of money, he could not do better than -ask Miss Craven to be his wife. He had then laughed and assured Lady -Innisfail that if their happiness depended upon the way he looked upon -Miss Craven, it would be his aim to look upon her in any way that Lady -Innisfail might suggest. - -Well, he had come to Castle Innisfail, and for a week he had given -himself up to the vastness of the Western Cliffs--of the Atlantic -waves--of the billowy mountains--of the mysterious sunsets. It was -impossible to escape from the overwhelming influence of the Atlantic in -the region of Castle Innisfail. Its sound seemed to go out to all the -ends of the earth. At the Castle there was no speech or language where -its voice was not heard. It was a sort of background of sound that -had to be arranged for by anyone desirous of expressing any thought or -emotion in that region. Even the judge had to take it into consideration -upon occasions. He never took into consideration anything less important -than an ocean. - -For a week the influence of the Atlantic had overwhelmed Harold. He had -given himself up to it. He had looked at Miss Craven neither coldly nor -in the other way--whatever it was--to which Lady Innisfail had referred -as desirable to be adopted by him. Miss Craven had simply not been in -his thoughts. Face to face with the Infinite one hesitates to give up -one's attention to a question of an income that may be indicated by five -figures only. - -But at the end of a week, he received a letter from his father, who -was Lord Fotheringay, and this letter rang many changes upon the -five-figure-income question. The question was more than all the -Infinities to Lord Fotheringay, and he suggested as much in writing to -his son. - -"Miss Craven is all that is desirable," the letter had said. "Of -course she is not an American; but one cannot expect everything in this -imperfect world. Her money is, I understand, well invested--not in land, -thank heaven! She is, in fact, a CERTAINTY, and certainties are becoming -rarer every day." - -Here the letter went on to refer to some abstract questions of the opera -in Italy--it was to the opera in Italy that Lord Fotheringay w as, -for the time being, attached. The progress made by one of its -ornaments--gifted with a singularly flexible soprano--interested him -greatly, and Harold had invariably found that in proportion to the -interest taken by his father in the exponents of certain arts--singing, -dancing, and the drama--his own allowance was reduced. He knew that his -father was not a rich man, for a peer. His income was only a trifle -over twelve thousand a year; but he also knew that only for his father's -weaknesses, this sum should be sufficient for him to live on with some -degree of comfort. The weaknesses, however, were there, and they had to -be calculated on. Harold calculated on them; and after doing the sum in -simple subtraction with the sound of the infinite ocean around him, he -had asked his friend Edmund Airey to pass a few hours in the boat with -him. Edmund had complied for three consecutive afternoons, with the -result that, with three ridiculous stories from the Irish boatman, -Harold had acquired a certain amount of sound advice from the friend who -was in his confidence. - -He had made up his mind that, if Miss Craven would marry him, he would -endeavour to make her the wife of a distinguished man. - -That included everything, did it not? - -He felt that he might realize the brilliant future predicted for him by -his friends when he was the leader of the party of the hour at -Oxford. The theory of the party was--like everything that comes from -Oxford--eminently practical. The Regeneration of Humanity by means of -Natural Scenery was its foundation. Its advocates proved to their own -satisfaction that, in every question of morality and the still more -important question of artistic feeling, heredity was not the dominant -influence, but natural scenery. - -By the party Harold was regarded as the long-looked-for Man--what the -world wanted was a Man, they declared, and he was destined to be the -Man. - -He had travelled a good deal on leaving the University, and in a year -he had forgotten that he had ever pretended that he held any theory. A -theory he had come to believe to be the paper fortress of the Immature. -But the Man--that was a different thing. He hoped that he might yet -prove himself to be a man, so that, after all, his friends--they had -also ceased to theorize--might not have predicted in vain. - -Like many young men without experience, he believed that Parliament was -a great power. If anyone had told him that the art of gerrymandering -is greater than the art of governing, he would not have known what his -informant meant. - -His aspirations took the direction of a seat in the House of Commons. In -spite of the fact of his being the son of Lord Fotheringay, he believed -that he might make his mark in that Assembly. The well-known love of the -Voter for social purity--not necessarily in Beer--and his intolerance of -idleness--excepting, of course, when it is paid for by an employer--had, -he knew, to be counted on. Lord Fotheringay was not, he felt, the -ideal of the Working man, but he hoped he might be able to convince -the Working man--the Voter--that Lord Fotheringay's most noted -characteristics had not descended to his son. - -From his concern on this point it will be readily understood how -striking a figure was the Voter, in his estimation. - -It is not so easy to understand how, with that ideal Voter--that stern -unbending moralist--before his eyes, he should feel that there was a -great need for him to be possessed of money before offering himself to -any constituency. The fact remained, however, that everyone to whom -he had confided his Parliamentary aspirations, had assured him at the -outset that money had to be secured before a constituency could be -reckoned on. His friend Edmund Airey had still further impressed upon -him this fact; and now he had made up his mind that his aspirations -should not be discouraged through the lack of money. - -He would ask Helen Craven that very night if she would have the goodness -to marry him. - - - - -CHAPTER VII.--ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A FULL MOON. - -WHY the fact of his having made up his mind to ask Miss Craven who, -without being an American, still possessed many qualities which are -generally accepted as tending to married happiness, should cause him to -feel a great longing to leave Castle Innisfail, its occupants, and its -occupations behind him for evermore, it is difficult to explain on any -rational grounds. That feeling was, however, upon him, and he strode -away across the billowy moorland in the direction of the cliffs of the -fjord known as Lough Suangorm. - -The moon was at its full. It had arisen some little way up the sky -and was showering its red gold down the slopes of the two cone-shaped -mountains that guard the pass of Lamdhu; the deep glen was flooded with -moonlight--Harold could perceive in its hollows such objects as were -scarcely visible on the ordinary gray days of the West of Ireland. Then -he walked until he was on the brink of the great cliffs overhanging the -lough. From the high point on which he stood he could follow all the -curves of the lough out to the headlands at its entrance seven miles -away. Beyond those headlands the great expanse of sea was glittering -splendidly in the moonlight, though the moon had not risen high enough -to touch the restless waters at the base of the cl iffs on which he -stood. The waters were black as they struggled within their narrow -limits and were strangled in the channel. Only a white thread of surf -marked the breaking place of the waves upon the cliffs. - -He went down the little track, made among the rocks of the steep slope, -until he reached the natural cavern that bore the name of the Banshee's -Cave. - -It was scarcely half-way up the face of the cliff. From that hollow in -the rocks the descent to the waters of the lough was sheer; but the cave -was easily accessible by a zig-zag path leading up from a small ledge of -rocks which, being protected by a reef that started up abruptly half a -dozen yards out in the narrow channel, served as a landing place for the -fishing boats, of which there were several owned in the tiny village of -Carrigorm. - -He stood at the entrance to the cavern, thinking, not upon the scene -which, according to the boatman's story, had been enacted at the place -several hundreds--perhaps thousands (the chronology of Irish legends is -vague)--of years before, but upon his own prospects. - -"It is done," he said, looking the opposite cliffs straight in the -face, as though they were Voters--(candidates usually look at the Voters -straight in the face the first time they address them). "It is done; -I cast it to the winds--to the seas, that are as indifferent to -man's affairs as the winds. I must be content to live without it. The -career--that is enough!" - -What it was that he meant to cast to the indifference of the seas and -the winds was nothing more than a sentiment--a vague feeling that he -could not previously get rid of--a feeling that man's life without -woman's love was something incomplete and unsatisfactory. - -He had had his theory on this subject as well as on others long ago--he -had gone the length of embodying it in sonnets. - -Was it now to go the way of the other impracticable theories? - -He had cherished it for long. If it had not been dear to him he would -not have subjected himself to the restriction of the sonnet in writing -about it. He would have adopted the commonplace and facile stanza. But a -sonnet is a shrine. - -He had felt that whatever might happen to him, however disappointed he -might become with the world and the things of the world, that great and -splendid love was before him, and he felt that to realize it would be to -forget all disappointments--to forget all the pangs which the heart of -man knows when its hour of disillusion comes. - -Love was the reward of the struggle--the deep, sweet draught that -refreshes the heart of the toiler, he felt. In whatever direction -illusion may lie, love was not in that direction. - -That had been his firm belief all his life, and now he was standing at -the entrance to the cavern--the cavern that was associated with a story -of love stronger than death--and he had just assured himself that he -had flung to the seas and the winds all his hopes of that love which had -been in his dreams. - -"It is gone--it is gone!" he cried, looking down at that narrow part of -the lough where the boat had been tumbling during the afternoon. - -What had that adviser of his said? He remembered something of his -words--something about marriage being a guarantee of love. - -Harold laughed grimly as he recalled the words. He knew better. The love -that he had looked for was not such as was referred to by his friend Mr. -Airey. It was---- - -But what on earth was the good of trying to recall what it was? The -diamonds that Queen Guinevere flung into the river, made just the same -splash as common stones would have done under the same circumstances: -and the love which he had cherished was, when cast to the winds, no more -worthy of being thought precious than the many other ideas which he had -happily rid himself of in the course of his walk through the world. - -This was how he repressed the thought of his conversation with his -friend; and after a while the recollections that he wished to suppress -yielded to his methods. - -Once more the influences of the place--the spectacle of the infinite -mountains, the voice of the infinite sea--asserted themselves as they -had done during the first week of his arrival at the Castle. The story -of the legendary Prince and Princess came back to him as though it were -the embodiment of the influences of the region of romance in the midst -of which he was standing. - -What had Brian the boatman said? The beautiful girl had crossed the -narrow channel of the lough night after night and had climbed the face -of the cliffs to her lover at their dizzy trysting-place--the place -where he was now standing. - -Even while he thought upon the details, as carefully narrated by the -boatman, the moon rose high enough to send her rays sweeping over the -full length of the lough. For a quarter of an hour a single thin crag of -the Slieve Gorm mountains had stood between the moon and the narrowing -of the lough. The orb rose over the last thin peak of the crag. The -lough through all its sinuous length flashed beneath his eyes like a -Malayan crease, and in the waters just below the cliffs which a moment -before had been black, he saw a small boat being rowed by a white -figure. - -"That is the lovely Princess of the story," said he. "She is in -white--of course they are all in white, these princesses. It's -marvellous what a glint of moonlight can do. It throws a glamour over -the essentially commonplace, the same way that--well, that that fancy -known as love does upon occasions, otherwise the plain features of a -woman would perish from the earth and not be perpetuated. The lumpy -daughter of the village who exists simply to show what an artist was -Jean Franois Millet, appears down there to float through the moonlight -like the restless spirit of a princess. Is she coming to meet the spirit -of her lover at their old trysting-place? Ah, no, she is probably about -to convey a pannikin of worms for bait to one of the fishing boats." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII.--ON THE ZIG-ZAG TRACK. - -HAROLD WYNNE was in one of those moods which struggle for expression -through the medium of bitter phrases. He felt that he did well to be -cynical. Had he not outlived his belief in love as a necessity of life? - -He watched with some degree of interest the progress of the tiny boat -rowed by the white figure. He had tried to bring himself to believe that -the figure was that of a rough fisher-girl--the fisher-girls are not -rough, however, on that part of the coast, and he knew it, only his mood -tended to roughness. He tried to make himself believe that a coarse jest -shrieked through the moonlight to reach the ears of an appreciatively -coarse fisherman, would not be inconsistent with the appearance of that -white figure. He felt quite equal to the act of looking beneath the -glory and the glamour of the moonlight and of seeing there only the -commonplace. He was, he believed, in a mood to revel in the disillusion -of a man. - -And yet he watched the progress of the boat through the glittering -waters, without removing his eyes from it. - -The white figure in the boat was so white as to seem the centre of -the light that flashed along the ripples and silvered the faces of the -cliffs--so much was apparent to him in spite of his mood. As the boat -approached the landing-place at the ledge of rock a hundred feet below -him, he also perceived that the rower handled her oars in a scientific -way unknown to the fisher-girls; and the next thing that he noticed -was that she wore a straw hat and a blouse of a pattern that the -fisher-girls were powerless to imitate, though the skill was -easily available to the Mary Anns and the Matilda Janes who steer -(indifferently) perambulators through the London parks. He was so -interested in what he saw, that he had not sufficient presence of mind -to resume his cynical mutterings, or to inquire if it was possible -that the fashion of the year as regards sailor hats and blouses, was a -repetition of that of the period of the Princess Fither. - -He was more than interested--he was puzzled--as the boat was skilfully -run alongside the narrow landing ledge at the foot of the cliffs, and -when the girl--the figure was clearly that of a girl--landed---she wore -yachting shoes--carrying with her the boat's painter, which she made -fast in a business-like way to one of the iron rings that had been sunk -in the face of the cliff for the mooring of the fishing boats, he was -more puzzled still. In another moment the girl was toiling up the little -zig-zag track that led to the summit of the cliffs. - -The track passed within a yard or two of the entrance to the cavern. He -thought it advisable to step hack out of the moonlight, so that the girl -should not see him. She was doubtless, he thought, on her way to the -summit of the cliffs, and she would probably be startled if he were to -appear suddenly before her eyes. He took a step or two back into the -friendly shadow of the cavern, and waited to hear her footsteps on the -track above him. - -He waited in vain. She did not take that zigzag track that led to the -cliffs above the cave. He heard her jump--it was almost a feat--from the -track by which she had ascended, on to a flat rock not a yard from the -entrance to the cavern. He shrunk still further back into the darkness, -and then there came before the entrance the most entrancing figure of a -girl that he had ever seen. - -She stood there delightfully out of breath, with the moonlight bringing -out every gracious curve in her shape. So he had seen the limelight -reveal the graces of a breathless _danseuse_, when taking her "call." - -"My dear Prince," said the girl, with many a gasp. "You have treated me -very badly. It's a pull--undeniably a pull--up those rocks, and for the -third time I have kept my tryst with you, only to be disappointed." - -She laughed, and putting a shapely foot--she was by no means careful to -conceal her stocking above the ankle--upon a stone, she quietly and in a -matter-of-fact way, tied the lace of her yachting shoe. - -The stooping was not good for her--he felt that, together with a few -other matters incidental to her situation. He waited for the long breath -he knew she would draw on straightening herself. - -It came. He hoped that her other shoe needed tying; but it did not. - -He watched her as she stood there with her back to him. She was sending -her eyes out to the Western headlands. - -"No, my Prince; on the whole I'm not disappointed," she said. "That -picture repays me for my toil by sea and land. What a picture! But what -would it be to be here with--with--love!" - -That was all she said. - -He thought it was quite enough. - -She stood there like a statue of white marble set among the black rocks. -She was absolutely motionless for some minutes; and then the sigh that -fluttered from her lips was, he knew, a different expression altogether -from that which had come from her when she had straightened herself on -fastening her shoe. - -His father was a connoisseur in sighs; Harold did not profess to -have the same amount of knowledge on the subject, but still he knew -something. He could distinguish roughly on some points incidental to the -sigh as a medium of expression. - -After that little gasp which was not quite a gasp, she was again silent; -then she whispered, but by no means gently, the one word "Idiot!" and -in another second she had sent her voice into the still night in a wild -musical cry--such a cry as anyone gifted with that imaginative power -which Brian had declared to be so necessary for archological research, -might attribute to the Banshee--the White Lady of Irish legends. - -She repeated the cry an octave higher and then she executed what is -technically known as a "scale" but ended with that same weird cry of the -Banshee. - -Once again she was breathless. Her blouse was turbulent just below her -throat. - -"If Brian does not cross himself until he feels more fatigue than he -would after a pretence at rowing, I'll never play Banshee again," said -the girl. "_Ta, ta, mon Prince; a rivederci_." - -He watched her poise herself for the leap from the rock where she was -standing, to the track--her grace was exquisite--it suggested that of -the lithe antelope. The leap took her beyond his sight, and he did not -venture immediately to a point whence he could regain possession of her -with his eyes. But when he heard the sound of her voice singing a snatch -of song--it was actually "_L'amour est un oiseau rebelle_"--the Habanera -from "Carmen"--he judged that she had reached the second angle of the -zig-zag downward, and he took a step into the moonlight. - -There she went, lilting the song and keeping time with her feet, until -she reached the ledge where the boat was moored. She unfastened the -painter, hauled the boat close, and he heard the sound of the plunge -of the bows as she jumped on one of the beams, the force of her jump -sending the boat far from shore. - -She sat for some minutes on the beam amidship, listlessly allowing the -boat to drift away from the rocks, then she put out her hands for the -oars. Her right hand grasped one, but there was none for the left to -grasp. Harold perceived that one of the oars had disappeared. - -There was the boat twenty yards from the rock drifting away beyond the -control of the girl. - - - - -CHAPTER IX.--ON THE HELPLESSNESS OF WOMAN. - -THE girl had shown so much adroitness in the management of the little -craft previously, he felt--with deep regret--that she would be quite -equal to her present emergency. He was mistaken. She had reached the end -of her resources in navigation when she had run the boat alongside the -landing place. He saw--with great satisfaction--that with only one oar -she was helpless. - -What should he do? - -That was what he asked himself when he saw her dip her remaining oar -into the water and paddle a few strokes, making the boat describe an -awkward circle and bringing it perilously close to a jagged point of the -reef that did duty as a natural breakwater for the mooring place of the -boats. He came to the conclusion that if he allowed her to continue that -sort of paddling, she would run the boat on the reef, and he would be -morally responsible for the disaster and its consequences, whatever they -might be. He had never felt more conscientious than at that moment. - -He ran down the track to the landing ledge, but before he had reached -the latter, the girl had ceased her efforts and was staring at him, her -hands still resting on the oar. - -He had an uneasy feeling that he was scarcely so picturesquely -breathless as she had been, and this consciousness did not tend to make -him fluent as he stood upon the rocky shelf not a foot above the ridges -of the silver ripples. - -He found himself staring at her, just as she was staring at him. - -Quite a minute had passed before he found words to ask her if he could -be of any help to her. - -"I don't know," she replied, in a tone very different from that in which -she had spoken at the entrance to the cavern. "I don't really know. -One of the oars must have gone overboard while the boat was moored. I -scarcely know what I am to do." - -"I'm afraid you're in a bad way!" said he, shaking his head. The change -in the girl's tone was very amusing to him. She had become quite demure; -but previously, demureness had been in the background. "Yes, I'm afraid -your case is a very bad one." - -"So bad as that?" she asked. - -"Well, perhaps not quite, but still bad enough," said he. "What do you -want to do?" - -"To get home as soon as possible," she replied, without the pause of a -second. - -Her tone was expressive. It conveyed to him the notion that she had just -asked if he thought that she was an idiot. What could she want to do if -not to go home? - -"In that case," said he, "I should advise you to take the oar to the -sculling place in the centre of the stern. The boat is a stout one and -will scull well." - -"But I don't know how to scull," said she, in a tone of real distress; -"and I don't think I can begin to learn just now." - -"There's something in that," said he. "If I were only aboard I could -teach you in a short time." - -"But--" - -She had begun her reply without the delay of a second, but she did not -get beyond the one word. He felt that she did not need to do so: it was -a sentence by itself. - -"Yes," said he, "as you say, I'm not aboard. Shall I get aboard?" - -"How could you?" she inquired, brightening up. - -"I can swim," he replied. - -She laughed. - -"The situation is not so desperate as that," she cried. - -He also laughed. - -They both laughed together. - -She stopped suddenly and looked up the cliffs to the Banshee's Cave. - -Was she wondering if he had been within hearing when she had been--and -not in silence--at the entrance to the cave? - -He felt that he had never seen so beautiful a girl. Even making a -liberal allowance for that glamour of the moonlight, which he had tried -to assure himself was as deceptive as the glamour of love, she was, he -felt, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. - -He crushed down every suggestion that came to him as to the best way of -helping her out of her difficulty. It was his opportunity. - -Then she turned her eyes from the cliff and looked at him again. - -There was something imploring in her look. - -"Keep up your heart," said he. "Whose boat is that, may I ask?" - -"It belongs to a man named Brian--Brian something or other--perhaps -O'Donal." - -"In that case I think it almost certain that you will find a fishing -line in the locker astern--a fishing line and a tin bailer--the line -will help you out of the difficulty." - -Before he had quite done speaking she was in the stern sheets, groping -with one hand in the little locker. - -She brought out, first, a small jar of whiskey, secondly, a small -pannikin that served a man's purpose when he wished to drink the whiskey -in unusually small quantities, and was also handy in bailing out the -boat, and, thirdly, a fishing line-wound about a square frame. - -She held up the last-named so that Harold might see it. - -"I thought it would be there," said he. "Now if you can only cast one -end of that line ashore, I will catch it and the boat will be alongside -the landing-place in a few minutes. Can you throw?" - -She was silent. She examined the hooks on the whale-bone cross-cast. - -He laughed again, for he perceived that she was reluctant to boast of -the possession of a skill which was denied to all womankind. - -"I'll explain to you what you must do," he said. "Cut away the cast of -hooks." - -"But I have no knife." - -"Then I'll throw mine into the bottom of your boat. Look out." - -Being a man, he was able to make the knife alight within reasonable -distance of the spot at which he aimed. He saw her face brighten as she -picked up the implement and, opening it, quickly cut away the cast of -hooks. - -"Now make fast the leaden sinker to the end of the fishing line, unwind -it all from the frame, and then whirl the weight round and sling it -ashore--anywhere ashore." - -She followed his instructions implicitly, and the leaden weight fled -through the air, with the sound of a shell from a mortar. - -"Well thrown!" he cried, as it soared above his head; and it was well -thrown--so well that it carried overboard every inch of the line and the -frame to which it was attached. - -"How stupid of me!" she said. - -"Of me, you mean," said he. "I should have told you to make it fast. -However, no harm is done. I'll recover the weight and send it back to -you." - -He had no trouble in effecting his purpose. He threw the weight as -gently as possible into the bow of the boat, she picked it up, and -the line was in her hands as he took in the slack and hauled the boat -alongside the shelf of rock. - -It cannot have escaped notice that the system of hauling which he -adopted had the result of bringing their hands together. They scarcely -touched, however. - -"Thank you," said she, with profound coldness, when the boat was -alongside. - -"Your case was not so desperate, after all," he remarked, with just a -trifle less frigidity in his tone, though he now knew that she was the -most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had talked of the glamour of -moonlight. How could he have been so ridiculous? - -"No, my case was not so very desperate," she said. "Thank you so much." - -Did she mean to suggest that he should now walk away? - -"I can't go, you know, until I am satisfied that your _contretemps_ is -at an end," said he. "My name is Wynne--Harold Wynne. I am a guest of -Lord Innisfail's. I dare say you know him." - -"No," she replied. "I know nobody." - -"Nobody?" - -"Nobody here. Of course I daily hear something about Lord Innisfail and -his guests." - -"You know Brian--he is somebody--the historian of the region. Did you -ever hear the story of the Banshee?" - -She looked at him, but he flattered himself that his face told her -nothing of what she seemed anxious to know. - -"Yes," she said, after a pause. "I do believe that I heard the story -of the Banshee--a princess, was she not--a sort of princess--an Irish -princess?" - -"Strictly Irish. It is said that the cry of the White Lady is sometimes -heard even on these nights among the cliffs down which the Princess -flung herself." - -"Really?" said she, turning her eyes to the sea. "How strange!" - -"Strange? well--perhaps. But Brian declares that he has heard the cry -with his own ears. I have a friend who says, very coarsely, that if lies -were landed property Brian would be the largest holder of real estate in -the world." - -"Your friend does not understand Brian." There was more than a trace of -indignation in her voice. "Brian has imagination--so have all the people -about here. I must get home as soon as possible. I thank you very much -for your trouble. Goodnight." - -"I have had no trouble. Good-night." - -He took off his cap, and moved away--to the extent of a single step. She -was still standing in the boat. - -"By the way," he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him; "do -you intend going overland?" - -The glamour of the moonlight failed to conceal the troubled look that -came to her eyes. He regained the step that he had taken away from her, -and remarked, "If you will be good enough to allow me, I will scull you -with the one oar to any part of the coast that you may wish to reach. It -would be a pleasure to me. I have nothing whatever to do. As a matter of -fact, I don't see that you have any choice in the matter." - -"I have not," she said gravely. "I was a fool--such a fool! But--the -story of the Princess--" - -"Pray don't make any confession to me," said he. "If I had not heard the -story of the Princess, should I be here either?" - -"My name," said she, "is Beatrice Avon. My father's name you may have -heard--most people have heard his name, though I'm afraid that not so -many have read his books." - -"But I have met your father," said he. "If he is Julius Anthony Avon, I -met him some years ago. He breakfasted with my tutor at Oxford. I have -read all his hooks." - -"Oh, come into the boat," she cried with a laugh. "I feel that we have -been introduced." - -"And so we have," said he, stepping upon the gunwale so as to push off -the boat. "Now, where is your best landing place?" - -She pointed out to him a white cottage at the entrance to a glen on the -opposite coast of the lough, just below the ruins--they could be seen -by the imaginative eye--of the Castle of Carrigorm. The cottage was -glistening in the moonlight. - -"That is where we have been living--my father and I--for the past -month," said she. "He is engaged on a new work--a History of Irish -Patriotism, and he has begun by compiling a biographical dictionary of -Irish Informers. He is making capital progress with it. He has already -got to the end of the seventh volume and he has very nearly reached the -letter C--oh, yes, he is making rapid progress." - -"But why is he at this place? Is he working up the Irish legends as -well?" - -"It seems that the French landed here some time or other, and that was -the beginning of a new era of rebellions. My father is dealing with the -period, and means to have his topography strictly accurate." - -"Yes," said Harold, "if he carefully avoids everything that he is told -in Ireland his book may tend to accuracy." - - - - -CHAPTER X.--ON SCIENCE AND ART. - -A BOAT being urged onwards--not very rapidly--by a single oar resting -in a hollow in the centre of the stern, and worked from side to side -by a man in evening dress, is not a sight of daily occurrence. This may -have suggested itself to the girl who was seated on the midship beam; -but if she was inclined to laugh, she succeeded in controlling her -impulses. - -He found that he was more adroit at the science of marine propulsion -than he had fancied he was. The boat was making quite too rapid progress -for his desires, across the lough. - -He asked the girl if she did not think it well that she should become -acquainted with at least the scientific principle which formed the -basis of the marine propeller. It was extremely unlikely that such -an emergency as that which had lately arisen should ever again make a -demand upon her resources, but if such were ever to present itself, it -might be well for her to be armed to overcome it. - -Yes, she said, it was extremely unlikely that she should ever again be -so foolish, and she hoped that her father would not be uneasy at her -failure to return at the hour at which she had told him to expect her. - -He stopped rocking the oar from side to side in order to assure her that -she could not possibly be delayed more than a quarter of an hour through -the loss of the oar. - -She said that she was very glad, and that she really thought that the -boat was making more rapid progress with his one oar than it had done in -the opposite direction with her two oars. - -He began to perceive that his opportunities of making her acquainted -with the science of the screw propeller were dwindling. He faced the oar -boldly, however, and he felt that he had at least succeeded in showing -her how effective was the application of a scientific law to the -achievement of his end--assuming that that end was the driving of the -boat through the waters. - -He was not a fool. He knew very well that there is nothing which so -appeals to the interest of a woman as seeing a man do something that she -cannot do. - -When, after five minutes' work, he turned his head to steer the boat, he -found that she was watching him. - -She had previously been watching the white glistening cottage, with the -light in one window only. - -The result of his observation was extremely satisfactory to him. He -resumed his toil without a word. - -And this was how it happened that the boat made so excellent a passage -across the lough. - -It was not until the keel grated upon the sand that the girl spoke. She -made a splendid leap from the bows, and, turning, asked him if he would -care to pay a visit to her father. - -He replied that he feared that he might jeopardize the biography of some -interesting informer whose name might occur at the close of the letter -B. He hoped that he would be allowed to borrow the boat for his return -to the cliffs, and to row it back the next day to where it was at the -moment he was speaking. - -His earnest sculling of the boat had not made all thought for the morrow -impracticable. He had been reflecting through the silence, how he might -make the chance of meeting once more this girl whose face he had seen -for the first time half an hour before. - -She had already given him an absurd amount of trouble, she said. The -boat was one that she had borrowed from Brian, and Brian could easily -row it across next morning. - -But he happened to know that Brian was to be in attendance on Mr. Durdan -all the next day. Mr. Durdan had come to the West solely for the purpose -of studying the Irish question on the spot. He had, consequently, spent -all his time, deep-sea fishing. - -"So you perceive that there's nothing for it but for me to bring back -the boat, Miss Avon," said he. - -"You do it so well," she said, with a tone of enthusiasm in her voice. -"I never admired anything so much--your sculling, I mean. And perhaps I -may learn something about--was it the scientific principle that you were -kind enough to offer to teach me?" - -"The scientific principle," said he, with an uneasy feeling that the -girl had seen through his artifice to prolong the crossing of the lough. -"Yes, you certainly should know all about the scientific principle." - -"I feel so, indeed. Good-night." - -"Good-night," said he, preparing to push the boat off the sand where it -had grounded. "Goodnight. By the way, it was only when we were out with -Brian in the afternoon that he told us the story of the Princess and her -lover. He added that the cry of the White Lady would probably be heard -when night came." - -"Perhaps you may hear it yet," said she. "Goodnight." - -She had run up the sandy beach, before he had pushed off the boat, and -she never looked round. - -He stood with one foot on the gunwale of the boat in act to push into -deep water, thinking that perhaps she might at the last moment look -round. - -She did not. - -He caught another glimpse of her beyond the furze that crowned a ridge -of rocks. But she had her face steadfastly set toward the white cottage. - -He threw all his weight upon the oar which he was using as a pole, and -out the boat shot into the deep water. - -"Great heavens!" said Edmund Airey. "Where have you been for the past -couple of hours?" - -"Where?" repeated Miss Craven in a tone of voice that should only be -assumed when the eyes, of the speaker are sparkling. But Miss Craven's -eyes were not sparkling. Their strong point was not in that direction. -"I'm afraid you must give an account of yourself, Mr. Wynne," she -continued. She was standing by the side of Edmund Airey, within the -embrace of the mighty antlers of the ancient elk in the hall. The sound -of dance music was in the air, and Miss Craven's face was flushed. - -"To give an account of myself would be to place myself on a level of -dulness with the autobiographers whose reminiscences we yawn over." - -"Then give us a chance of yawning," cried Miss Craven. - -"You do not need one," said he. "Have you not been for some time by the -side of a Member of Parliament?" - -"He has been over the cliffs," suggested the Member of Parliament. -He was looking at Harold's shoes, which bore tokens of having been -ill-treated beyond the usual ill-treatment of shoes with bows of ribbon -above the toes. - -"Yes," said Harold. "Over the cliffs." - -"At the Banshee's Cave, I'm certain," said Miss Craven. - -"Yes, at the Banshee's Cave." - -"How lovely! And you saw the White Lady?" she continued. - -"Yes, I saw the White Lady." - -"And you heard her cry at the entrance to the cave?" - -"Yes, I heard her cry at the entrance to the cave." - -"Nonsense!" said she. - -"Utter nonsense!" said he. "I must ask Lady Innisfail to dance." - -He crossed the hall to where Lady Innisfail was seated. She was fanning -herself and making sparkling replies to the inanities of Mr. Durdan, who -stood beside her. She had been engaged in every dance, Harold knew, from -the extra gravity of her daughter. - -"What does he mean?" Miss Craven asked of Edmund Airey in a low--almost -an anxious, tone. - -"Mean? Why, to dance with Lady Innisfail. He is a man of determination." - -"What does he mean by that nonsense about the Banshee's Cave?" - -"Is it nonsense?" - -"Of course it is. Does anyone suppose that the legend of the White Lady -is anything but nonsense? Didn't you ridicule it at dinner?" - -"At dinner; oh, yes: but then you must remember that no one is -altogether discreet at dinner. That cold _entre_--the Russian salad--" - -"A good many people are discreet neither at dinner nor after it." - -"Our friend Harold, for instance? Oh, I have every confidence in him. -I know his mood. I have experienced it myself. I, too, have stood in a -sculpturesque attitude and attire, on a rock overhanging a deep sea, -and I have been at the point of dressing again without taking the plunge -that I meant to take." - -"You mean that he--that he--oh, I don't know what you mean." - -"I mean that if he had been so fortunate as to come upon you suddenly at -the Banshee's Cave or wherever he was to-night, he would have--well, he -would have taken the plunge." - -He saw the girl's face become slightly roseate in spite of the fact -of her being the most self-controlled person whom he had ever met. He -perceived that she appreciated his meaning to a shade. - -He liked that. A man who is gifted with the power of expressing his -ideas in various shades, likes to feel that his power is appreciated. -He knew that there are some people who fancy that every question is -susceptible of being answered by yea or nay. He hated such people. - -"The plunge?" said Miss Craven, with an ingenuousness that confirmed -his high estimate of her powers of appreciation. "The plunge? But the -Banshee's Cave is a hundred feet above the water." - -"But men have taken headers--" - -"They have," said she, "and therefore we should finish our waltz." - -They did finish their waltz. - - - - -CHAPTER XI.--ON HEAVEN AND THE LORD CHANCELLOR. - -MR. DURDAN was explaining something--he usually was explaining -something. When he had been a member of the late Government his process -of explaining something was generally regarded as a fine effort at -mystification. In private his explanations were sometimes intelligible. -As Harold entered the room where a straggling breakfast was -proceeding--everything except dinner had a tendency to be straggling -at Castle Innisfail--Mr. Dur dan was explaining how Brian had been -bewildered. - -It was a profitable theme, especially for a man who fondly believed that -he had the power of reproducing what he imagined to be the Irish brogue -of the boatman. - -Harold gathered that Mr. Durdan had already had a couple of hours of -deep-sea fishing in the boat with Brian--the servants were all the -morning carrying into the dining-room plates of fish of his catching -(audibly sneered at by the fly-fishers, who considered their supreme -failures superior to the hugest successes of the deep-sea fishers). - -But the fishing was not to the point. What Mr. Durdan believed to be -very much to the point were the "begorras," the "acushlas," the "arrahs" -which he tried to make his auditors believe the boatman had uttered in -telling him how he had been awakened early in the night by hearing the -cry of the Banshee. - -Every phrase supposed to have been employed by the boatman was -reproduced by the narrator; and his auditors glanced meaningly at one -another. It would have required a great deal of convincing to make them -fancy for a moment that the language of Brian consisted of an -imaginary Irish exclamation preceding a purely Cockney--occasionally -Yorkshire--idiom. But the narrator continued his story, and seemed -convinced that his voice was an exact reproduction of Brian's brogue. - -Harold thought that he would try a little of something that was not -fish--he scarcely minded what he had, provided it was not fish, he -told the servant. And as there was apparently some little-difficulty in -procuring such a comestible, Harold drank some coffee and listened -to Mr. Durdan's story--he recommenced it for everyone who entered the -breakfast-room. - -Yes, Brian had distinctly heard the cry of the Banshee, he said; but a -greater marvel had happened, for he found one of his boats that had been -made fast on the opposite shore of the lough in the early part of the -night, moored at the landing-ledge at the base of the cliffs beneath the -Banshee's Cave. By the aid of many a gratuitous "begorra," Mr. Durdan -indicated the condition of perplexity in which the boatman had been -all the time he was baiting the lines. He explained that the man had -attributed to "herself"--meaning, of course, the White Lady--the removal -of the boat from the one side of the lough to the other. It was plain -that the ghost of the Princess was a good oarswoman, too, for a single -paddle only was found in the boat. It was so like a ghost, he had -confided to Mr. Durdan, to make a cruise in a way that was contrary--the -accent on the second syllable--to nature. - -"He has put another oar aboard and is now rowing the boat back to its -original quarters," said Mr. Durdan, in conclusion. "But he declares -that, be the Powers!"--here the narrator assumed once more the hybrid -brogue--"if the boat was meddled with by 'herself' again he would call -the priest to bless the craft, and where would 'herself' be then?" - -"Where indeed?" said Lord Innisfail. - -Harold said nothing. He was aware that Edmund was looking at him -intently. Did he suspect anything, Harold wondered. - -He gave no indication of being more interested in the story than anyone -present, and no one present seemed struck with it--no one, except -perhaps, Miss Craven, who had entered the room late, and was thus -fortunate enough to obtain the general drift of what Mr. Durdan was -talking about, without having her attention diverted by his loving -repetition of the phrases of local colour. - -Miss Craven heard the story, laughed, glanced at her plate, and remarked -with some slyness that Mr. Durdan was clearly making strides -in his acquaintance with the Irish question. She then -glanced--confidentially--at Edmund Airey, and finally--rather -less confidentially--at Harold. - -He was eating of that which was not fish, and giving a good deal of -attention to it. - -Miss Craven thought he was giving quite too much attention to it. She -suspected that he knew more about the boat incident than he cared to -express, or why should he be giving so much attention to his plate? - -As for Harold himself, he was feeling that it would be something of a -gratification to him if a fatal accident were to happen to Brian. - -He inwardly called him a meddlesome fool. Why should he take it upon -him to row the boat across the lough, when he, Harold, had been looking -forward during the sleepless hours of the night, to that exercise? When -he had awakened from an early morning slumber, it was with the joyous -feeling that nothing could deprive him of that row across the lough. - -And yet he had been deprived of it, therefore he felt some regret that, -the morning being a calm one, Brian's chances of disaster when crossing -the lough were insignificant. - -All the time that the judge was explaining in that lucid style which was -the envy of his brethren on the Bench, how impossible it would be for -the Son of Porcupine to purge himself of the contempt which was heaped -upon him owing to his unseemly behaviour at a recent race meeting--the -case of the son of so excellent a father as Porcupine turning out badly -was jeopardizing the future of Evolution as a doctrine--Harold was -trying to devise some plan that should make him independent of the -interference of the boatman. He did not insist on the plan being -legitimate or even reasonable; all that he felt was that he must cross -the lough. - -He thought of the girl whom he had seen in that atmosphere of moonlight; -and somehow he came to think of her as responsible for her exquisite -surroundings. There was nothing commonplace about her--that was what he -felt most strongly as he noticed the excellent appetites of the young -women around him. Even Miss Stafford, who hoped to be accepted as an -Intellect embodied in a mere film of flesh--she went to the extreme -length of cultivating a Brow--tickled her trout with the point of her -fork much less tenderly than the fisherman who told her the story--with -an impromptu bravura passage or two--of its capture, had done. - -But the girl whom he had seen in the moonlight--whom he was yearning to -see in the sunlight--was as refined as a star. "As refined as a star," -he actually murmured, when he found himself with an unlighted cigar -between his fingers on that part of the terrace which afforded a fine -view of the lough--the narrow part as well--his eyes were directed to -the narrow part. "As refined as a star--a--" - -He turned himself round with a jerk. "A star?" - -His father's letter was still in his pocket. It contained in the course -of its operatic clauses some references to a Star--a Star, who, alas! -was not refined--who, on the contrary, was expensive. - -He struck a match very viciously and lit his cigar. - -Miss Craven had just appeared on the terrace. - -He dropped his still flaming match on the hard gravel walk and put his -foot upon it. - -"A star!" - -He was very vicious. - -"She is not a particularly good talker, but she is a most fascinating -listener," said Edmund Airey, who strolled up. - -"I have noticed so much--when you have been the talker," said Harold. -"It is only to the brilliant talker that the fascinating listener -appeals. By the way, how does 'fascinated listener' sound as a phrase? -Haven't I read somewhere that the speeches of an eminent politician were -modelled on the principle of catching birds by night? You flash a lamp -upon them and they may be captured by the score. The speeches were -compared to the lantern and the public to the birds." - -"Gulls," said Edmund. "My dear Harold, I did not come out here to -exchange opinions with you on the vexed question of vote-catching -or gulls--it will be time enough to do so when you have found a -constituency." - -"Quite. And meantime I am to think of Miss Craven as a fascinating -listener? That's what you have come to impress upon me." - -"I mean that you should give yourself a fair chance of becoming -acquainted with her powers as a listener--I mean that you should talk to -her on an interesting topic." - -"Would to heaven that I had your capacity of being interesting on all -topics." - -"The dullest man on earth when talking to a woman on love as a topic, -is infinitely more interesting to her than the most brilliant man when -talking to her on any other topic." - -"You suggest a perilous way to the dull man of becoming momentarily -interesting." - -"Of course I know the phrase which, in spite of being the composition -of a French philosopher, is not altogether devoid of truth--yes, '_Qui -parle d'amour fait l'amour'_." - -"Only that love is born, not made." - -"Great heavens! have you learned that--that, with your father's letter -next your heart?" - -Harold laughed. - -"Do you fancy that I have forgotten your conversation in the boat -yesterday?" said he. "Heaven on one side and the Lord Chancellor on the -other." - -"And you have come to the conclusion that you are on the side of heaven? -You are in a perilous way." - -"Your logic is a trifle shaky, friend. Besides, you have no right to -assume that I am on the side of heaven." - -"There is a suggestion of indignation in your voice that gives me hope -that you are not in so evil a case as I may have suspected. Do you think -that another afternoon in the boat--" - -"Would make me on the side of the Lord Chancellor? I doubt it. But that -is not equivalent to saying that I doubt the excellence of your advice." - -"Yesterday afternoon I flattered myself that I had given you such advice -as commended itself to you, and yet now you tell me that love is born, -not made. The man who believes that is past being advised. It is, I say, -the end of wisdom. What has happened since yesterday afternoon?" - -"Nothing has happened to shake my confidence in the soundness of your -advice," said Harold, but not until a pause had occurred--a pause of -sufficient duration to tell his observant friend that something had -happened. - -"If nothing has happened--Miss Craven is going to sketch the Round Tower -at noon," said Edmund--the Round Tower was some distance through the -romantic Pass of Lamdhu. - -"The Round Tower will not suffer; Miss Craven is not one of the -landscape libellers," remarked Harold. - -Just then Miss Innisfail hurried up with a face lined with anxiety. - -Miss Innisfail was the sort of girl who always, says, "It is I." - -"Oh, Mr. Airey," she cried, "I have come to entreat of you to do your -best to dissuade mamma from her wild notion--the wildest she has ever -had. You may have some restraining influence upon her. She is trying to -get up an Irish jig in the hall after dinner--she has set her heart on -it." - -"I can promise you that if Lady Innisfail asks me to be one of the -performers I shall decline," said Edmund. - -"Oh, she has set her heart on bringing native dancers for the purpose," -cried the girl. - -"That sounds serious," said Edmund. "Native dances are usually very -terrible visitations. I saw one at Samoa." - -"I knew it--yes, I suspected as much," murmured the girl, shaking her -head. "Oh, we must put a stop to it. You will help me, Mr. Airey?" - -"I am always on the side of law and order," said Mr. Airey. "A mother is -a great responsibility, Miss Innisfail." - -Miss Innisfail smiled sadly, shook her head again, and fled to find -another supporter against the latest frivolity of her mother. - -When Edmund turned about from watching her, he saw that his friend -Harold Wynne had gone off with some of the yachtsmen--for every day -a yachting party as well as deep-sea-fishing, and salmon-fishing -parties--shooting parties and even archological parties were in the -habit of setting-out from Castle Innisfail. - -Was it possible that Harold intended spending the day aboard the cutter, -Edmund asked himself. - -Harold's mood of the previous evening had been quite intelligible -to him--he had confessed to Miss Craven that he understood and even -sympathized with him. He was the man who was putting off the plunge as -long as possible, he felt. - -But he knew that that attitude, if prolonged, not only becomes -ridiculous, but positively verges on the indecent. It is one thing to -pause for a minute on the brink of the deep water, and quite another to -remain shivering on the rock for half a day. - -Harold Wynne wanted money in order to realize a legitimate ambition. But -it so happened that he could not obtain that money unless by marrying -Miss Craven--that was the situation of the moment. But instead of -asking Miss Craven if she would have the goodness to marry him, he was -wandering about the coast in an aimless way. - -Lady Innisfail was the most finished artist in matchmaking that Edmund -had ever met. So finished an artist was she that no one had ever -ventured to suggest that she was a match-maker. As a matter of fact, her -reputation lay in just the opposite direction. She was generally looked -upon as a marrer of matches. This was how she had achieved some of -her most brilliant successes. She was herself so fascinating that she -attracted the nicest men to her side; but, somehow, instead of making -love to her as they meant to do, they found themselves making love to -the nice girls with whom she surrounded herself. When running upon the -love-making track with her, she switched them on, so to speak, to the -nice eligible girls, and they became engaged before they quite knew what -had happened. - -This was her art, Edmund knew, and he appreciated it as it deserved. - -She appreciated him as he deserved, he also acknowledged; for she had -never tried to switch him on to any of her girls. By never making love -to her he had proved himself to be no fit subject for the exercise of -her art. - -If a man truly loves a woman he will marry anyone whom she asks him to -marry. - -This, he knew, was the precept that Lady Innisfail inculcated upon the -young men--they were mostly very young men--who assured her that they -adored her. It rarely failed to bring them to their senses, she had -admitted to Edmund in the course of a confidential lapse. - -By bringing them to their senses she meant inducing them to ask the -right girls to marry them. - -Edmund felt that it was rather a pity that his friend Harold had never -adored Lady Innisfail. Harold had always liked her too well to make love -to her. This was rather a pity, Edmund felt. It practically disarmed -Lady Innisfail, otherwise she would have taken care that he made -straightforward love to Miss Craven. - -As for Harold, he strolled off with the yachtsmen, giving them to -understand that he intended sailing with them. The cutter was at her -moorings in the lough about a mile from the Castle, and there was a -narrow natural dock between the cliffs into which the dingey ran to -carry the party out to the yacht. - -It was at this point that Harold separated himself from the -yachtsmen--not without some mutterings on their part and the delivery of -a few reproaches with a fresh maritime flavour about them. - -"What was he up to at all?" they asked of one another. - -He could scarcely have told these earnest inquirers what he was up to. -But his mood would have been quite intelligible to them had they known -that he had, within the past half hour made up his mind to let nothing -interfere with his asking Helen Craven if she would be good enough to -marry him. - - - - -CHAPTER XII.--ON THE MYSTERY OF MAN. - -HE meant to ask her at night. He had felt convinced, on returning after -his adventure in his dinner dress, that nothing could induce him to -think of Miss Craven as a possible wife. While sitting at breakfast, -he had felt even more confident on this point; and yet now his mind was -made up to ask her to marry him. - -It must be admitted that his mood was a singular one, especially as, -with his mind full of his resolution to ask Miss Craven to marry him, -he was wandering around the rugged coastway, wondering by what means he -could bring himself by the side of the girl with whom he had crossed the -lough on the previous night. - -His mood will be intelligible to such persons as have had friends who -occasionally have found it necessary to their well-being to become -teetotallers. It is well known that the fascination of the prospect of -teetotalism is so great for such persons that the very thought of it -compels them to rush off in the opposite direction. They indulge in an -outburst of imbibing that makes even their best friends stand aghast, -and then they 'take the pledge' with the cheerfulness of a child. - -Harold Wynne felt inclined to allow his feelings an outburst, previous -to entering upon a condition in which he meant his feelings to be kept -in subjection. - -To engage himself to marry Miss Craven was, he believed, equivalent -to taking the pledge of the teetotaller so far as his feelings were -concerned. - -Meantime, however, he remained unpledged and with an unbounded sense of -freedom. - -And this was why he laughed loud and long when he saw in the course of -his stroll around the cliffs, a small oar jammed in a crevice of the -rocks a hundred feet below where he was walking. - -He laughed again when he had gone--not so cautiously as he might have -done--down to the crevice and released the oar. - -It was, he knew, the one that had gone adrift from the boat the previous -night. - -He climbed the cliff to the Banshee's Cave and deposited the piece of -timber in the recesses of that place. Then he lay down on the coarse -herbage at the summit of the cliff until it was time to drift to the -Castle for lunch. Life at the Castle involved a good deal of drifting. -The guests drifted out in many directions after breakfast and -occasionally drifted back to lunch, after which they drifted about until -the dinner hour. - -While taking lunch he was in such good spirits as made Lady Innisfail -almost hopeless of him. - -Edmund Airey had told her the previous night that Harold intended asking -Miss Craven to marry him. Now, however, perceiving how excellent were -his spirits, she looked reproachfully across the table at Edmund. - -She was mutely asking him--and he knew it--how it was possible to -reconcile Harold's good spirits with his resolution to ask Helen Craven -to marry him? She knew--and so did Edmund--that high spirits and the -Resolution are rarely found in association. - -An hour after lunch the girl with the Brow entreated Harold's critical -opinion on the subject of a gesture in the delivery of a certain poem, -and the discussion of the whole question occupied another hour. The -afternoon was thus pretty far advanced before he found himself seated -alone in the boat which had been at the disposal of himself and Edmund -during the two previous afternoons. The oar that he had picked up was -lying at his feet along the timbers of the boat. - -The sun was within an hour of setting when Brian appeared at the Castle -bearing a letter for Lady Innisfail. It had been entrusted to him for -delivery to her ladyship by Mr. Wynne, he said. Where was Mr. Wynne? -That Brian would not take upon him to say; only he was at the opposite -side of the lough. Maybe he was with Father Conn, who was the best -of good company, or it wasn't a bit unlikely that it was the District -Inspector of the Constabulary he was with. Anyhow it was sure that the -gentleman had took a great fancy to the queer places along the coast, -for hadn't he been to the thrubble to give a look in at the Banshee's -Cave, the previous night, just because he was sthruck with admiration of -the story of the Princess that he, Brian, had told him and Mr. Airey in -the boat? - -The letter that Lady Innisfail received and glanced at while drinking -tea on one of the garden seats outside the Castle, begged her ladyship -to pardon the writer's not appearing at dinner that night, the fact -being that he had unexpectedly found an old friend who had taken -possession of him. - -"It was very nice of him to write, wasn't it, my dear?" Lady Innisfail -remarked to her friend Miss Craven, who was filtering a novel by a -popular French author for the benefit of Lady Innisfail. "It was very -nice of him to write. Of course that about the friend is rubbish. The -charm of this neighbourhood is that no old friend ever turns up." - -"You don't think that--that--perhaps--" suggested Miss Craven with the -infinite delicacy of one who has been employed in the filtration of Paul -Bourget. - -"Not at all--not at all," said Lady Innisfail, shaking her head. "If it -was his father it would be quite another matter." - -"Oh!" - -"Lord Fotheringay is too great a responsibility even for me, and I don't -as a rule shirk such things," said Lady Innisfail. "But Harold is--well, -I'll let you into a secret, though it is against myself: he has never -made love even to me." - -"That is inexcusable," remarked Miss Craven, with a little movement -of the eyebrows. She did not altogether appreciate Lady Innisfail's -systems. She had not a sufficient knowledge of dynamics and the -transference of energy to be able to understand the beauty of the -"switch" principle. "But if he is not with a friend--or--or--the -other--" - -"The enemy--our enemy?" - -"Where can he be--where can he have been?" - -"Heaven knows! There are some things that are too wonderful for me. I -fancied long ago that I knew Man. My dear Helen, I was a fool. Man is -a mystery. What could that boy mean by going to the Banshee's Cave last -night, when he might have been dancing with me--or you?" - -"Romance?" - -"Romance and rubbish mean the same thing to such men as Harold Wynne, -Helen--you should know so much," said Lady Innisfail. "That is, of -course, romance in the abstract. The flutter of a human white frock -would produce more impression on a man than a whole army of Banshees." - -"And yet the boatman said that Mr. Wynne had spent some time last -night at the Cave," said Miss Craven. "Was there a white dress in the -question, do you fancy?" - -Lady Innisfail turned her large and luminous eyes upon her companion. -So she was accustomed to turn those orbs upon such young men as declared -that they adored her. The movement was supposed to be indicative of -infinite surprise, with abundant sympathy, and a trace of pity. - -Helen Craven met the luminous gaze with a smile, that broadened as she -murmured, "Dearest Lilian, we are quite alone. It is extremely unlikely -that your expression can be noticed by any of the men. It is practically -wasted." - -"It is the natural and reasonable expression of the surprise I feel at -the wisdom of the--the--" - -"Serpent?" - -"Not quite. Let us say, the young matron, lurking beneath the -harmlessness of the--the--let us say the _ingenue_. A white dress! Pray -go on with '_Un Cour de Femme'._" - -Miss Craven picked up the novel which had been on the ground, flattened -out in a position of oriental prostration and humility before the wisdom -of the women. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII.--ON THE ART OF COLOURING. - -THE people of the village of Ballycruiskeen showed themselves quite -ready to enter into the plans of their pastor in the profitable -enterprise of making entertainment for Lady Innisfail and her guests. -The good pastor had both enterprise and imagination. Lady Innisfail had -told him confidentially that day that she wished to impress her English -visitors with the local colour of the region round about. Local colour -was a phrase that she was as fond of as if she had been an art critic; -but it so happened that the pastor had never heard the phrase before; -he promptly assured her, however, that he sympathized most heartily with -her ladyship's aspirations in this direction. Yes, it was absolutely -necessary that they should be impressed with the local colour, and if, -with this impression, there came an appreciation of the requirements of -the chapel in the way of a new roof, it would please him greatly. - -The roof would certainly be put on before the winter, even if the work -had to be carried out at the expense of his Lordship, Lady Innisfail -said with enthusiasm; and if Father Constantine could only get up a wake -or a dance or some other festivity for the visitors, just to show them -how picturesque and sincere were the Irish race in the West, she would -take care that the work on the roof was begun without delay. - -Father Constantine--he hardly knew himself by that name, having -invariably been called Father Conn by his flock--began to have a -comprehensive knowledge of what was meant by the phrase "local colour." -Did her ladyship insist on a wake, he inquired. - -Her ladyship said she had no foolish prejudices in the matter. She was -quite willing to leave the whole question of the entertainment in the -hands of his reverence. He knew the people best and he would be able to -say in what direction their abilities could be exhibited to the greatest -advantage. She had always had an idea, she confessed, that it was at -a wake they shone; but, of course, if Father Constantine thought -differently she would make no objection, but she would dearly like a -wake. - -The priest did not even smile for more than a minute; but he could not -keep that twinkle out of his eyes even if the chapel walls in addition -to the roof depended on his self-control. - -He assured her ladyship that she was perfectly right in her ideas. He -agreed with her that the wake was the one festivity that was calculated -to bring into prominence the varied talents of his flock. But the -unfortunate thing about it was its variableness. A wake was something -that could not be arranged for beforehand--at least not without -involving a certain liability to criminal prosecution. The elements of -a wake were simple enough, to be sure, but simple and all as they were, -they were not always forthcoming. - -Lady Innisfail thought this very provoking. Of course, expense was no -consideration--she hoped that the pastor understood so much. She hoped -he understood that if he could arrange for a wake that night she would -bear the expense. - -The priest shook his head. - -Well, then, if a wake was absolutely out of the question--she didn't see -why it should be, but, of course, he knew best--why should he not get up -an eviction? She thought that on the whole the guests had latterly heard -more about Irish evictions than Irish wakes. There was plenty of local -colour in an eviction, and so far as she could gather from the -pictures she had seen in the illustrated papers, it was extremely -picturesque--yes, when the girls were barefooted, and when there was -active resistance. Hadn't she heard something about boiling water? - -The twinkle had left the priest's eyes as she prattled away. He had an -impulse to tell her that it was the class to which her ladyship belonged -and not that to which he belonged, who had most practice in that form of -entertainment known as the eviction. But thinking of the chapel roof, he -restrained himself. After all, Lord Innisfail had never evicted a family -on his Irish estate. He had evicted several families on his English -property, however; but no one ever makes a fuss about English evictions. -If people fail to pay their rent in England they know that they must go. -They have not the imagination of the Irish. - -"I'll tell your ladyship what it is," said Father Conn, before she had -quite come to the end of her prattle: "if the ladies and gentlemen who -have the honour to be your ladyship's guests will take the trouble to -walk or drive round the coast to the Curragh of Lamdhu after supper--I -mean dinner--to-night, I'll get up a celebration of the Cruiskeen for -you all." - -"How delightful!" exclaimed her ladyship. "And what might a celebration -of the Cruiskeen be?" - -It was at this point that the imagination of the good father came to his -assistance. He explained, with a volubility that comes to the Celt -only when he is romancing, that the celebration of the Cruiskeen was -a prehistoric rite associated with the village of Ballycruiskeen. -Cruiskeen was, as perhaps her ladyship had heard, the Irish for a vessel -known to common people as a jug--it was, he explained, a useful vessel -for drinking out of--when it held a sufficient quantity. - -Of course Lady Innisfail had heard of a jug--she had even heard of a -song called "The Cruiskeen Lawn"--did that mean some sort of jug? - -It meant the little full jug, his reverence assured her. Anyhow, the -celebration of the Cruiskeen of Ballycruiskeen had taken place -for hundreds--most likely thousands--of years at the Curragh of -Lamdhu--Lamdhu meaning the Black Hand--and it was perhaps the most -interesting of Irish customs. Was it more interesting than a wake? Why, -a wake couldn't hold a candle to a Cruiskeen, and the display of candles -was, as probably her ladyship knew, a distinctive feature of a wake. - -Father Conn, finding how much imaginary archology Lady Innisfail would -stand without a protest, then allowed his imagination to revel in -the details of harpers--who were much more genteel than fiddlers, he -thought, though his flock preferred the fiddle--of native dances and -of the recitals of genuine Irish poems--probably prehistoric. All these -were associated with a Cruiskeen, he declared, and a Cruiskeen her -ladyship and her ladyship's guests should have that night, if there was -any public spirit left in Ballycruiskeen, and he rather thought that -there was a good deal still left, thank God! - -Lady Innisfail was delighted. Local colour! Why, this entertainment was -a regular Winsor and Newton Cabinet. - -It included everything that people in England were accustomed to -associate with the Irish, and this was just what the guests would -relish. It was infinitely more promising than the simple national dance -for which she had been trying to arrange. - -She shook Father Conn heartily by the hand, but stared at him when he -made some remark about the chapel roof--she had already forgotten all -about the roof. - -The priest had not. - -"God forgive me for my romancing!" he murmured, when her ladyship had -departed and he stood wiping his forehead. "God forgive me! If it wasn't -for the sake of the slate or two, the ne'er a word but the blessed truth -would have been forced from me. A Cruiskeen! How was it that the notion -seized me at all?" - -He hurried off to an ingenious friend and confidential adviser of his, -whose name was O'Flaherty, and who did a little in the horse-dealing -line--a profession that tends to develop the ingenuity of those -associated with it either as buyers or sellers--and Mr. O'Flaherty, -after hearing Father Conn's story, sat down on the side of one of the -ditches, which are such a distinctive feature of Ballycruiskeen and the -neighbourhood, and roared with laughter. - -"Ye've done it this time, and no mistake, Father Conn," he cried, when -he had partially recovered from his hilarity. "I always said you'd do it -some day, and ye've done it now. A Cruiskeen! Mother of Moses! A -Cruiskeen! Oh, but it's yourself has the quare head, Father Conn!" - -"Give over your fun, and tell us what's to be done--that's what you're -to do if there's any good in you at all," said the priest. - -"Oh, by my soul, ye'll have to carry out the enterprise in your own way, -my brave Father Conn," said Mr. O'Flaherty. "A Cruiskeen! A----" - -"Phinny O'Flaherty," said the priest solemnly, "if ye don't want to have -the curse of the Holy Church flung at that red head of yours, ye'll rise -and put me on the way of getting up at least a jig or two on the Curragh -this night." - -After due consideration Mr. O'Flaherty came to the conclusion that it -would be unwise on his part to put in motion the terrible machinery -of the Papal Interdict--if the forces of the Vatican were to be -concentrated upon him he might never again be able to dispose of a -"roarer" as merely a "whistler" to someone whose suspicions were -susceptible of being lulled by a brogue. Mr. Phineas O'Flaherty -consequently assured Father Conn that he would help his reverence, even -if the act should jeopardize his prospects of future happiness in -another world. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV.--ON AN IRISH DANCE. - -LADY INNISFAIL'S guests--especially those who had been wandering over -the mountains with guns all day--found her rather too indefatigable -in her search for new methods of entertaining them. The notion of an -after-dinner stroll of a few miles to the village of Ballycruiskeen -for the sake of witnessing an entertainment, the details of which Lady -Innisfail was unable to do more than suggest, and the attractions of -which were rather more than doubtful, was not largely relished at the -Castle. - -Lord Innisfail announced his intention of remaining where he had dined; -but he was one of the few men who could afford to brave Lady Innisfail's -disdain and to decline to be chilled by her cold glances. The other men -who did not want to be entertained on the principles formulated by Lady -Innisfail, meanly kept out of her way after dinner. They hoped that they -might have a chance of declaring solemnly afterwards, that they had been -anxious to go, but had waited in vain for information as to the hour of -departure, the costume to be worn, and the password--if a password were -needed--to admit them to the historic rites of the Cruiskeen. - -One of the women declined to go, on the ground that, so far as she could -gather, the rite was not evangelical. Her views were evangelical. - -One of the men--he was an Orangeman from Ulster--boldly refused to -attend what was so plainly a device planned by the Jesuits for the -capture of the souls--he assumed that they had souls--of the Innisfail -family and their guests. - -Miss Craven professed so ardently to be looking forward to the -entertainment, that Mr. Airey, with his accustomed observance of the -distribution of high lights in demeanour as well as in conversation. -felt certain that she meant to stay at the Castle. - -His accuracy of observation was proved when the party were ready to -set out for Ballycruiskeen. MIss Craven's maid earned that lady's -affectionate regards to her hostess; she had been foolish enough to sit -in the sun during the afternoon with that fascinating novel, and as she -feared it would, her indiscretion had given her a headache accompanied -by dizziness. She would thus be unable to go with the general party -to the village, but if she possibly could, she would follow them in an -hour--perhaps less. - -Edmund Airey smiled the smile of the prophet who lives to see his -prediction realized--most of the prophets died violent deaths before -they could have that gratification. - -"Yes, it was undoubtedly an indiscretion," he murmured. - -"Sitting in the sun?" said Lady Innisfail. - -"Reading Paul Bourget," said he. - -"Of course," said Lady Innisfail. "Talking of indiscretions, has anyone -seen--ah, never mind." - -"It is quite possible that the old friend whom you say he wrote about, -may be a person of primitive habits--he may be inclined to retire -early," said Mr. Airey. - -Lady Innisfail gave a little puzzled glance at him--the puzzled -expression vanished in a moment, however, before the ingenuousness of -his smile. - -"What a fool I am becoming!" she whispered. "I really never thought of -that." - -"That was because you never turned your attention properly to the -mystery of the headache," said he. - -Then they set off in the early moonlight for their walk along the cliff -path that, in the course of a mile or so, trended downward and through -the Pass of Lamdhu, with its dark pines growing half-way up the slope on -one side. The lower branches of the trees stretched fantastic arms over -the heads of the party walking on the road through the Pass. In -the moonlight these fantastic arms seemed draped. The trees seemed -attitudinizing to one another in a strange pantomime of their own. - -The village of Ballycruiskeen lay just beyond the romantic defile, -so that occasionally the inhabitants failed to hear the sound of the -Atlantic hoarsely roaring as it was being strangled in the narrow part -of the lough. They were therefore sometimes merry with a merriment -impossible to dwellers nearer the coast. - -It did not appear to their visitors that this was one of their merry -nights. The natives were commanded by their good priest to be merry for -"the quality," under penalties with which they were well acquainted. But -merriment under a penalty is no more successful than the smile which is -manufactured in a photographer's studio. - -Father Conn made the mistake of insisting on all the members of his -flock washing their faces. They had washed all the picturesqueness out -of them, Mr. Airey suggested. - -The Curragh of Ballycruiskeen was a somewhat wild moorland that -became demoralized into a bog at one extremity. There was, however, a -sufficiently settled portion to form a dancing green, and at one side -of this patch the shocking incongruity of chairs--of a certain sort--and -even a sofa--it was somewhat less certain--met the eyes of the visitors. - -"Mind this, ye divils," the priest was saying in an affectionate way to -the members of his flock, as the party from the Castle approached. "Mind -this, it's dancing a new roof on the chapel that ye are. Every step ye -take means a slate, so it does." - -This was clearly the peroration of the pastor's speech. - -The speech of Mr. Phineas O'Flaherty, who was a sort of unceremonious -master of the ceremonies, had been previously delivered, fortunately -when the guests were out of hearing. - -At first the entertainment seemed to be a very mournful one. It was -too like examination day at a village school to convey an idea of -spontaneous mirth. The "quality" sat severely on the incongruous -chairs--no one was brave enough to try the sofa--and some of the -"quality" used double eye-glasses with handles, for the better inspection -of the performers. This was chilling to the performers. - -In spite of the efforts of Father Conn and his stage manager, Mr. -O'Flaherty, the members of the cast for the entertainment assumed a -huddled appearance that did themselves great injustice. They declined to -group themselves effectively, but suggested to Mr. Durdan--who was -not silent on the subject--one of the illustrations to Foxe's Book of -Martyrs--a scene in which about a score of persons about to be martyred -are shown to be awaiting, with an aspect of cheerful resignation that -deceived no one, their "turn" at the hands of the executioner. - -The merry Irish jig had a depressing effect at first. The priest was -well-meaning, but he had not the soul of an artist. When a man has -devoted all his spare moments for several years to the repression of -unseemly mirth, he is unwise to undertake, at a moment's notice, the -duties of stimulating such mirth. Under the priest's eye the jig was -robbed of its jiguity, so to speak. It was the jig of the dancing class. - -Mr. O'Flaherty threatened to scandalize Father Conn by a few -exclamations about the display of fetlocks--the priest had so little -experience of the "quality" that he fancied a suggestion of slang -would be offensive to their ears. He did not know that the hero of the -"quality" in England is the costermonger, and that a few years ago the -hero was the cowboy. But Edmund Airey, perceiving with his accustomed -shrewdness, how matters stood, managed to draw the priest away from -the halfhearted exponents of the dance, and so questioned him on the -statistics of the parish--for Father Conn was as hospitable with his -statistics as he was with his whiskey punch upon occasions--that half an -hour had passed before they returned together to the scene of the dance, -the priest with a five-pound note of Mr. Airey's pressed against his -heart. - -"Murder alive! what's this at all at all?" cried Father Conn, becoming -aware of the utterance of whoop after whoop by the dancers. - -"It's the jig they're dancin' at last, an' more power to thim!" cried -Phineas O'Flaherty, clapping his hands and giving an encouraging whoop -or two. - -He was right. The half dozen couples artistically dishevelled, and -rapidly losing the baleful recollections of having been recently tidied -up to meet the "quality"--rapidly losing every recollection of the -critical gaze of the "quality"--of the power of speech possessed by -the priest--of everything, clerical and lay, except the strains of the -fiddle which occupied an intermediate position between things lay and -clerical, being wholly demoniac--these half dozen couples were dancing -the jig with a breadth and feeling that suggested the youth of the world -and the reign of Bacchus. - -Black hair flowing in heavy flakes over shoulders unevenly bare--shapely -arms flung over heads in an attitude of supreme self-abandonment--a -passionate advance, a fervent retreat, then an exchange of musical cries -like wild gasps for breath, and ever, ever, ever the demoniac music of -the fiddle, and ever, ever, ever the flashing and flying from the ground -like the feet of the winged Hermes--flashing and flashing with the -moonlight over all, and the fantastic arms of the hill-side pines -stretched out like the fringed arms of a grotesque Pierrot--this was the -scene to which the priest returned with Edmund Airey. - -He threw up his hands and was about to rush upon the half-frenzied -dancers, when Edmund grasped him by the arm, and pointed mutely to the -attitude of the "quality." - -Lady Innisfail and her friends were no longer sitting frigidly on their -chairs--the double eye-glasses were dropped, and those who had held them -were actually joining in the whoops of the dancers. Her ladyship was -actually clapping her hands in the style of encouragement adopted by Mr. -O'Flaherty. - -The priest stood in the attitude in which he had been arrested by the -artful Edmund Airey. His eyes and his mouth were open, and his right -hand was pressed against the five-pound note that he had just received. -There was a good deal of slate-purchasing potentialities in a five-pound -note. If her ladyship and her guests were shocked--as the priest, -never having heard of the skirt dance and its popularity in the -drawing-room--believed they should be, they were not displaying -their indignation in a usual way. They were almost as excited as the -performers. - -Father Conn seated himself without a word of protest, in one of the -chairs vacated by the Castle party. He felt that if her ladyship liked -that form of entertainment, the chapel roof was safe. The amount of -injury that would be done to the Foul Fiend by the complete re-roofing -of the chapel should certainly be sufficient to counteract whatever sin -might be involved in the wild orgy that was being carried on beneath the -light of the moon. This was the consolation that the priest had as he -heard whoop after whoop coming from the dancers. - -Six couples remained on the green dancing-space. The fiddler was a -wizened, deformed man with small gleaming eyes. He stood on a stool and -kept time with one foot. He increased the time of the dance so gradually -as to lead the dancers imperceptibly on until, without being aware of -it, they had reached a frenzied pitch that could not be maintained for -many minutes. But still the six couples continued wildly dancing, the -moonlight striking them aslant and sending six black quivering shadows -far over the ground. Suddenly a man dropped out of the line and lay -gasping on the grass. Then a girl flung herself with a cry into the arms -of a woman who was standing among the onlookers. Faster still and faster -went the grotesquely long arms of the dwarf fiddler--his shadow cast by -the moonlight was full of horrible suggestions--and every now and again -a falsetto whoop came from him, his teeth suddenly gleaming as his lips -parted in uttering the cry. - -The two couples, who now remained facing one another, changing feet with -a rapidity that caused them to appear constantly off the ground, were -encouraged by the shouts and applause of their friends. The air was full -of cries, in which the spectators from the Castle joined. Faster still -the demoniac music went, every strident note being clearly heard above -the shouts. But when one of the two couples staggered wildly and fell -with outstretched arms upon the grass, the shriek of the fiddle sounded -but faintly above the cries. - -The priest could restrain himself no longer. He sprang to his feet -and kicked the stool from under the fiddler, sending the misshapen man -sprawling in one direction and his instrument with an unearthly shriek -in another. - -Silence followed that shriek. It lasted but a few seconds, however. -The figure of a man--a stranger--appeared running across the open space -between the village and the Curragh, where the dance was being held. - -He held up his right hand in so significant a way, that the priest's -foot was arrested in the act of implanting another kick upon the -stool, and the fiddler sat up on the ground and forgot to look for his -instrument through surprise at the apparition. - -"It's dancin' at the brink of the grave, ye are," gasped the man, as he -approached the group that had become suddenly congested in anticipation -of the priest's wrath. - -"Why, it's only Brian the boatman, after all," said Lady Innisfail. -"Great heavens! I had such a curious thought as he appeared. Oh, that -dancing! He did not seem to be a man." - -"This is no doubt part of the prehistoric rite," said Mr. Airey. - -"How simply lovely!" cried Miss Stafford. - -"In God's name, man, tell us what you mean," said the priest. - -"It's herself," gasped Brian. "It's the one that's nameless. Her wail is -heard over all the lough--I heard it with my ears and hurried here for -your reverence. Don't we know that she never cries except for a death?" - -"He means the Banshee," said Lady Innisfail. - -"The people, I've heard, think it unlucky to utter her name." - -"So lovely! Just like savages!" said Miss Stafford. - -"I dare say the whole thing is only part of the ceremony of the -Cruiskeen," said Mr. Durdan. - -"Brian O'Donal," said the priest; "have you come here to try and terrify -the country side with your romancin'?" - -"By the sacred Powers, your reverence, I heard the cry of her myself, -as I came by the bend of the lough. If it's not the truth that I'm after -speaking, may I be the one that she's come for." - -"Doesn't he play the part splendidly?" said Lady Innisfail. "I'd -almost think that he was in earnest. Look how the people are crossing -themselves." - -Miss Stafford looked at them through her double eye-glasses with the -long handle. - -"How lovely!" she murmured. "The Cruiskeen is the Oberammergau of -Connaught." - -Edmund Airey laughed. - -"God forgive us all for this night!" said the priest. "Sure, didn't I -think that the good that would come of getting on the chapel roof would -cover the shame of this night! Go to your cabins, my children. You -were not to blame. It was me and me only. My Lady"--he turned to the -Innisfail party--"this entertainment is over. God knows I meant it for -the best." - -"But we haven't yet heard the harper," cried Lady Innisfail. - -"And the native bards," said Miss Stafford. "I should so much like to -hear a bard. I might even recite a native poem under his tuition." - -Miss Stafford saw a great future for native Irish poetry in English -drawing-rooms. It might be the success of a season. - -"The entertainment's over," said the priest. - -"It's that romancer Brian, that's done it all," cried Phineas -O'Flaherty. - -"Mr. O'Flaherty, if it's not the truth may I--oh, didn't I hear her -voice, like the wail of a girl in distress?" cried Brian. - -"Like what?" said Mr. Airey. - -"Oh, you don't believe anything--we all know that, sir," said Brian. - -"A girl in distress--I believe in that, at any rate," said Edmund. - -"Now!" said Miss Stafford, "don't you think that I might recite -something to these poor people?" She turned to Lady Innisfail. "Poor -people! They may never have heard a real recitation--'The Dove Cote,' -'Peter's Blue Bell'--something simple." - -There was a movement among her group. - -"The sooner we get back to the Castle the better it will be for all of -us," said Lady Innisfail. "Yes, Father Constantine, we distinctly looked -for a native bard, and we are greatly disappointed. Who ever heard of a -genuine Cruiskeen without a native bard? Why, the thing's absurd!" - -"A Connaught Oberammergau without a native bard! _Oh, Padre mio--Padre -mio!_" said Miss Stafford, daintily shaking her double eye-glasses at -the priest. - -"My lady," said he, "you heard what the man said. How would it be -possible for us to continue this scene while that warning voice is in -the air?" - -"If you give us a chance of hearing the warning voice, we'll forgive you -everything, and say that the Cruiskeen is a great success," cried Lady -Innisfail. - -"If your ladyship takes the short way to the bend of the lough you may -still hear her," said Brian. - -"God forbid," said the priest. - -"Take us there, and if we hear her, I'll give you half a sovereign," -cried her ladyship, enthusiastically. - -"If harm comes of it don't blame me," said Brian. "Step out this way, my -lady." - -"We may still be repaid for our trouble in coming so far," said one of -the party. "If we do actually hear the Banshee, I, for one, will feel -more than satisfied." - -Miss Stafford, as she hurried away with the party led by Brian, wondered -if it might not be possible to find a market for a Banshee's cry in a -London drawing-room. A new emotion was, she understood, eagerly awaited. -The serpentine dance and the costermonger's lyre had waned. It was -extremely unlikely that they should survive another season. If she were -to be first in the field with the Banshee's cry, introduced with a few -dainty steps of the jig incidental to a poem with a refrain of "Asthore" -or "Mavourneen," she might yet make a name for herself. - - - - -CHAPTER XV.--ON THE SHRIEK. - -IN a space of time that was very brief, owing to the resolution with -which Lady Innisfail declined to accept the suggestion of short cuts -by Brian, the whole party found themselves standing breathless at the -beginning of the line of cliffs. A mist saturated with moonlight had -drifted into the lough from the Atlantic. It billowed below their eyes -along the surface of the water, and crawled along the seared faces of -the cliffs, but no cold fingers of the many-fingered mist clasped the -higher ridges. The sound of the crashing of the unseen waves about the -bases of the cliffs filled the air, but there was no other sound. - -"Impostor!" said Edmund Airy, turning upon Brian. "You heard no White -Lady to-night. You have jeopardized our physical and your spiritual -health by your falsehood." - -"You shall get no half sovereign from me," said Lady Innisfail. - -"Is it me that's accountable for her coming and going?" cried Brian, -with as much indignation as he could afford. Even an Irishman cannot -afford the luxury of being indignant with people who are in the habit -of paying him well, and an Irishman is ready to sacrifice much to -sentiment. "It's glad we should all be this night not to hear the voice -of herself." - -Lady Innisfail looked at him. She could afford to be indignant, and -she meant to express her indignation; but when it came to the point she -found that it was too profound to be susceptible of expression. - -"Oh, come away," she said, after looking severely at Brian for nearly a -minute. - -"Dear Lady Innisfail," said Mr. Durdan, "I know that you feel indignant, -fancying that we have been disappointed. Pray do not let such an idea -have weight with you for a moment." - -"Oh, no, no," said Miss Stafford, who liked speaking in public quite -as well as Mr. Durdan. "Oh, no, no; you have done your best, dear Lady -Innisfail. The dance was lovely; and though, of course, we should have -liked to hear a native bard or two, as well as the Banshee--" - -"Yet bards and Banshees we know to be beyond human control," said Mr. -Airey. - -"We know that if it rested with you, we should hear the Banshee every -night," said Mr. Durdan. - -"Yes, we all know your kindness of heart, dear Lady Innisfail," resumed -Miss Stafford. - -"Indeed you should hear it, and the bard as well," cried Lady Innisfail. -"But as Mr. Airey says--and he knows all about bard and Banshees and -such like things Great heaven! We are not disappointed after all, thank -heaven!" - -Lady Innisfail's exclamation was uttered after there floated to the -cliffs where she and her friends were standing, from the rolling white -mist that lay below, the sound of a long wail. It was repeated, only -fainter, when she had uttered her thanksgiving, and it was followed by a -more robust shout. - -"Isn't it lovely?" whispered Lady Innisfail. - -"I don't like it," said Miss Stafford, with a shudder. "Let us go -away--oh, let us go away at once." - -Miss Stafford liked simulated horrors only. The uncanny in verse was -dear to her; but when, for the first time, she was brought face to face -with what would have formed the subject of a thrilling romance with a -suggestion of the supernatural, she shuddered. - -"Hush," said Lady Innisfail; "if we remain quiet we may hear it again." - -"I don't want to hear it again," cried Miss Stafford. "Look at the man. -He knows all about it. He is one of the natives." - -She pointed to Brian, who was on his knees on the rock muttering -petitions for the protection of all the party. - -He knew, however, that his half sovereign was safe, whatever might -happen. Miss Stafford's remark was reasonable. Brian should know all -about the Banshee and its potentialities of mischief. - -"Get up, you fool!" said Edmund Airey, catching the native by the -shoulder. "Don't you know as well as I do that a boat with someone -aboard is adrift in the mist?" - -"Oh, I know that you don't believe in anything." said Brian. - -"I believe in your unlimited laziness and superstition," said Edmund. -"I'm very sorry, my dear Lady Innisfail, to interfere with your -entertainment, but it's perfectly clear to me that someone is in -distress at the foot of the cliffs." - -"How can you be so horrid--so commonplace?" said Lady Innisfail. - -"He is one of the modern iconoclasts," said another of the group. -"He would fling down our most cherished beliefs. He told me that he -considered Madame Blavatsky a swindler." - -"Dear Mr. Airey," said Miss Stafford, who was becoming less timid as the -wail from the sea had not been repeated. "Dear Mr. Airey, let us entreat -of you to leave us our Banshee whatever you may take from us." - -"There are some things in heaven and earth that refuse to be governed by -a phrase," sneered Mr. Durdan. - -"Mules and the members of the Opposition are among them," said Edmund, -preparing to descend the cliffs by the zig-zag track. - -He had scarcely disappeared in the mist when there was a shriek from -Miss Stafford, and pointing down the track with a gesture, which for -expressiveness, she had never surpassed in the most powerful of her -recitations, she flung herself into Lady Innisfail's arms. - -"Great heavens!" cried Lady Innisfail. "It is the White Lady herself'!" - -"We're all lost, and the half sovereign's nothing here or there," said -Brian, in a tone of complete resignation. - -Out of the mist there seemed to float a white figure of a girl. She -stood for some moments with the faint mist around her, and while the -group on the cliff watched her--some of them found it necessary to cling -together--another white figure floated through the mist to the side of -the first, and then came another figure--that of a man--only he did not -float. - -"I wish you would not cling quite so close to me, my dear; I can't see -anything of what's going on," said Lady Innisfail to Miss Stafford, -whose head was certainly an inconvenience to Lady Innisfail. - -With a sudden, determined movement she shifted the head from her bosom -to her shoulder, and the instant that this feat was accomplished she -cried out, "Helen Craven!" - -"Helen Craven?" said Miss Stafford, recovering the use of her head in a -moment. - -"Yes, it's Helen Craven or her ghost that's standing there," said Lady -Innisfail. - -"And Harold Wynne is with her. Are you there, Wynne?" sang out Mr. -Durdan. - -"Hallo?" came the voice of Harold from below. "Who is there?" - -"Why, we're all here," cried Edmund, emerging from the mist at his side. -"How on earth did you get here?--and Miss Craven--and--he looked at the -third figure--he had never seen the third figure before. - -"Oh, it's a long story," laughed Harold. "Will you give a hand to Miss -Craven?" - -Mr. Airey said it would please him greatly to do so, and by his kindly -aid Miss Craven was, in the course of a few minutes, placed by the side -of Lady Innisfail. - -She took the place just vacated by Miss Stafford on Lady Innisfail's -bosom, and was even more embarrassing to Lady Innisfail than the other -had been. Helen Craven was heavier, to start with. - -But it was rather by reason of her earnest desire to see the strange -face, that Lady Innisfail found Helen's head greatly in her way. - -"Lady Innisfail, when Miss Craven is quite finished with you, I shall -present to you Miss Avon," said Harold. - -"I should be delighted," said Lady Innisfail. "Dearest Helen, can you -not spare me for a moment?" - -Helen raised her head. - -It was then that everyone perceived how great was the devastation done -by the mist to the graceful little curled fringes of her forehead. -Her hair was lank, showing that she had as massive a brow as Miss -Stafford's, if she wished to display it. - -"It is a great pleasure to me to meet you, Miss Avon; I'm sure that I -have often heard of you from Mr. Wynne and--oh, yes, many other people," -said Lady Innisfail. "But just now--well, you can understand that we are -all bewildered." - -"Yes, we are all bewildered," said Miss Avon. "You see, we heard the cry -of the White Lady--" - -"Of course," said Harold; "we heard it too. The White Lady was Miss -Craven. She was in one of the boats, and the mist coming on so suddenly, -she could not find her way back to the landing place. Luckily we were -able to take her boat in tow before it got knocked to pieces. I hope -Miss Craven did not over-exert herself." - -"I hope not," said Lady Innisfail. "What on earth induced you to go out -in a boat alone, Helen--and suffering from so severe a headache into the -bargain?" - -"I felt confident that the cool air would do me good," said Miss Craven. -somewhat dolefully. - -Lady Innisfail looked at her in silence for some moments, then she -laughed. - -No one else seemed to perceive any reason for laughter. - -Lady Innisfail then turned her eyes upon Miss Avon. The result of her -observation was precisely the same as the result of Harold's first sight -of that face had been. Lady Innisfail felt that she had never seen so -beautiful a girl. - -Then Lady Innisfail laughed again. - -Finally she looked at Harold and laughed for the third time. The space -of a minute nearly was occupied by her observations and her laughter. - -"I think that on the whole we should hasten on to the Castle," said she -at length. "Miss Craven is pretty certain to be fatigued--we are, at -any rate. Of course you will come with us, Miss Avon." - -The group on the cliff ceased to be a group when she had spoken; but -Miss Avon did not move with the others. Harold also remained by her -side. - -"I don't know what I should do," said Miss Avon. "The boat is at the -foot of the cliff." - -"It would be impossible for you to find your course so long as the mist -continues," said Harold. "Miss Avon and her father--he is an old friend -of mine--we breakfasted together at my college--are living in the White -House--you may have heard its name--on the opposite shore--only a mile -by sea, but six by land," he added, turning to Lady Innisfail. - -"Returning to-night is out of the question," said Lady Innisfail. "You -must come with us to the Castle for to-night. I shall explain all to -your father to-morrow, if any explanation is needed." Miss Avon shook -her head, and murmured a recognition of Lady Innisfail's kindness. - -"There is Brian," said Harold. "He will confront your father in the -morning with the whole story." - -"Yes, with the whole story," said Lady Innisfail, with an amusing -emphasis on the words. "I already owe Brian half a sovereign." - -"Oh, Brian will carry the message all for love," cried the girl. - -Lady Innisfail did her best to imitate the captivating freshness of the -girl's words. - -"All for love--all for love!" she cried. - -Harold smiled. He remembered having had brought under his notice a toy -nightingale that imitated the song of the nightingale so closely that -the Jew dealer, who wanted to sell the thing, declared that no one on -earth could tell the difference between the two. - -The volubility of Brian in declaring that he would do anything out of -love for Miss Avon was amazing. He went down the cliff face to bring the -boats round to the regular moorings, promising to be at the Castle in -half an hour to receive Miss Avon's letter to be put into her father's -hand at his hour of rising. - -By the time Miss Avon and Harold had walked to the Castle with Lady -Innisfail, they had acquainted her with a few of the incidents of the -evening--how they also had been caught by the mist while in their boat, -and had with considerable trouble succeeded in reaching the craft in -which Miss Craven was helplessly drifting. They had heard Miss Craven's -cry for help, they said, and Harold had replied to it. But still they -had some trouble picking up her boat. - -Lady Innisfail heard all the story, and ventured to assert that all was -well that ended well. - -"And this is the end," she cried, as she pointed to the shining hall -seen through the open doors. - -"Yes, this is the end of all--a pleasant end to the story," said the -girl. - -Harold followed them as they entered. - -He wondered if this was the end of the story, or only the beginning. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI.--ON THE VALUE OF A BAD CHARACTER. - -IT was said by some people that the judge, during his vacation, had -solved the problem set by the philosopher to his horse. He had learned -to live on a straw a day, only there was something perpetually at the -end of his straw--something with a preposterous American name in a -tumbler to match. - -He had the tumbler and the straw on a small table by his side while he -watched, with great unsteadiness, the strokes of the billiard players. - -From an hour after dinner he was in a condition of perpetual dozing. -This was his condition also from an hour after the opening of a case in -court, which required the closest attention to enable even the most -delicately appreciative mind to grasp even its simplest elements. - -He had, he said, been the most widely awake of counsel for thirty years, -so that he rather thought he was entitled to a few years dozing as a -judge. - -Other people--they were his admirers--said that his dozing represented -an alertness far beyond that of the most conscientiously wakeful and -watchful of the judicial establishment in England. - -It is easy to resemble Homer--in nodding--and in this special Homeric -quality the judge excelled; but it was generally understood that it -would not be wise to count upon his nodding himself into a condition of -unobservance. He had already delivered judgment on the character of the -fine cannons of one of the players in the hall, and upon the hazards of -the other. He had declined to mark the game, however, and he had -thereby shown his knowledge of human nature. There had already been -four disputes as to the accuracy of the marking. (It was being done by a -younger man). - -"How can a man expect to make his favourite break after some hours on -a diabolical Irish jaunting car?" one of the players was asking, as he -bent over the table. - -The words were uttered at the moment of Harold's entrance, close behind -Lady Innisfail and Miss Avon. - -Hearing the words he stood motionless before he had taken half-a-dozen -steps into the hall. - -Lady Innisfail also stopped at the same instant, and looked over her -shoulder at Harold. - -Through the silence there came the little click of the billiard balls. - -The speaker gave the instinctive twist of the practised billiard player -toward the pocket that he wished the ball to approach. Then he took a -breath and straightened himself in a way that would have made any close -observer aware of the fact that he was no longer a young man. - -There was, however, more than a suggestion of juvenility in his manner -of greeting Lady Innisfail. He was as effusive as is consistent with the -modern spirit of indifference to the claims of hostesses and all other -persons. - -He was not so effusive when he turned to Harold; but that was only to be -expected, because Harold was his son. - -"No, my boy," said Lord Fotheringay, "I didn't fancy that you would -expect to see me here to-night--I feel surprised to find myself here. It -seems like a dream to me--a charming dream-vista with Lady Innisfail at -the end of the vista. Innisfail always ruins his chances of winning a -game by attempting a screw back into the pocket. He leaves everything -on. You'll see what my game is now." - -He chalked his cue and bent over the table once more. - -Harold watched him make the stroke. "You'll see what my game is," said -Lord Fotheringay, as he settled himself down to a long break. - -Harold questioned it greatly. His father's games were rarely -transparent. - -"What on earth can have brought him?--oh, he takes one's breath away," -whispered Lady Innisfail to Harold, with a pretty fair imitation of a -smile lingering about some parts of her face. - -Harold shook his head. There was not even the imitation of a smile about -his face. - -Lady Innisfail gave a laugh, and turned quickly to Miss Avon. - -"My husband will be delighted to meet you, my dear," said she. "He is -certain to know your father." - -Harold watched Lord Innisfail shaking hands with Miss Avon at the -side of the billiard table, while his father bent down to make another -stroke. When the stroke was played he saw his father straighten himself -and look toward Miss Avon. - -The look was a long one and an interested one. Then the girl disappeared -with Lady Innisfail, and the look that Lord Fotheringay cast at his son -was a short one, but it was quite as intelligible to that soft as the -long look at Miss Avon had been to him. - -Harold went slowly and in a singularly contemplative mood to his -bedroom, whence he emerged in a space, wearing a smoking-jacket and -carrying a pipe and tobacco pouch. - -The smoking-jackets that glowed through the hall towards the last hour -of the day at Castle Innisfail were a dream of beauty. - -Lady Innisfail had given orders to have a variety of sandwiches and -other delicacies brought to the hall for those of her guests who had -attended the festivities at Ballycruiskeen; and when Harold found his -way downstairs, he perceived in a moment that only a few of the feeble -ones of the house-party--the fishermen who had touches of rheumatism and -the young women who cherished their complexions--were absent from the -hall. - -He also noticed that his father was seated by the side of Beatrice Avon -and that he was succeeding in making himself interesting to her. - -He knew that his father generally succeeded in making himself -interesting to women. - -In another part of the hall Lady Innisfail was succeeding in making -herself interesting to some of the men. She also was accustomed to -meet with success in this direction. She was describing to such as -had contrived to escape the walk to Ballycruiskeen, the inexhaustibly -romantic charm of the scene on the Curragh while the natives were -dancing, and the descriptions certainly were not deficient in colour. - -The men listened to her with such an aspect of being enthralled, she -felt certain that they were full of regret that they had failed to -witness the dance. It so happened, however, that the result of her -account of the scene was to lead those of her audience who had remained -at the Castle, to congratulate themselves upon a lucky escape. - -And all this time, Harold noticed that his father was making himself -interesting to Beatrice Avon. - -The best way for any man to make himself interesting to a woman is to -show himself interested in her. He knew that his father was well aware -of this fact, and that he was getting Beatrice Avon to tell him all -about herself. - -But when Lady Innisfail reached the final situation in her dramatic -account of the dance, and hurried her listeners to the brink of the -cliff--when she reproduced in a soprano that was still vibratory, the -cry that had sounded through the mist--when she pointed to Miss Avon -in telling of the white figure that had emerged from the mist--(Lady -Innisfail did not think it necessary to allude to Helen Craven, who had -gone to bed)--the auditors' interest was real and not simulated. They -looked at the white figure as Lady Innisfail pointed to her, and their -interest was genuine. - -They could at least appreciate this element of the evening's -entertainment, and as they glanced at Harold, who was eating a number of -sandwiches in a self-satisfied way, they thought that they might -safely assume that he was the luckiest of the _dramatis personae_ of the -comedy--or was it a tragedy?--described by Lady Innisfail. - -And all this time Harold was noticing that his father, by increasing -his interest in Beatrice, was making himself additionally interesting to -her. - -But the judge had also--at the intervals between his Homeric nods--been -noticing the living things around him. He put aside his glass and its -straw--he had been toying with it all the evening, though the liquid -that mounted by capillary attraction up the tube was something noisome, -without a trace of alcohol--and seated himself on the other side of the -girl. - -He assured her that he had known her father. Lord Fotheringay did not -believe him; but this was not to the point, and he knew it. What was to -the point was the fact that the judge understood the elements of the art -of interesting a girl almost as fully as Lord Fotheringay did, without -having quite made it the serious business of his life. The result was -that Miss Avon was soon telling the judge all about herself--this -was what the judge professed to be the most anxious to hear--and Lord -Fotheringay lit a cigar. - -He felt somewhat bitterly on the subject of the judge's intrusion. But -the feeling did not last for long. He reflected upon the circumstance -that Miss Avon could never have heard that he himself was a very wicked -man. - -He knew that the interest that attaches to a man with a reputation for -being very wicked is such as need fear no rival. He felt that should his -power to interest a young woman ever be jeopardized, he could still fall -back upon his bad character and be certain to attract her. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII.--ON PROVIDENCE AS A MATCH-MAKER. - -OF course," said Lady Innisfail to Edmund Airey the next day. "Of -course, if Harold alone had rescued Helen from her danger last night, -all would have been well. You know as well as I do that when a man -rescues a young woman from a position of great danger, he can scarcely -do less than ask her to marry him." - -"Of course," replied Edmund. "I really can't see how, if he has any -dramatic appreciation whatever, he could avoid asking her to marry him." - -"It is beyond a question," said Lady Innisfail. "So that if Harold had -been alone in the boat all would have been well. The fact of Miss Avon's -being also in the boat must, however, be faced. It complicates matters -exceedingly." - -Edmund shook his head gravely. - -"I knew that you would see the force of it," resumed Lady Innisfail. -"And then there is his father--his father must be taken into account." - -"It might be as well, though I know that Lord Fotheringay's views are -the same as yours." - -"I am sure that they are; but why, then, does he come here to sit by the -side of the other girl and interest her as he did last evening?" - -"Lord Fotheringay can never be otherwise than interesting, even to -people who do not know how entirely devoid of scruple he is." - -"Of course I know all that; but why should he come here and sit beside -so very pretty a girl as this Miss Avon?" - -"There is no accounting for tastes, Lady Innisfail. - -"You are very stupid, Mr. Airey. What I mean is, why should Lord -Fotheringay behave in such a way as must force his son's attention to be -turned in a direction that--that--in short, it should not be turned in? -Heaven knows that I want to do the best for Harold--I like him so well -that I could almost wish him to remain unmarried. But you know as well -as I do, that it is absolutely necessary for him to marry a girl with a -considerable amount of money." - -"That is as certain as anything can be. I gave him the best advice in -my power on this subject, and he announced his intention of asking Miss -Craven to marry him." - -"But instead of asking her he strolled round the coast to that wretched -cave, and there met, by accident, the other girl--oh, these other girls -are always appearing on the scene at the wrong moment." - -"The world would go on beautifully if it were not for the Other Girl." -said Edmund. "If you think of it, there is not an event in history that -has not turned upon the opportune or inopportune appearance of the Other -Girl. Nothing worth speaking of has taken place, unless by the agency of -the Other Girl." - -"And yet Lord Fotheringay comes here and sits by the side of this -charming girl, and his son watches him making himself interesting to her -as, alas! he can do but too easily. Mr. Airey, I should not be surprised -if Harold were to ask Miss Avon to-day to marry him--I should not, -indeed." - -"Oh, I think you take too pessimistic a view of the matter altogether, -Lady Innisfail. Anyhow, I don't see that we can do more than we have -already done. I think I should feel greatly inclined to let Providence -and Lord Fotheringay fight out the matter between them." - -"Like the archangel and the Other over the body of Moses?" - -"Well, something like that." - -"No, Mr. Airey; I don't believe in Providence as a match-maker." - -Mr. Airey gave a laugh. He wondered if it was possible that Harold -had mentioned to her that he, Edmund, had expressed the belief that -Providence as a match-maker had much to learn. - -"I don't see how we can interfere," said he. "I like Harold Wynne -greatly. He means to do something in the world, and I believe he will -do it. He affords a convincing example of the collapse of heredity as a -principle. I like him if only for that." - -Lady Innisfail looked at him in silence for a few moments. - -"Yes," she said, slowly. "Harold does seem to differ greatly from his -father. I wonder if it is the decree of Providence that has kept him -without money." - -"Do you suggest that the absence of money--?" - -"No, no; I suggest nothing. If a man must be wicked he'll be wicked -without money almost as readily as with it. Only I wonder, if Harold had -come in for the title and the property--such as it was--at the same age -as his father was when he inherited all, would he be so ready as you say -he is to do useful work on the side of the government of his country?" - -"That is a question for the philosophers," said Edmund. - -In this unsatisfactory way the conversation between Lady Innisfail and -Mr. Airey on the morning after Lord Fotheringay's arrival at the Castle, -came to an end. No conversation that ends in referring the question -under consideration to the philosophers, can by any possibility be -thought satisfactory. But the conversation could not well be continued -when Miss Craven, by the side of Miss Avon, was seen to be approaching. - -Edmund Airey turned his eyes upon the two girls, then they rested upon -the face of Beatrice. - -As she came closer his glance rested upon the eyes of Beatrice. The -result of his observation was to convince him that he had never before -seen such beautiful eyes. - -They were certainly gray; and they were as full of expression as gray -eyes can be. They were large, and to look into them seemed like looking -into the transparent depths of an unfathomed sea--into the transparent -heights of an inexhaustible heaven. - -A glimpse of heaven suggests the bliss of the beatified. A glimpse of -the ocean suggests shipwreck. - -He knew this perfectly well as he looked at her eyes; but only for an -instant did it occur to him that they conveyed some message to him. - -Before he had time to think whether the message promised the bliss of -the dwellers in the highest heaven, or the disaster of those who go down -into the depths of the deepest sea, he was inquiring from Helen Craven -if the chill of which she had complained on the previous night, had -developed into a cold. - -Miss Craven assured him that, so far from experiencing any ill effects -from her adventure, she had never felt better in all her life. - -"But had it not been for Miss Avon's hearing my cries of despair, -goodness knows where I should have been in another ten minutes," she -added, putting her arm round Miss Avon's waist, and looking, as Edmund -had done, into the mysterious depths of Miss Avon's gray eyes. - -"Nonsense!" said Miss Avon. "To tell you the plain truth, I did not hear -your cries. It was Mr. Wynne who said he heard the White Lady wailing -for her lover." - -"How could he translate the cry so accurately?" said Edmund. "Do you -suppose that he had heard the Banshee's cry at the same place?" - -He kept his eyes upon Miss Avon's face, and he saw in a moment that she -was wondering how much he knew of the movements of Harold Wynne during -the previous two nights. - -Helen Craven looked at him also pretty narrowly. She was wondering if he -had told anyone that he had suggested to her the possibility of Harold's -being in the neighbourhood of the Banshee's Cave during the previous -evening. - -Both girls laughed in another moment, and then Edmund Airey laughed -also--in a sort of way. Lady Innisfail was the last to join in the -laugh. But what she laughed at was the way in which Edmund had laughed. - -And while this group of four were upon the northern terrace, Harold was -seated the side of his father on one of the chairs that faced the south. -Lord Fotheringay was partial to a southern aspect. His life might be -said to be a life of southern aspects. He meant that it should never be -out of the sun, not because some of the incidents that seemed to him to -make life worth preserving were such as could best stand the searching -light of the sun, but simply because his was the nature of the -butterfly. He was a butterfly of fifty-seven--a butterfly that found it -necessary to touch up with artificial powders the ravages of years upon -the delicate, downy bloom of youth--a butterfly whose wings had now and -again been singed by contact with a harmful flame--whose still shapely -body was now and again bent with rheumatism. Surely the rheumatic -butterfly is the most wretched of insects! - -He had fluttered away from a fresh singeing, he was assuring his son. -Yes, he had scarcely strength left in his wings to carry him out of the -sphere of influence of the flame. He had, he said in a mournful tone, -been very badly treated. She had treated him very badly. The Italian -nature was essentially false--he might have known it--and when an -Italian nature is developed with a high soprano, very shrill in its -upper register, the result was--well, the result was that the flame had -singed the wings of the elderly insect who was Harold's father. - -"Talk of money!" he cried, with so sudden an expression of emotion that -a few caked scraps of sickly, roseate powder fluttered from the -crinkled lines of his forehead--Talk of money! It was not a matter of -hundreds--he was quite prepared for that--but when the bill ran up to -thousands--thousands--thousands--oh, the whole affair was sickening. -(Harold cordially agreed with him, though he did not express himself to -this effect). Was it not enough to shake one's confidence in woman--in -human nature--in human art (operatic)--in the world? - -Yes, it was the Husband. - -The Husband, Lord Fotheringay was disposed to regard in pretty much -the same light as Mr. Airey regarded the Other Girl. The Husband was not -exactly the obstacle, but the inconvenience. He had a habit of turning -up, and it appeared that in the latest of Lord Fotheringay's experiences -his turning up had been more than usually inopportune. - -"That is why I followed so close upon the heels of my letter to you," -said the father. "The crash came in a moment--it was literally a -crash too, now that I think upon it, for that hot-blooded ruffian, her -husband, caught one corner of the table cloth--we were at supper--and -swept everything that was on the table into a corner of the room. Yes, -the bill is in my portmanteau. And she took his part. Heavens above! -She actually took his part. I was the scoundrel--_briccone!_--the coarse -Italian is still ringing in my ears. It was anything but a charming -duetto. He sang a basso--her upper register was terribly shrill--I had -never heard it more so. Artistically the scene was a failure; but I had -to run for all that. Humiliating, is it not, to be overcome by something -that would, if subjected to the recognized canons of criticism, be -pronounced a failure? And he swore that he would follow me and have my -life. Enough. You got my letter. Fortune is on your side, my boy. You -saved her life last night." - -"Whose life did I save?" asked the son. "Whose life? Heavens above! Have -you been saving more than one life?" - -"Not more than one--a good deal less than one. Don't let us get into -a sentimental strain, pater. You are the chartered--ah, the chartered -sentimentalist of the family. Don't try and drag me into your strain. -I'm not old enough. A man cannot pose as a sentimentalist nowadays until -he is approaching sixty." - -"Really? Then I shall have to pause for a year or two still. Let us put -that question aside for a moment. Should I be exceeding my privileges -if I were to tell you that I am ruined?--Financially ruined, I mean, -of course; thank heaven, I am physically as strong as I was--ah, three -years ago." - -"You said something about my allowance, I think." - -"If I did not I failed in my duty as a father, and I don't often do -that, my boy--thank God, I don't often do that." - -"No," said Harold. "If the whole duty of a father is comprised in -acquainting his son with the various reductions that he says he finds -it necessary to make in his allowance, you are the most exemplary of -fathers, pater." - -"There is a suspicion of sarcasm--or what is worse, epigram in that -phrase," said the father. "Never mind, you cannot epigram away the stern -fact that I have now barely a sufficient income to keep body and soul -together. I wish you could." - -"So do I," said Harold. "But yours is a _mnage trois_. It is not -merely body and soul with your but body, soul, and sentiment--it is the -third element that is the expensive one." - -"I dare say you are right. Anyhow, I grieve for your position, my boy. -If it had pleased Heaven to make me a rich man, I would see that your -allowance was a handsome one." - -"But since it has pleased the other Power to make you a poor one--" - -"You must marry Miss Craven--that's the end of the whole matter, and an -end that most people would be disposed to regard as a very happy one, -too. She is a virtuous young woman, and what is better, she dresses -extremely well. What is best of all, she has several thousands a year." - -There was a suggestion of the eighteenth century phraseology in Lord -Fotheringay's speech, that made him seem at least a hundred years old. -Surely people did not turn up their eyes and talk of virtue since the -eighteenth century, Harold thought. The word had gone out. There was -no more need for it. The quality is taken for granted in the nineteenth -century. - -"You are a trifle over-vehement," said he. - -"Have I ever refused to ask Miss Craven to marry me?" - -"Have you ever asked her--that's the matter before us?" - -"Never. But what does that mean? Why, simply that I have before me -instead of behind me a most interesting quarter of an hour--I suppose -a penniless man can ask a wealthy woman inside a quarter of an hour, to -marry him. The proposition doesn't take longer in such a case than an -honourable one would." - -"You are speaking in a way that is not becoming in a son addressing his -father," said Lord Fotheringay. "You almost make me ashamed of you." - -"You have had no reason to be ashamed of me yet," said Harold. "So long -as I refrain from doing what you command me to do, I give you no cause -to be ashamed of me." - -"That is a pretty thing for a son to say," cried the father, -indignantly. - -"For heaven's sake don't let us begin a family broil under the windows -of a house where we are guests," said the son, rising quickly from the -chair. "We are on the border of a genuine family bickering. For God's -sake let us stop in time." - -"I did not come here to bicker," said the father. "Heavens above! Am -I not entitled to some show of gratitude at least for having come more -than a thousand miles--a hundred of them in an Irish train and ten of -them on an Irish jolting car--simply to see that you are comfortably -settled for life?" - -"Yes," said the son, "I suppose I should feel grateful to you for coming -so far to tell me that you are ruined and that I am a partner in your -ruin." He had not seated himself, and now he turned his back upon his -father and walked round to the west side of the Castle where some of -the girls were strolling. They were waiting to see how the day would -develop--if they should put on oilskins and sou'westers or gauzes -and gossamer--the weather on the confines of the ocean knows only the -extremes of winter or summer. - -The furthest of the watchers were, he perceived, Edmund Airey and Miss -Avon. He walked toward them, and pronounced in a somewhat irresponsible -way an opinion upon the weather. - -Before the topic had been adequately discussed, Mr. Durdan and another -man came up to remind Mr. Airey that he had given them his word to be of -their party in the fishing boat, where they were accustomed to study the -Irish question for some hours daily. - -Mr. Airey protested that his promise had been wholly a conditional one. -It had not been made on the assumption that the lough should be moaning -like a Wagnerian trombone, and it could not be denied that such notes -were being produced by the great rollers beneath the influence of a -westerly wind. - -Harold gave a little shrug to suggest to Beatrice that the matter was -not one that concerned her or himself in the least, and that it might -be as well if Mr. Airey and his friends were left to discuss it by -themselves. - -The shrug scarcely suggested all that he meant it to suggest, but in -the course of a minute he was by the side of the girl a dozen yards away -from the three men. - -"I wonder if you chanced to tell Mr. Airey of the queer way you and I -met," she said in a moment. - -"How could I have told any human being of that incident?" he cried. "Why -do you ask me such a question?" - -"He knows all about it--so much is certain," said she. "Oh, yes, he gave -me to understand so much--not with brutal directness, of course." - -"No, I should say not--brutal directness is not in his line," said -Harold. - -"But the result is just the same as if he had been as direct as--as a -girl." - -"As a girl?" - -"Yes. He said something about Miss Craven's voice having suggested -something supernatural to Brian, and then he asked me all at once if -there had been any mist on the previous evening when I had rowed across -the lough. Now I should like to know how he guessed that I had crossed -the lough on the previous night." - -"He is clever--diabolically clever," said Harold after a pause. "He was -with Miss Craven in the hall--they had been dancing--when I returned--I -noticed the way he looked at me. Was there anything in my face to tell -him that--that I had met you?" - -She looked at his face and laughed. - -"Your face," she said. "Your face--what could there have been apparent -on your face for Mr. Airey to read?" - -"What--what?" his voice was low. He was now looking into her gray eyes. -"What was there upon my face? I cannot tell. Was it a sense of doom? God -knows. Now that I look upon your face--even now I cannot tell whether I -feel the peace of God which passes understanding, or the doom of those -who go down to the sea and are lost." - -"I do not like to hear you speak in that way," said she. "It would be -better for me to die than to mean anything except what is peaceful and -comforting to all of God's creatures." - -"It would be better for you to die," said he. He took his eyes away from -hers. They stood side by side in silence for some moments, before he -turned suddenly to her and said in quite a different strain. "I shall -row you across the lough when you are ready. Will you go after lunch?" - -"I don't think that I shall be going quite so soon," said she. "The fact -is that Lady Innisfail was good enough to send Brian with another letter -to my father--a letter from herself, asking my father to come to the -Castle for a day or two, but, whether he comes or not, to allow me to -remain for some days." - -Again some moments passed before Harold spoke. - -"I want you to promise to let me know where you go when you leave -Ireland," said he. "I don't want to lose sight of you. The world is -large. I wandered about in it for nearly thirty years before meeting -you." - -She was silent. It seemed as if she was considering whether or not his -last sentence should be regarded as a positive proof of the magnitude of -the world. - -She appeared to come to the conclusion that it would be unwise to -discuss the question--after all, it was only a question of statistics. - -"If you wish it," said she, "I shall let you know our next -halting-place. I fancy that my poor father is less enthusiastic than he -was some years ago on the subject of Irish patriotism. At any rate, I -think that he has worked out all the battles fought in this region." - -"Only let me know where you go," said he. "I do not want to lose sight -of you. What did you say just now--peace and comfort to God's creatures? -No, I do not want to lose sight of you." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII.--ON THE PROFESSIONAL MORALIST. - -THE people--Edmund Airey was one of them--who were accustomed to point -to Harold Wynne as an example of the insecurity of formulating any -definite theory of heredity, had no chance of being made aware of the -nature of the conversations in which he had taken part, or they might -not have been quite so ready to question the truth of that theory. - -His father had made it plain to him, both by letter and word of mouth, -that the proper course for him to pursue was one that involved asking -Helen Craven to marry him--the adoption of any other course, even a -prosaic one, would practically mean ruin to him; and yet he had gone -straight from the side of his father, not to the side of Miss Craven, -but to the side of Miss Avon. And not only had he done this, but he had -looked into the gray eyes of Beatrice when he should have been gazing -with ardour--or simulated ardour--into the rather lustreless orbs of -Helen. - -To do precisely the thing which he ought not to have done was certainly -a trait which he had inherited from his father. - -But he had not merely looked into the eyes of the one girl when he -should have been looking into those of the other girl, he had spoken -into her ears such words as would, if spoken into the ears of the other -girl, have made her happy. The chances were that the words which he -had spoken would lead to unhappiness. To speak such words had been -his father's weakness all his life, so that it seemed that Harold had -inherited this weakness also. - -Perhaps for a moment or two, after Edmund Airey had sauntered up, having -got the better of the argument with Mr. Durdan--he flattered -himself that he had invariably got the better of him in the House of -Commons--Harold felt that he was as rebellious against the excellent -counsels of his father as his father had ever been against the excellent -precepts which society has laid down for its own protection. He knew -that the circumstance of his father's having never accepted the good -advice which had been offered to him as freely as advice, good and bad, -is usually offered to people who are almost certain not to follow it, -did not diminish from the wisdom of the course which his father had -urged upon him to pursue. He had acknowledged to Edmund Airey some days -before, that the substance of the advice was good, and had expressed his -intention of following it--nay, he felt even when he had walked straight -from his father's side to indulge in that earnest look into the eyes of -Beatrice, that it was almost inevitable that he should take the advice -of his father; for however distasteful it may be, the advice of a father -is sometimes acted on by a son. But still the act of rebellion had been -pleasant to him--as pleasant to him as his father's acts of the same -character had been to his father. - -And all this time Helen Craven was making her usual elaborate -preparations for finishing her sketch of some local scene, and everyone -knew that she could not seek that scene unless accompanied by someone to -carry her umbrella and stool. - -Lord Fotheringay perceived this in a moment from his seat facing -the south. He saw that Providence was on the side of art, so to -speak--assuming that a water-colour sketch of a natural landscape by an -amateur is art, and assuming that Providence meant simply an opportunity -for his son to ask Miss Craven to marry him. - -Lord Fotheringay saw how Miss Craven lingered with her colour-box in one -hand and her stool in the other. What was she waiting for? He did not -venture to think that she was waiting for Harold to saunter up and take -possession of her apparatus, but he felt certain that if Harold were to -saunter up, Miss Craven's eyes would brighten--so far as such eyes as -hers could brighten. His teeth met with a snap that threatened the gold -springs when he saw some other man stroll up and express the hope that -Miss Craven would permit him to carry her stool and umbrella, for her -sketching umbrella was brought from the hall by a servant. - -Lord Fotheringay's indignation against his son was great afterwards. He -made an excellent attempt to express to Edmund Airey what he felt on -the subject of Harold's conduct, and Edmund shook his head most -sympathetically. - -What was to be done, Lord Fotheringay inquired. What was to be done in -order to make Harold act in accordance with the dictates not merely of -prudence but of necessity as well? - -Mr. Airey could not see that any positive action could be taken in order -to compel Harold to adopt the course which every sensible person would -admit was the right course--in fact the only course open to him under -the circumstances. He added that only two days ago Harold had admitted -that he meant to ask Miss Craven to marry him. - -"Heavens above!" cried Lord Fotheringay. "He never admitted so much to -me. Then what has occurred to change him within a few days?" - -"In such a case as this it is as well not to ask _what_ but _who_," -remarked Edmund. - -Lord Fotheringay looked at him eagerly. "Who--who--you don't mean -another girl?" - -"Why should I not mean another girl?" said Edmund. "You may have some -elementary acquaintance with woman, Lord Fotheringay." - -"I have--yes, elementary," admitted Lord Fotheringay. - -"Then surely you must have perceived that a man's attention is turned -away from one woman only by the appearance of another woman," said -Edmund. - -"You mean that--by heavens, that notion occurred to me the moment that I -saw her. She is a lovely creature, Airey." - -"'A gray eye or so!' said Airey." - -"A gray eye or so!" cried Lord Fotheringay, who had not given sufficient -attention to the works of Shakespeare to recognize a quotation. "A -gray--Oh, you were always a cold-blooded fellow. Such eyes, Airey, are -so uncommon as--ah, the eyes are not to the point. They only lend colour -to your belief that she is the other girl. Yes, that notion occurred to -me the moment she entered the hall." - -"I believe that but for her inopportune appearance Harold would now be -engaged to Miss Craven," said Edmund. - -"There's not the shadow of a doubt about the matter," cried Lord -Fotheringay--both men seemed to regard Miss Craven's acquiescence in -the scheme which they had in their minds, as outside the discussion -altogether. "Now what on earth did Lady Innisfail mean by asking a -girl with such eyes to stay here? A girl with such eyes has no business -appearing among people like us who have to settle our mundane affairs to -the best advantage. Those eyes are a disturbing influence, Airey. They -should never be seen while matters are in an unsettled condition. And -Lady Innisfail professes to be Harold's friend." - -"And so she is," said Edmund. "But the delight that Lady Innisfail -finds in capturing a strange face--especially when that face is -beautiful--overcomes all other considerations with her. That is why, -although anxious--she was anxious yesterday, though that is not saying -she is anxious today--to hear of Harold's proposing to Miss Craven, yet -she is much more anxious to see the effect produced by the appearance of -Miss Avon among her guests." - -"And this is a Christian country!" said Lord Fotheringay solemnly, after -a pause of considerable duration. - -"Nominally," said Mr. Airey, - -"What is society coming to, Airey, when a woman occupying the position -of Lady Innisfail, does not hesitate to throw all considerations of -friendship to the winds solely for the sake of a momentary sensation?" - -Lord Fotheringay was now so solemn that his words and his method of -delivering them suggested the earnestness of an evangelist--zeal is -always expected from an evangelist, though unbecoming in an ordained -clergyman. He held one finger out and raised it and lowered it with the -inflections of his voice with the skill of a professional moralist. - -He had scarcely spoken before Miss Avon, by the side of the judge and -Miss Innisfail, appeared on the terrace. - -The judge--he said he had known her father--was beaming on her. -Professing to know her father he probably considered sufficient -justification for beaming on her. - -Lord Fotheringay and his companion watched the girl in silence until she -and her companions had descended to the path leading to the cliffs. - -"Airey," said Lord Fotheringay at length. "Airey, that boy of mine must -be prevented from making a fool of himself--he must be prevented from -making a fool of that girl. I would not like to see such a girl as -that--I think you said you noticed her eyes--made a fool of." - -"It would be very sad," said Edmund. "But what means do you propose to -adopt to prevent the increase by two of the many fools already in the -world?" - -"I mean to marry the girl myself," cried Lord Fotheringay, rising to his -feet--not without some little difficulty, for rheumatism had for years -been his greatest enemy. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX.--ON MODERN SOCIETY. - -EDMUND AIREY had the most perfect command of his features under all -circumstances. While the members of the Front Opposition Benches were -endeavouring to sneer him into their lobby, upon the occasion of a -division on some question on which it was rumoured he differed from -the Government, he never moved a muscle. The flaunts and gibes may -have stung him, but he had never yet given an indication of feeling -the sting; so that if Lord Fotheringay looked for any of those twitches -about the corners of Mr. Airey's mouth, which the sudden announcement -of his determination would possibly have brought around the mouth of -an ordinary man, he must have had little experience of his companion's -powers. - -But that Lord Fotheringay felt on the whole greatly flattered by the -impassiveness of Edmund Airey's face after his announcement, Edmund -Airey did not for a moment doubt. When a man of fifty-seven gravely -announces his intention to another man of marrying a girl of, perhaps, -twenty, and with eyes of remarkable lustre, and when the man takes such -an announcement as the merest matter of course, the man who makes it has -some reason for feeling flattered. - -The chances are, however, that he succeeds in proving to his own -satisfaction that he has no reason for feeling flattered; for the man -of fifty-seven who is fool enough to entertain the notion of marrying a -girl of twenty with lustrous eyes, is certainly fool enough to believe -that the announcement of his intention in this respect is in no way out -of the common. - -Thus, when, after a glance concentrated upon the corners of Edmund -Airey's mouth, Lord Fotheringay resumed his seat and began to give -serious reasons for taking the step that he had declared himself ready -to take--reasons beyond the mere natural desire to prevent Miss Avon -from being made a fool of--he gave no indication of feeling in the least -flattered by the impassiveness of the face of his companion. - -Yes, he explained to Mr. Airey, he had been so badly treated by the -world that he had almost made up his mind to retire from the world--the -exact words in which he expressed that resolution were "to let the world -go to the devil in its own way." - -Now, as the belief was general that Lord Fotheringay's presence in the -world had materially accelerated its speed in the direction which he -had indicated, the announcement of his intention to allow it to proceed -without his assistance was not absurd. - -Yes, he had been badly treated by the world, he said. The world was very -wicked. He felt sad when he thought of the vast amount of wickedness -there was in the world, and the small amount of it that he had already -enjoyed. To be sure, it could not be said that he had quite lived the -life of the ideal anchorite: he admitted--and smacked his lips as he did -so--that he had now and again had a good time (Mr. Airey did not assume -that the word "good" was to be accepted in its Sunday-school sense) -but on the whole the result was disappointing. - -"As saith the Preacher," remarked Mr. Airey, when Lord Fotheringay -paused and shook his head so that another little scrap of caked powder -escaped from the depths of one of the wrinkles of his forehead. - -"The Preacher--what Preacher?" he asked. - -"The Preacher who cried _Vanitas Vanitatum_," said Edmund. - -"He had gone on a tour with an Italian opera company," said Lord -Fotheringay, "and he had fallen foul of the basso. Airey, my boy, -whatever you do, steer clear of a prima donna with a high soprano. It -means thousands--thousands, and a precipitate flight at the last. You -needn't try a gift of paste--the finest productions of the Ormuz -Gem Company--'a Tiara for Thirty Shillings'--you know their -advertisement--no, I've tried that. It was no use. The real thing -she would have--Heavens above! Two thousand pounds for a trinket, and -nothing to show for it, but a smashing of supper plates and a hurried -flight. Ah, Airey, is it any wonder that I should make up my mind -to live a quiet life with--I quite forget who was in my mind when I -commenced this interesting conversation?" - -"It makes no difference," said Mr. Airey. "The principle is precisely -the same. There is Miss Innisfail looking for someone, I must go to -her." - -"A desperately proper girl," said Lord Fotheringay. "As desperately -proper as if she had once been desperately naughty. These proper girls -know a vast deal. She scarcely speaks to me. Yes, she must know a lot." - -His remarks were lost upon Mr. Airey, for he had politely hurried to -Miss Innisfail and was asking her if he could be of any assistance to -her. But when Miss Innisfail replied that she was merely waiting for -Brian, the boatman, who should have returned long ago from the other -side of the lough, Mr. Airey did not return to Lord Fotheringay. - -He had had enough of Lord Fotheringay for one afternoon, and he hoped -that Lord Fotheringay would understand so much. He had long ago ceased -to be amusing. As an addition to the house-party at the Castle he was -unprofitable. He knew that Lady Innisfail was of this opinion, and he -was well aware also that Lady Innisfail had not given him more than a -general and very vague invitation to the Castle. He had simply come to -the Castle in order to avoid the possibly disagreeable consequences of -buying some thousands of pounds' worth of diamonds--perhaps it would be -more correct to say, diamonds costing some thousands of pounds, leaving -worth out of the question--for a woman with a husband. - -Airey knew that the philosophy of Lord Fotheringay was the philosophy of -the maker of omelettes. No one has yet solved the problem of how to make -omelettes without breaking eggs. Lord Fotheringay had broken a good many -eggs in his day, and occasionally the result was that his share of the -transaction was not the omelette but the broken shells. Occasionally, -too, Edmund Airey was well aware, Lord Fotheringay had suffered more -inconvenience than was involved in the mere fact of his being deprived -of the comestible. His latest adventure. Airey thought, might be -included among such experiences. He had fled to the brink of the ocean -in order to avoid the vengeance of the Husband. "Here the pursuer can -pursue no more," was the line that was in Edmund Airey's mind as he -listened to the fragmentary account of the latest _contretemps_ of the -rheumatic butterfly. - -Yes, he had had quite enough of Lord Fotheringay's company. The -announcement of his intention to marry Miss Avon had not made him more -interesting in the eyes of Edmund Airey, though it might have done so -in other people's eyes--for a man who makes himself supremely ridiculous -makes himself supremely interesting as well, in certain circles. - -The announcement made by Lord Fotheringay had caused him to seem -ridiculous, though of course Edmund had made no sign to this effect: -had he made any sign he would not have heard the particulars of Lord -Fotheringay's latest fiasco, and he was desirous of learning those -particulars. Having become acquainted with them, however, he found that -he had had quite enough of his company. - -But in the course of the afternoon Mr. Airey perceived that, though -in his eyes there was something ridiculous in the notion of Lord -Fotheringay's expression of a determination to marry Beatrice Avon, the -idea might not seem quite so ridiculous to other people--Miss Avon's -father, for instance. - -In another moment he had come to the conclusion that the idea might not -seem altogether absurd to Miss Avon herself. - -Young women of twenty--even when they have been endowed by heaven with -lustrous eyes (assuming that the lustre of a young woman's eyes is -a gift from heaven, and not acquired to work the purposes of a very -different power)--have been known to entertain without repugnance -the idea of marrying impecunious peers of fifty-seven; and upon this -circumstance Edmund pondered. - -Standing on the brink of a cliff at the base of which the great rollers -were crouching like huge white-maned lions, Mr. Airey reflected as he -had never previously done, upon the debased condition of modern society, -in which such incidents are of constant occurrence. But, however -deplorable such incidents are, he knew perfectly well that there never -had existed a society in the world where they had not been quite as -frequent as they are in modern society in England. - -Yes, it was quite as likely as not that Lord Fotheringay would be able -to carry out the intention which he had announced to his confidant of -the moment. - -But when Mr. Airey thought of the lustrous eyes of Beatrice Avon, -recalling the next moment the rheumatic movements of Lord Fotheringay -and the falling of the scrap of caked powder from his forehead, he felt -quixotic enough to be equal to the attempt to prevent the realization of -Lord Fotheringay's intention. - -It was then that the thought occurred to him--Why should not Harold, who -was clearly ready to fall in love with the liquid eyes of Beatrice Avon, -ask her to marry him instead of his father? - -The result of his consideration of this question was to convince -him that such an occurrence as it suggested should be averted at all -hazards. - -Only the worst enemy that Harold Wynne could have--the worst enemy that -the girl could have--would like to see them married. - -It would be different if the hot-blooded Italian husband were to pursue -the enemy of his household to the brink of the Atlantic cliffs and then -push him over the cliffs into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. But the -hot-blooded Italian was not yet in sight, and Edmund knew very well that -so long as Lord Fotheringay lived, Harold was dependent on him for his -daily bread. - -If Harold were to marry Miss Avon, it would lie in his father's power -to make him a pauper, or, worse, the professional director with the -honorary prefix of "Honourable" to his name, dear to the company -promoter. - -On the death of Lord Fotheringay Harold would inherit whatever property -still remained out of the hands of the mortgagees; but Edmund was well -aware of the longevity of that species of butterfly which is susceptible -of rheumatic attacks; so that for, perhaps, fifteen years Harold might -remain dependent upon the good-will of his father for his daily bread. - -It thus appeared to Mr. Airey that the problem of how to frustrate the -intentions of Lord Fotheringay, was not an easy one to solve. - -He knew the world too well to entertain for a moment the possibility of -defeating Lord Fotheringay's avowed purpose by informing either the girl -or her father of the evil reputation of Lord Fotheringay. The evil deeds -of a duke have occasionally permitted his wife to obtain a divorce; but -they have never prevented him from obtaining another wife. - -All this Mr. Edmund Airey knew, having lived in the world and observed -the ways of its inhabitants for several years. - - -END OF VOLUME I. - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -In Three Volumes--Volume II - -Sixth Edition - -London, Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row - -1893 - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO. - - - - -CHAPTER XX.--ON AN OAK SETTEE. - -HE was still pondering over the many aspects of the question which, to -his mind, needed solution, when he returned to the Castle, to find Lord -Fotheringay in a chair by the side of a gaunt old man who, at one -period of his life, had probably been tall, but who was now stooped in -a remarkable way. The stranger seemed very old, so that beside him -Lord Fotheringay looked comparatively youthful. Of this fact no one was -better aware than Lord Fotheringay. - -Edmund Airey had seen portraits of the new guest, and did not require to -be told that he was Julius Anthony Avon, the historian of certain periods. - -The first thought that occurred to him when he saw the two men side by -side, was that Lord Fotheringay would not appear ridiculous merely as -the son-in-law of Mr. Avon. To the casual observer at any rate he might -have posed as the son of Mr. Avon. - -He himself seemed to be under the impression that he might pass as -Mr. Avon's grandson, for he was extremely sportive in his presence, -attitudinizing on his settee in a way that Edmund knew must have been -agonizing to his rheumatic joints. Edmund smiled. He felt that he was -watching the beginning of a comedy. - -He learned that Mr. Avon had yielded to the persuasion of Lady Innisfail -and had consented to join his daughter at the Castle for a few days. -He was not fond of going into society; but it so happened that Castle -Innisfail had been the centre of an Irish conspiracy at the early -part of the century, and this fact made the acceptance by him of Lady -Innisfail's invitation a matter of business. - -Hearing the nature of the work at which he was engaged, Lord Fotheringay -had lost no time in expounding to him, in that airy style which he -had at his command, the various mistakes that had been made by several -generations of statesmen in dealing with the Irish question. The -fundamental error which they had all committed was taking the Irish and -their rebellions and conspiracies too seriously. - -This theory he expounded to the man who was writing a biographical -dictionary of Irish informers, and was about to publish his seventh -volume, concluding the letter B. - -Mr. Avon listened, gaunt and grim, while Lord Fotheringay gracefully -waved away statesman after statesman who had failed signally, by reason -of taking Ireland and the Irish seriously. - -There was something grim also in Edmund Airey's smile as he glanced at -this beginning of the comedy. - -That night Miss Stafford added originality to the ordinary terrors of -her recital. She explained that hitherto she had merely interpreted -the verses of others: now, however, she would draw upon her store of -original poems. - -Of course, Edmund Airey was outside the drawingroom while this was going -on. So were many of his fellow-guests, including Helen Craven. Edmund -found her beside him in a secluded part of the hall. He was rather -startled by her sudden appearance. He forgot to greet her with one of -the clever things that he reserved for her and other appreciative young -women--for he still found a few, as any man with a large income may, if -he only keeps his eyes open. "What a fool you must think me," were the -words with which Miss Craven greeted him, so soon as he became aware of -her presence. - -Strange to say, he had a definite idea that she had said something -clever--at any rate something that impressed him more strongly than ever -with the idea that she was a clever girl. - -And yet she had assumed that he must think her a fool. - -"A fool?" said he, "To think you so would be to write myself down one, -Miss Craven." - -"Mr Airey," said she, "I am a woman. Long ago I was a girl. You will -thus believe me when I tell you that I never was frank in all my life. I -want to begin now." - -"Ah, now I know the drift of your remark," said he. "A fool. Yes, you -made a good beginning: but supposing that I were to be frank, where -would you be then?" - -"I want you to begin also, Mr Airey," said she. - -"To begin? Oh, I made my start years ago--when I entered Parliament," -said he. "I was perfectly frank with the Opposition when I pointed out -their mistakes. I have never yet been frank with a friend, however. That -is why I still have a few left." - -"You must be frank with me now; if you won't it doesn't matter: I'll be -so to you. I admit that I behaved like an idiot; but you were -responsible for it--yes, largely." - -"That is a capital beginning. Now tell me what you have done or left -undone--above all, tell me where my responsibility comes in." - -"You like Harold Wynne?" - -"You suggest that a mere liking involves a certain responsibility?" - -"I love him." - -"Great heavens!" - -"Why should you be startled at the confession when you have been aware -of the fact for some time?" - -"I never met a frank woman before. It is very terrible. Perhaps I shall -get used to it." - -"Why will you not drop that tone?" she said, almost piteously. "Cannot -you see how serious the thing is to me?" - -"It is quite as serious to me," he replied. "Men have confided in -me--mostly fools--a woman never. Pray do not continue in that strain." - -"Then find words for me--be frank." - -"I will. You mean to say, Miss Craven, that I think you a fool because, -acting on the hint which I somewhat vaguely, but really in good faith, -dropped, you tried to impersonate the figure of the legend at that -ridiculous cave. Is not that what you would say if you had the courage -to be thoroughly frank?" - -"Thank you," said she, in a still weaker voice. "It is not so easy being -frank all in a moment." - -"No, not if one has accustomed oneself to--let us say good manners," he -added. - -"When I started for the boats after you had all left for that nonsense -at the village, I felt certain that you were my friend as well as Harold -Wynne's, and that you had good reason for believing that he would be -about the cave shortly after our hour of dining. I'm not very romantic." - -"Pardon me," said he. "You are not quite frank. If you were you would -say that, while secretly romantic, you follow the example of most young -women nowadays in ridiculing romance." - -"Quite right," she said. "I admitted just now that I found it difficult -to be frank all in a moment. Anyhow I believed that if I were to play -the part of the Wraith of the Cave within sight of Harold Wynne, he -might--oh, how could I have been such a fool? But you--you, I say, were -largely responsible for it, Mr. Airey." She was now speaking not merely -reproachfully but fiercely. "Why should you drop those hints--they -were much more than hints--about his being so deeply impressed with the -romance--about his having gone to the cave on the previous evening, if -you did not mean me to act upon them?" - -"I did mean you to act upon them," said he. "I meant that you and -he should come together last night, and I know that if you had come -together, he would have asked you to marry him. I meant all that, -because I like him and I like you too--yes, in spite of your frankness." - -"Thank you," said she, giving him her hand. "You forgive me for being -angry just now?" - -"The woman who is angry with a man without cause pays him the greatest -compliment in her power," he remarked. "Fate was against us." - -"You think that she is so very--very pretty?" said Miss Craven. - -"She?--fate?--I'll tell you what I think. I think that Harold Wynne has -met with the greatest misfortune of his life." - -"If you believe that, I know that I have met with the greatest of my -life." - -The corner of the hall was almost wholly in shadow. The settee upon -which Mr. Airey and Miss Craven were sitting, was cut off from the rest -of the place by the thigh hone of the great skeleton elk. Between the -ribs of the creature, however, some rays of light passed from one of -the lamps; and, as Mr. Airey looked sympathetically into the face of his -companion, he saw the gleam of a tear upon her cheek. - -He was deeply impressed--so deeply that some moments had passed before -he found himself wondering what she would say next. For a moment he -forgot to be on his guard, though if anyone had described the details -of a similar scene to him, he would probably have smiled while remarking -that when the lamplight gleams upon a tear upon the cheek of a young -woman of large experience, is just when a man needs most to be on his -guard, He felt in another moment, however, that something was coming. - -He waited for it in silence. - -It seemed to him in that pause that he was seated by the side of someone -whom he had never met before. The girl who was beside him seemed to -have nothing in common with Helen Craven. So greatly does a young woman -change when she becomes frank. - -This is why so many husbands declare--when they are also frank--that -the young women whom they marry are in every respect different from the -young women who promise to be their wives. - -"What is going to happen?" Helen asked him in a steady voice. - -"God knows," said he. - -"I saw them together just after they left you this morning," said she. -"I was at one of the windows of the Castle, they were far along the -terrace; but I'm sure that he said something to her about her eyes." - -"I should not be surprised if he did," said Edmund. "Her eyes invite -comment." - -"I believe that in spite of her eyes she is much the same as any other -girl." - -"Is that to the point?" he asked. He was a trifle disappointed in her -last sentence. It seemed to show him that, whatever Beatrice might be, -Helen was much the same as other girls. - -"It is very much to the point," said she. "If she is like other girls -she will hesitate before marrying a penniless man." - -"I agree with you," said he. "But if she is like other girls she will -not hesitate to love a penniless man." - -"Possibly--if, like me, she can afford to do so. But I happen to know -that she cannot afford it. This brings me up to what has been on my mind -all day. You are, I know, my friend; you are Harold Wynne's also. Now, -if you want to enable him to gratify his reasonable ambition--if you -want to make him happy--to make me happy--you will prevent him from ever -asking Beatrice Avon to marry him." - -"And I am prepared to do so much for him--for you--for her. But how can -I do it?" - -"You can take her away from him. You know how such things are done. You -know that if a distinguished man such as you are, with a large income -such as you possess, gives a girl to understand that he is, let us say, -greatly interested in her, she will soon cease to be interested in any -undistinguished and penniless son of a reprobate peer who may be before -her eyes." - -"I have seen such a social phenomenon," said he. "Does your proposition -suggest that I should marry the young woman with 'a gray eye or so'?" - -"You may marry her if you please--that's entirely a matter for yourself. -I don't see any need for you to go that length. Have I not kept my -promise to be frank?" - -"You have," said he. - -She had risen from the settee. She laid her hand on one of his that -rested on a projection of the old oak carving, and in another instant -she was laughing in front of Norah Innisfail, who was rendered even more -proper than usual through having become acquainted with Miss Stafford's -notions of originality in verse-making. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI.--ON THE ELEMENTS OF PARTY POLITICS. - - -MR. AIREY was actually startled by the suggestion which Miss Craven -had made with, on the whole, considerable tact as well as inconceivable -frankness. - -He had been considering all the afternoon the possibility of carrying -out the idea which it seemed Helen Craven had on her mind as well; but -it had never occurred to him that his purpose might be achieved through -the means suggested by the young woman who had just gone from his side. - -His first impression was that the proposal made to him was the cruellest -that had ever come from one girl in respect of another girl. He had -never previously had an idea that a girl could be so heartless as to -make such a suggestion as that which had come from Helen Craven; but in -the course of a short space of time, he found it expedient to revise his -first judgment on this matter. Helen Craven meant to marry Harold--so -much could scarcely be doubted--and her marrying him would be the best -thing that could happen to him. She was anxious to prevent his marrying -Miss Avon; and surely this was a laudable aim, considering that marrying -Miss Avon would be the worst thing that could happen to him--and to Miss -Avon as well. - -It might possibly be regarded as cruel by some third censors for Miss -Craven to suggest that he, Edmund, after leading the other girl to -believe that he was desirous of marrying her--or at least to believe -that she might have a chance of marrying him--might stop short. To be -sure, Miss Craven had not, with all her frankness, said that her idea -was that he should refrain from asking the other girl to marry him, but -only that the question was one that concerned himself alone. - -He thought over this point for some time, and the conclusion he came -to was that, after all, whether or not the cynical indifference of the -suggestion amounted to absolute cruelty, the question concerned himself -alone. Even if he were not to ask her to marry him after leading her to -suppose that he intended doing so, he would at any rate have prevented -her from the misery of marrying Harold; and that was something for which -she might be thankful to him. He would also have saved her from the -degradation of receiving a proposal of marriage from Lord Fotheringay; -and that was also something for which she might be thankful to him. - -Being a strictly party politician, he regarded expediency as the -greatest of all considerations. He was not devoid of certain scruples -now and again; but he was capable of weighing the probable advantages of -yielding to these scruples against the certain advantages of--well, of -throwing them to the winds. - -For some minutes after Helen Craven had left him he subjected his -scruples to the balancing process, and the result was that he found they -were as nothing compared with the expediency of proceeding as Helen had -told him that it was advisable for him to proceed. - -He made up his mind that he would save the girl--that was how he put it -to himself--and he would take extremely good care that he saved himself -as well. Marriage would not suit him. Of this he was certain. People -around him were beginning to be certain of it also. The mothers -in Philistia had practically come to regard him as a _quantit -ngligeable_. The young women did not trouble themselves about him, -after a while. It would not suit him to marry a young woman with -lustrous eyes, he said to himself as he left his settee; but it would -suit him to defeat the machinations of Lord Fotheringay, and to induce -his friend Harold Wynne to pursue a sensible course. - -He found himself by the side of Beatrice Avon before five minutes had -passed, and he kept her thoroughly amused for close upon an hour--he -kept her altogether to himself also, though many chances of leaving his -side were afforded the girl by considerate youths, and by one smiling -person who had passed the first bloom of youth and had reached that -which is applied by the cautious hare's foot in the hand of a valet. - -Before the hour of brandy-and-sodas and resplendent smoking-jackets had -come, the fact of his having kept Beatrice Avon so long entertained had -attracted some attention. - -It had attracted the attention of Miss Craven, who commented upon it -with a confidential smile at Harold. It attracted the attention of -Harold's father, who commented upon it with a leer and a sneer. It -attracted the attention of Lady Innisfail, who commented upon it with a -smile that caused the dainty dimple in her chin to assume the shape of -the dot in a well-made note of interrogation. - -It also attracted the attention of quite a number of other persons, but -they reserved their comments, which was a wise thing for them to do. - -As she said good-night to him, she seemed, Edmund Airey thought, to be -a trifle fascinated as well as fascinating. He felt that he had had a -delightful hour--it was far more delightful than the half hour which he -had passed on the settee at the rear of the skeleton elk. - -His feeling in this matter simply meant that it was far more agreeable -to him to see a young woman admiring his cleverness than it was to -admire the cleverness of another young woman. - -He enjoyed his smoke by the side of the judge; for when a man is -absorbed in the thoughts of his own cleverness he can still get a -considerable amount of passive enjoyment out of the story of How the -Odds fell from Thirteen to Five to Six to Four against Porcupine for -some prehistoric Grand National. - -Harold Wynne now and again glanced across the hall at the man who -professed to be his best friend. He could perceive without much trouble -that Edmund Airey was particularly well pleased with himself. - -This meant, he thought, that Edmund had been particularly well pleased -with Beatrice Avon. - -Lord Fotheringay was too deeply absorbed in giving point to a story, -founded upon personal experience, which he was telling to his host, -to give a moment's attention to Edmund Airey, or to make an attempt to -interpret his aspect. - -It was only when his valet was putting him carefully to bed--he required -very careful handling--that he recollected the effective way in which -Airey had snubbed him, when he had made an honest attempt to reach Miss -Avon conversationally. - -He now found time to wonder what Airey meant by preventing the girl from -being entertained--Lord Fotheringay assumed, as a matter of course, -that the girl had not been entertained--all the evening. He had no head, -however, for considering such a question in all its aspects. He only -resolved that in future he would take precious good care that when there -was any snubbing in the air, he would be the dispenser of it, not the -recipient. - -Lord Fotheringay was not a man of genius, but upon occasions he could -be quite as disagreeable as if he were. He had studied the art of -administering snubs, and though he had never quite succeeded in snubbing -a member of Parliament of the same standing as Mr. Airey, yet he felt -quite equal to the duty, should he find it necessary to make an effort -in this direction. - -He was sleeping the sleep of the reprobate, long before his son had -succeeded in sleeping the sleep of the virtuous. Harold had more to -think about, as well as more capacity of thinking, than his father. He -was puzzled at the attitude of his friend and counsellor, Edmund Airey. -What on earth could he have meant by appropriating Beatrice Avon, Harold -wondered. He assumed that Airey had some object in doing what he had -done. He knew that his friend was not the man to do anything without -having an object in view. Previously he had been discreet to an -extraordinary degree in his attitude toward women. He had never even -made love to those matrons to whom it is discreet to make love. If he -had ever done so Harold knew that he would have heard of it; for there -is no fascination in making love to other men's wives, unless it is well -known in the world that you are doing so. The school-boy does not -smoke his cigarette in private. The fascination of the sin lies in his -committing it so that it gets talked about. - -Yes, Airey had ever been discreet, Harold knew, and he quite failed to -account for his lapse--assuming that it was indiscreet to appropriate -Beatrice Avon for an hour, and to keep her amused all that time. - -Harold himself had his own ideas of what was discreet in regard to young -women, and he had acted up to them. He did not consider that, so far as -the majority of young women were concerned, he should be accredited with -much self-sacrifice for his discretion. - -Had a great temperance movement been set on foot in Italy in the days -of Csar Borgia, the total abstainers would not have earned commendation -for their self-sacrifice. Harold Wynne had been discreet in regard to -most women simply because he was afraid of them. He was afraid that he -might some day be led to ask one of them to marry him--one of them whom -he would regard as worse than a Borgia poison ever after. - -The caution that he had displayed in respect of Helen Craven showed how -discreet he had accustomed himself to be. - -He reflected, however, that in respect of Beatrice Avon he had thrown -discretion to the winds From the moment that he had drawn her hands to -his by the fishing line, he had given himself up to her. He had been -without the power to resist. - -Might it not, then, be the same with Edmund Airey? Might not Edmund, who -had invariably been so guarded as to be wholly free from reproach so -far as women were concerned, have found it impossible to maintain that -attitude in the presence of Beatrice? - -And if this was so, what would be the result? - -This was the thought which kept Harold Wynne awake and uncomfortable for -several hours during that night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII.--ON THE WISDOM OP THE MATRONS. - -LADY INNISFAIL made a confession to one of her guests--a certain Mrs. -Burgoyne--who was always delighted to play the _rle_ of receiver of -confessions. The date at which Lady Innisfail's confession was made was -three days after the arrival of Beatrice Avon at the Castle, and its -subject was her own over-eagerness to secure a strange face for the -entertainment of her guests. - -"I thought that the romantic charm which would attach to that girl, who -seemed to float up to us out of the mist--leaving her wonderful eyes out -of the question altogether--would interest all my guests," said she. - -"And so it did, if I may speak for the guests," said Mrs. Burgoyne. -"Yes, we were all delighted for nearly an entire day." - -"I am glad that my aims were not wholly frustrated," said Lady -Innisfail. "But you see the condition we are all in at present." - -"I cannot deny it," replied Mrs. Burgoyne, with a sigh. "My dear, a new -face is almost as fascinating as a new religion." - -"More so to some people--generally men," said Lady Innisfail. "But who -could have imagined that a young thing like that--she has never been -presented, she tells me--should turn us all topsy turvy?" - -"She has a good deal in her favour," remarked Mrs. Burgoyne. "She is -fresh, her face is strange, she neither plays, sings, nor recites, and -she is a marvellously patient listener." - -"That last comes through being the daughter of a literary man," said -Lady Innisfail. "The wives and daughters of poets and historians and -the like are compelled to be patient listeners. They are allowed to do -nothing else." - -"I dare say. Anyhow that girl has made the most of her time since she -came among us." - -"She has. The worst of it is that no one could call her a flirt." - -"I suppose not. But what do you call a girl who is attractive to all -men, and who makes all the men grumpy, except the one she is talking -to?" - -"I call her a--a clever girl," replied Lady Innisfail. "Don't we all aim -at that sort of thing?" - -"Perhaps we did--once," said Mrs. Burgoyne, who was a year or two -younger than her hostess. "I should hope that our aims are different -now. We are too old, are we not?--you and I--for any man to insult us by -making love to us." - -"A woman is never too old to be insulted, thank God," said Lady -Innisfail; and Mrs. Burgoyne's laugh was not the laugh of a matron who -is shocked. - -"All the same," added Lady Innisfail, "our pleasant party threatens to -become a fiasco, simply because I was over-anxious to annex a new face. -I had set my heart upon bringing Harold Wynne and Helen Craven together; -but now they have become hopelessly good friends." - -"She is very kind to him." - -"Yes, that's the worst of it; she is kind and he is indifferent--he -treats her as if she were his favourite sister." - -"Are matters so bad as that?" - -"Quite. But when the other girl is listening to what another man is -saying to her, Harold Wynne's face is a study. He is as clearly in -love with the other girl as anything can be. That, old reprobate--his -father--has his aims too--horrid old creature! Mr. Durdan has ceased to -study the Irish question with a deep-sea cast of hooks in his hand: -he spends some hours every morning devising plans for spending as many -minutes by the side of Beatrice. I do believe that my dear husband would -have fallen a victim too, if I did not keep dinning into his ears that -Beatrice is the loveliest creature of our acquaintance. I lured him on -to deny it, and now we quarrel about it every night." - -"I believe Lord Innisfail rather dislikes her," said Mrs. Burgoyne. - -"I'm convinced of it," said Lady Innisfail. "But what annoys me most is -the attitude of Mr. Airey. He professed to be Harold's friend as well as -Helen's, and yet he insists on being so much with Beatrice that Harold -will certainly be led on to the love-making point--" - -"If he has not passed it already," suggested Mrs. Burgoyne. - -"If he has not passed it already; for I need scarcely tell you, my dear -Phil, that a man does not make love to a girl for herself alone, but -simply because other men make love to her." - -"Of course." - -"So that it is only natural that Harold should want to make love to -Beatrice when he is led to believe that Edmund Airey wants to marry -her." - -"The young fool! Why could he not restrain his desire until Mr. Airey -has married her? But do you really think that Mr. Airey does want to -marry her?" - -"I believe that Harold Wynne believes so--that is enough for the -present. Oh, no. You'll not find me quite so anxious to annex a strange -face another time." - -From the report of this confidential duologue it may possibly be -perceived, first, that Lady Innisfail was a much better judge of the -motives and impulses of men than Miss Craven was; and, secondly, that -the presence of Beatrice at the Castle had produced a marked impression -upon the company beneath its roof. - -It was on the evening of the day after the confidential duologue just -reported that there was an entertainment in the hall of the Castle. -It took the form of _tableaux_ arranged after well-known pictures, and -there was certainly no lack of actors and actresses for the figures. - -Mary Queen of Scots was, of course, led to execution, and Marie -Antoinette, equally as a matter of course, appeared in her prison. Then -Miss Stafford did her best to realize the rapt young woman in Mr. Sant's -"The Soul's Awaking"--Miss Stafford was very wide awake indeed, some -scoffer suggested; and Miss Innisfail looked extremely pretty--a -hostess's daughter invariably looks pretty--as "The Peacemaker" in Mr. -Marcus Stone's picture. - -Beatrice Avon took no part in the _tableaux_--the other girls had not -absolutely insisted on her appearing beside them on the stage that had -been fitted up; they had an+ informal council together, Miss Craven -being stage-manager, and they had come to the conclusion that they could -get along very nicely without her assistance. - -Some of them said that Beatrice preferred flirting with the men. However -this may have been, the fact remained that Harold, when he had washed -the paint off his face--he had been the ill-tempered lover, Miss Craven -being the young woman with whom he was supposed to have quarrelled, -requiring the interposition of a sweet Peacemaker in the person of Miss -Innisfail--went round by a corridor to the back of the hall, and stood -for a few minutes behind a 'portiere that took the place of a door at -one of the entrances. The hall was, of course, dimly lighted to make -the contrast with the stage the greater, so that he could not see the -features of the man who was sitting on the chair at the end of the row -nearest the _portiere_; but the applause that greeted a reproduction of -the picture of a monk shaving himself, having previously used no other -soap than was supplied by a particular maker, had scarcely died away -before Harold heard the voice of Edmund Airey say, in a low and earnest -tone, to someone who was seated beside him, "I do hope that before you -go away, you will let me know where you will next pitch your tent. I -don't want to lose sight of you." - -"If you wish I shall let you know when I learn it from my father," was -the reply that Harold heard, clearly spoken in the voice of Beatrice -Avon. - -Harold went back into the billowy folds of the tapestry curtain, and -then into the corridor. The words that he had overheard had startled -him. Not merely were the words spoken by Edmund Airey the same as he -himself had employed a few days before to Beatrice, but her reply was -practically the same as the reply which she had made to him. - -When the last of the figurantes had disappeared from the stage, and when -the buzz of congratulations was sounding through the hall, now fully -lighted, Harold was nowhere to be seen. - -Only a few of the most earnest of the smokers were still in the hall -when, long past midnight, he appeared at the door leading to the outer -hall or porch. His shoes were muddy and his shirt front was pulpy, for -the night was a wet one. - -He explained to his astonished friends that it was invariably the case -that putting paint and other auxiliaries to "making up" on his face, -brought on a headache, which he had learned by experience could only be -banished by a long walk in the open air. - -Well, he had just had such a walk. - -He did not expect that his explanation would carry any weight with it; -and the way he was looked at by his friends made him aware of the fact -that, in giving them credit for more sense than to believe him, he was -doing them no more than the merest justice. - -No one who was present on his return placed the smallest amount -of credence in his story. What many of them did believe was of no -consequence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII.--ON THE ATLANTIC. - -THE boats were scattered like milestones--as was stated by -Brian--through the sinuous length of Lough Suangorm. The cutter yacht -_Acushla_ was leading the fleet out to the Atlantic, with two reefs in -her mainsail, and although she towed a large punt, and was by no means -a fast boat, she had no difficulty in maintaining her place, the fact -being that the half-dozen boats that lumbered after her were mainly -fishing craft hailing from the village of Cairndhu, and, as all the -world knows, these are not built for speed but endurance. They are -half-decked and each carries a lug sail. One of the legends of the coast -is that when a lug sail is new its colour is brown, and as a new sail is -never seen at Cairndhu there are no means of finding out if the story -is true or false. The sails, as they exist, are kaleidoscopic in their -patchwork. It is understood that anything will serve as a patch for a -lug sail. Sometimes the centre-piece of an old coat has been used for -this purpose; but if so, it is only fair to state that it is on record -that the centre-piece of an old sail has been shaped into a jacket for -the ordinary wearing of a lad. - -The lug sail may yet find its way into a drawing room in Belgravia -and repose side by side with the workhouse sheeting which occupies an -honoured place in that apartment. - -On through the even waves that roll from between the headlands at the -entrance, to the little strand of pebbles at the end of the lough, the -boats lumbered. The sea and sky were equally gray, but now and again a -sudden gleam of sunshine would come from some unsuspected rift in the -motionless clouds, and fly along the crests of the waves, revealing a -green transparency for an instant, and then, flashing upon the sails, -make apparent every patch in their expanse, just as a flash of lightning -on a dark night reveals for a second every feature of a broad landscape. - -As the first vessel of the little fleet, pursuing an almost direct -course in spite of the curving of the shores of the Irish fjord, -approached one coast and then the other, the great rocks that appeared -snow-white, with only a dab of black here and there, became suddenly -all dark, and the air was filled with what seemed like snow flakes. The -cries of the innumerable sea birds, that whirled about the disturbing -boat before they settled and the rocks became gradually white once more, -had a remarkable effect when heard against that monotonous background, -so to speak, of rolling waves. - -The narrow lough was a gigantic organ pipe through which the mighty bass -of the Atlantic roared everlastingly. - -But when the headlands at the entrance were reached, the company who -sat on the weather side of the cutter _Acushla_ became aware of a -commingling of sounds. The organ voice of the lough only filled up the -intervals between the tremendous roar of the lion-throated waves that -sprang with an appalling force half way up the black faces of the sheer -cliffs, and broke in mid-air. All day long and all night long those -inexhaustible billows come rushing upon that coast; and watching them -and listening to them one feels how mean are contemporary politics as -well as other things. - -"That's the Irish question," remarked Lord Innisfail, who was steering -his own cutter. - -He nodded in the direction of the waves that were clambering up the -headlands. What he meant exactly he might have had difficulty in -explaining. - -"Very true, very true," said Mr. Durdan, sagaciously, hoping to provoke -Mr. Airey to reply, and thinking it likely that he would learn from Mr. -Airey's reply what was Lord Innisfail's meaning. - -But Mr. Airey, who had long ago become acquainted with Mr. Durdan's -political methods, did not feel it incumbent on him to make the attempt -to grapple with the question--if it was a question--suggested by Lord -Innisfail. - -The metaphor of a host should not, he knew, be considered too curiously. -Like the wit of a police-court magistrate, it should be accepted with -effusion. - -"Stand by that foresheet," said Lord Innisfail to one of the yacht's -hands. "We'll heave to until the other craft come up." - -In a few moments the cutter had all way off her, and was simply tumbling -about among the waves in a way that made some of the ship's company hold -their breath and think longingly of pale brandy. - -The cruise of the _Acushla_ and the appearance of the fleet of boats -upon the lough were due to the untiring energy of Lady Innisfail and -to the fact that at last Brian, the boatman, had, by the help of Father -Conn, come to grasp something of the force of the phrase "local colour". - -Lady Innisfail was anxious that her guests should carry away certain -definite impressions of their sojourn at the Connaught castle beyond -those that may be acquired at any country-house, which everyone knows -may be comprised in a very few words. A big shoot, and an incipient -scandal usually constitute the record of a country-house entertainment. -Now, it was not that Lady Innisfail objected to a big shoot or an -incipient scandal--she admitted that both were excellent in their own -way--but she hoped to do a great deal better for her guests. She hoped -to impart to their visit some local colour. - -She had hung on to the wake and the eviction, as has already been told, -with pertinacity. The _fte_ which she believed was known to the Irish -peasantry as the Cruiskeen, had certainly some distinctive features; -though just as she fancied that the Banshee was within her grasp, it had -vanished into something substantial--this was the way she described -the scene on the cliffs. Although her guests said they were very well -satisfied with what they had seen and heard, adding that they had come -to the conclusion that if the Irish had only a touch of humour they -would be true to the pictures that had been drawn of them, still Lady -Innisfail was not satisfied. - -Of course if Mr. Airey were to ask Miss Avon to marry him, her -house-party would be talked about during the winter. But she knew that -it is the marriages which do not come off that are talked about most; -and, after all, there is no local colour in marrying or giving in -marriage, and she yearned for local colour. Brian, after a time, came -to understand something of her ladyship's yearnings. Like the priest and -the other inhabitants, he did not at first know what she wanted. - -It is difficult to impress upon Fuzzy-wuzzy that he would be regarded -as a person of distinction in the Strand and as an idol in Belgravia. -At his home in the Soudan he is a very commonplace sort of person. So -in the region of Lough Suangorm, but a casual interest attaches to the -caubeen, which in Piccadilly would be followed by admiring crowds, and -would possibly be dealt with in Evening Editions. - -But, as has just been said, Brian and his friends in due time came to -perceive the spectacular value to her ladyship's guests of the most -commonplace things of the country; and it was this fact that induced -Brian to tell three stories of a very high colour to Mr. Airey and Mr. -Wynne. - -It was also his appreciation of her ladyship's wants that caused him to -suggest to her the possibility of a seal-hunt constituting an element of -attraction--these were not the exact words employed by the boatman--to -some of her ladyship's guests. - -It is scarcely necessary to say that Lady Innisfail was delighted -with the suggestion. Some of her guests pretended that they also were -delighted with it, though all that the majority wanted was to be -let alone. Still, upon the afternoon appointed for the seal-hunt a -considerable number of the Castle party went aboard the yacht. Beatrice -was one of the few girls who were of the party. Helen would have dearly -liked to go also; she would certainly have gone if she had not upon -one--only one--previous occasion allowed herself to be persuaded to sail -out to the headlands. She was wise enough not to imperil her prospects -for the sake of being drenched with sea water. - -She wondered--she did not exactly hope it--if it was possible for -Beatrice Avon to become seasick. - -This was how upon that gray afternoon, the fleet of boats sailed out to -where the yacht was thumping about among the tremendous waves beyond the -headlands that guard the entrance to Lough Suangorm. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV.--ON THE CHANCE. - -WHEN the fishing boats came within half a cable's length of the cutter, -Lord Innisfail gave up the tiller to Brian, who was well qualified to be -the organizer of the expedition, having the reputation of being familiar -with the haunts and habits of the seals that may be found--by such as -know as much about them as Brian--among the great caves that pierce for -several miles the steep cliffs of the coast. - -The responsibility of steering a boat under the headlands, either North -or South, was not sought by Lord Innisfail. For perhaps three hundred -and fifty days in every year it would be impossible to approach the -cliffs in any craft; but as Brian took the tiller he gave a knowing -glance around the coast and assured his lordship that it was a jewel of -a day for a seal-hunt, and added that it was well that he had brought -only the largest of the fishing boats, for anything smaller would sink -with the weight of the catch of seals. - -He took in the slack of the main sheet and sent the cutter flying direct -to the Northern headland, the luggers following in her wake, though -scarcely preserving stations or distances with that rigorous naval -precision which occasionally sends an ironclad to the bottom. - -The man-of-war may run upon a reef, and the country may be called on -to pay half a million for the damage; but it can never be said that she -fails to maintain her station prescribed by the etiquette of the Royal -Navy in following the flagship, which shows that the British sailor, -wearing epaulettes, is as true as the steel that his ship is made of, -and a good deal truer than that of some of the guns which he is asked to -fire. - -In a short time the boats had cleared the headland, and it seemed to -some of the cutter's company as if they were given an opportunity of -looking along the whole west coast of Ireland in a moment. Northward -and southward, like a study in perspective, the lines of indented cliffs -stretched until they dwindled away into the gray sky. The foam line that -was curved as it curled around the enormous rocks close at hand, was -straightened out in the distance and never quite disappeared. - -"Talk of the Great Wall of China," said Lord Innisfail, pointing proudly -to the splendid chain of cliffs. "Talk of the Great Wall of China -indeed! What is it compared with that?" - -He spoke as proudly as if he owned everything within that line of -cliffs, though he thanked heaven every night that he only owned a few -thousand acres in Ireland. - -"What indeed--what indeed?" said Mr. Durdan. - -One of the men thought the moment opportune for airing a theory that -he had to the effect that the Great Wall of China was not built by the -Chinese to keep the surrounding nations out, but by the surrounding -nations to keep the Chinese in. - -It was a feasible theory, suggesting that the Chinese immigration -question existed among the Thibetans some thousands of years ago, to -quite as great an extent as it does in some other directions to-day. -But it requires to be a very strong theory to stand the strain of the -Atlantic waves and a practically unlimited view of the coast of Ireland. -So no discussion arose. - -Already upon some of the flat rocks at the entrance to the great caves -the black head of a seal might be seen. It did not remain long in -view, however. Brian had scarcely pointed it out with a whisper to such -persons as were near him, when it disappeared. - -"It's the wary boys they are, to be sure!" he remarked confidentially. - -His boldness in steering among the rocks made some persons more than -usually thoughtful. Fortunately the majority of those aboard the cutter -knew nothing of his display of skill. They remained quite unaware of the -jagged rocks that the boat just cleared; and when he brought the craft -to the lee of a cliff, which formed a natural breakwater and a harbour -of ripples, none of these people seemed surprised. - -Lord Innisfail and a few yachtsmen who knew something of sailing, drew -long breaths. They knew what they had escaped. - -One of the hands got into the punt and took a line to the cliff to moor -the yacht when the sails had been lowered, and by the time that -the mooring was effected, the other boats had come into the natural -harbour--it would have given protection--that is, natural protection, -to a couple of ironclads--no power can protect them from their own -commanders. - -"Now, my lard," said Brian, who seemed at last to realize his -responsibilities, "all we've got to do is to grab the craythurs; but -that same's a caution. We'll be at least an hour-and-a-half in the -caves, and as it will be cold work, and maybe wet work, maybe some of -their honours wouldn't mind standing by the cutter." - -The suggestion was heartily approved of by some of the yacht's company. -Lady Innisfail said she was perfectly satisfied with such local colour -as was available without leaving the yacht, and it was understood that -Miss Avon would remain by her side. Mr. Airey said he thought he could -face with cheerfulness a scheme of existence that did not include -sitting with varying degrees of uneasiness in a small boat while other -men speared an inoffensive seal. - -"Such explanations are not for the Atlantic Ocean," said Harold, -getting over the side of the yacht into the punt that Brian had hauled -close--Lord Innisfail was already in the bow. - -In a short time, by the skilful admiralship of Brian, the other boats, -which were brought up from the luggers, were manned, and their stations -were assigned to them, one being sent to explore a cave a short distance -off, while another was to remain at the entrance to pick up any seals -that might escape. The same plan was adopted in regard to the great -cave, the entrance to which was close to where the yacht was moored. -Brian arranged that his boat should enter the cave, while another, fully -manned, should stand by the rocks to capture the refugees. - -All the boats then started for their stations--all except the punt with -Brian at the yoke lines, Harold and Mr. Durdan in the stern sheets, one -of the hands at the paddles, and Lord Innisfail in the bows; for -when this craft was about to push off, Brian gave an exclamation of -discontent. - -"What's the matter now?" asked Lord Innisfail. - -"Plenty's the matter, my lard," said Brian. "The sorra a bit of luck -we'll have this day if we leave the ladies behind us." - -"Then we must put up with bad luck," said Lord Innisfail. "Go down on -your knees to her ladyship and ask her to come with us if you think that -will do any good." - -"Oh, her ladyship would come without prayers if she meant to," said -Brian. "But it's Miss Avon that's open to entreaty. For the love of -heaven and the encouragement of sport, step into the boat, Sheila, and -you'll have something to talk about for the rest of your life." - -Beatrice shook her head at the appeal, but that wouldn't do for Brian. -"Look, my lady, look at her eyes, aren't they just jumping out of her -head like young trout in a stream in May?" he cried to Lady Innisfail. -"Isn't she waiting for you to say the word to let her come, an' not a -word does any gentleman in the boat speak on her behalf." - -The gentlemen remained dumb, but Lady Innisfail declared that if Miss -Avon was not afraid of a wetting and cared to go in the boat, there was -no reason why she should not do so. - -In another moment Beatrice had stepped into the punt and it had pushed -off with a cheer from Brian. The men in the other boats, now in the -distance, hearing the cheer, but without knowing why it arose, sent back -an answer that aroused the thousand echoes of the cliffs and the ten -thousand sea birds that arose in a cloud from every crevice of the -rocks. Thus it was that the approach of the boat to the great cave did -not take place in silence. - -Harold had not uttered a word. He had not even looked at Edmund Airey's -face to see what expression it wore when Beatrice stepped into the boat. - -"Did you ever hear anything like Airey's roundabout phrase about a -scheme of existence?" said Mr. Durdan. - -"It is his way of putting a simple matter," said Harold. "You heard of -the man who, in order to soften down the fact that a girl had what are -colloquially known as beetle-crushers, wrote that her feet tended to -increase the mortality among coleoptera?" - -"I'm afraid that the days of the present government are numbered," said -Mr. Durdan, who seemed to think that the remark was in logical sequence -with Harold's story. - -Beatrice looked wonderingly at the speaker; it was some moments before -she found an echo in the expression on Harold's face to what she felt. - -The man who could think of such things as the breaking up of a -government, when floating in thirty fathoms of green sea, beneath the -shadow of such cliffs as the boat was approaching, was a mystery to -the girl, though she was the daughter of one of the nineteenth century -historians, to whom nothing is a mystery. - -The boat entered the great cave without a word being spoken by any one -aboard, and in a few minutes it was being poled along in semi-darkness. -The lapping of the swell from the entrance against the sides of the -cave sounded on through the distance of the interior, and from those -mysterious depths came strange sounds of splashing water, of dropping -stalactites, and now and again a mighty sob of waves choked within a -narrow vent. - -Silently the boat was forced onward, and soon all light from the -entrance was obscured. Through total darkness the little craft crept for -nearly half a mile. - -Suddenly a blaze of light shot up with startling effect in the bows of -the boat. It only came from a candle that Brian had lit: but its -gleam was reflected in millions of stalactites into what seemed an -interminable distance--millions of stalactites on the roof and the -walls, and millions of ripples beneath gave back the gleam, until the -boat appeared to be the centre of a vast illumination. - -The dark shadows of the men who were using the oars as poles, danced -about the brilliant roof and floor of the cave, adding to the fantastic -charm of the scene. - -"Now," said Brian, in a whisper, "these craythurs don't understand -anything that's said to them unless by a human being, so we'll need -to be silent enough. We'll be at the first ledge soon, and there maybe -you'll wait with the lady, Mr. Wynne--you're heavier than Mr. Durdan, -and every inch of water that the boat draws is worth thinking about. -I'll leave a candle with you, but not a word must you speak." - -"All right," said Harold. "You're the manager of the expedition; we must -obey you; but I don't exactly see where my share in the sport comes in." - -"I'd explain it all if I could trust myself to speak," said Brian. -"The craythurs has ears." The ledge referred to by him was reached in -silence. It was perhaps six inches above the water, and in an emergency -it might have afforded standing room for three persons. So much Harold -saw by the light of the candle that the boatman placed in a niche of -rock four feet above the water. - -At a sign from Brian, Harold got upon the ledge and helped Beatrice out -of the boat. - -The light of the candle that was in the bow of the boat gleamed upon the -figure of a man naked from the waist up, and wearing a hard round hat -with a candle fastened to the brim. - -Harold knew that this was the costume of the seal-hunter of the Western -caves, for he had had a talk with Brian on the subject, and had learned -that only by swimming with a lighted candle on his forehead for a -quarter of a mile, the hunter could reach the sealing ground at the -termination of the cave. - -Without a word being spoken, the boat went on, and its light soon -glimmered mysteriously in the distance. - -Harold and Beatrice stood side by side on the narrow ledge of rock and -watched the dwindling of the light. The candle that was on the niche of -rock almost beside them seemed dwindling also. It had become the merest -spark. Harold saw that Brian had inadvertently placed it so that the -dripping of the water from the roof sent flecks of damp upon the wick. - -He stretched out his hand to shift it to another place, but before -he could touch it, a large stalactite dropped upon it, and not only -extinguished it, but sent it into the water with a splash. - -The little cry that came from the girl as the blackness of darkness -closed upon them, sounded to his ears as a reproach. - -"I had not touched it," said he. "Something dropped from the roof upon -it. You don't mind the darkness?" - -"Oh, no--no," said she, doubtfully. "But we were commanded to be dumb." - -"That command was given on the assumption that the candle would continue -burning--now the conditions are changed," said he, with a sophistry that -would have done credit to a cabinet minister. - -"Oh," said she. - -There was a considerable pause before she asked him how long he thought -it would be before the boat would return. - -He declined to bind himself to any expression of opinion on the subject. - -Then there was another pause, filled up only by the splash of something -falling from the roof--by the wash of the water against the smooth rock. - -"I wonder how it has come about that I am given a chance of speaking to -you at last?" said he. - -"At last?" said she, repeating his words in the same tone of inquiry. - -"I say at last, because I have been waiting for such an opportunity for -some time, but it did not come. I don't suppose I was clever enough to -make my opportunity, but now it has come, thank God." - -Again there was silence. He seemed to think that he had said something -requiring a reply from her, but she did not speak. - -"I wonder if you would believe me when I say that I love you," he -remarked. - -"Yes," she replied, as naturally as though he had asked her what she -thought of the weather. "Yes, I think I would believe you. If you did -not love me--if I was not sure that you loved me, I should be the most -miserable girl in all the world." - -"Great God!" he cried. "You do not mean to say that you love me, -Beatrice?" - -"If you could only see my face now, you would know it," said she. "My -eyes would tell you all--no, not all--that is in my heart." - -He caught her hands, after first grasping a few handfuls of clammy rock, -for the hands of the truest lovers do not meet mechanically. - -"I see them," he whispered--"I see your eyes through the darkness. My -love, my love!" - -He did not kiss her. His soul revolted from the idea of the commonplace -kiss in the friendly secrecy of the darkness. - -There are opportunities and opportunities. He believed that if he had -kissed her then she would never have forgiven him, and he was right. -"What a fool I was!" he cried. "Two nights ago, when I overheard a man -tell you, as I had told you long ago--so long ago--more than a week -ago--that he did not want you to pass out of his sight--when I heard you -make the same promise to him as you had made to me, I felt as if there -was nothing left for me in the world. I went out into the darkness, and -as I stood at the place when I first saw you, I thought that I should be -doing well if I were to throw myself headlong down those rocks into the -sea that the rain was beating upon. Beatrice, God only knows if it would -be better or worse for you if I had thrown myself down--if I were to -leave you standing alone here now." - -"Do not say those words--they are like the words I asked you before -not to say. Even then your words meant everything to me. They mean -everything to me still." - -He gave a little laugh. Triumph rang through it. He did not seem to -think that his laughter might sound incongruous to her. - -"This is my hour," he said. "Whatever fate may have in store for me it -cannot make me unlive this hour. And to think that I had got no idea -that such an hour should ever come to me--that you should ever come to -me, my beloved! But you came to me. You came to me when I had tried to -bring myself to feel that there was something worth living for in the -world apart from love." - -"And now?" - -"And now--and now--now I know that there is nothing but love that is -worth living for. What is your thought, Beatrice--tell me all that is in -your heart?" - -"All--all?" She now gave the same little laugh that he had given. She -felt that her turn had come. - -She gave just the same laugh when his feeling of triumph had given -place to a very different feeling--when he had told her that he was a -pauper--that he had no position in the world--that he was dependent upon -his father for every penny that he had to spend, with the exception of -a few hundred pounds a year, which he inherited from his mother--that it -was an act of baseness on his part to tell her that he loved her. - -He had plenty of time for telling her all this, and for explaining his -position thoroughly, for nearly an hour had passed before a gleam of -light and a hail from the furthest recesses of the cave, made them aware -of the fact that other interests than theirs existed in the world. - -And yet when he had told her all that he had to tell to his -disadvantage, she gave that little laugh of triumph. He would have given -a good deal to be able to see the expression which he knew was in those -wonderful eyes of hers, as that laugh came from her. - -Not being able to do so, however, he could only crush her hands against -his lips and reply to the boat's hail. - -Brian, on hearing of the mishap to the candle, delivered a torrent of -execration against himself. It took Harold some minutes to bring -himself up to the point of Lord Innisfail's enthusiasm on the subject of -seal-fishing. Five excellent specimens were in the bottom of the boat, -and the men who had swum after them were there also. A strong odour of -whiskey was about them; and the general idea that prevailed was that -they would not suffer from a chill, though they had been in the water -for three quarters of an hour. - -As the other boats only succeeded in capturing three seals among them -all, Brian had statistics to bear out his contention that the presence -of Beatrice had brought luck to his boat. - -He pocketed two sovereigns which Harold handed him when the boats -returned to the mooring-place, and he was more profuse than ever in his -abuse of his own stupidity in placing the candle so as to be affected by -the damp from the roof. - -His eyes twinkled all the time in a way that made Harold's cheeks red. - -The judge found Miss Avon somewhat _distraite_ after dinner that -night. He became pensive in consequence. He wondered if she thought him -elderly. - -He did not mind in the least growing old, but the idea of being thought -elderly was abhorrent to him. - -The next day Beatrice and her father returned to their cottage at the -other side of the lough. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV.--ON THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE REPROBATE. - - -SOMETHING remarkable had occurred. Lord Fotheringay had been for a -fortnight under one roof without disgracing himself. - -The charitable people said he was reforming. - -The others said he was aging rapidly. - -The fact remained the same, however: he had been a fortnight at the -Castle and he had not yet disgraced himself. - -Mrs. Burgoyne congratulated Lady Innisfail upon this remarkable -occurrence, and Lady Innisfail began to hope that it might get talked -about. If her autumn party at Castle Innisfail were to be talked about -in connection with the reform of Lord Fotheringay, much more interest -would be attached to the party and the Castle than would be the result -of the publication of the statistics of a gigantic shoot. Gigantic -shoots did undoubtedly take place on the Innisfail Irish property, but -they invariably took place before the arrival of Lord Innisfail and his -guests, and the statistics were, for obvious reasons, not published. -They only leaked out now and again. - -The most commonplace people might enjoy the reputation attaching to the -careful preservation and the indiscriminate slaughter of game; but Lady -Innisfail knew that the distinction accruing from a connection with -a social scandal of a really high order, or with a great social -reform--either as regards a hardened reprobate or an afternoon -toilet--was something much greater. - -Of course, she understood perfectly well that in England the Divorce -Court is the natural and legitimate medium for attaining distinction in -the form of a Special Edition and a pen and ink portrait; but she had -seen great things accomplished by the rumour of an unfair game of cards, -as well as by a very daring skirt dance. - -Next to a high-class scandal, the discovery of a new religion was -a means of reaching eminence, she knew. With the exact social value -attaching to the Reform of a Hardened Reprobate, she was as yet -unacquainted, the fact being that she had never had any experience of -such an incident--it was certainly very rare in the society in which she -moved, so that it is not surprising that she was not prepared to say at -a moment how much it would count in the estimation of the world. - -But if the Reform of a Reprobate--especially a reprobate with a -title--was so rare as to be uncatalogued, so to speak, surely it should -be of exceptional value as a social incident. Should it not partake of -the prestige which attaches to a rare occurrence? - -This was the way that Mrs. Burgoyne put the matter to her friend and -hostess, and her friend and hostess was clever enough to appreciate -the force of her phrases. She began to perceive that although Lord -Fotheringay had come to the Castle on the slenderest of invitations, -and simply because it suited his purpose--although she had been greatly -annoyed at his sudden appearance at the Castle, still good might come of -it. - -She did not venture to estimate from the standpoint of the moralist, the -advantages accruing to the Reformed Reprobate himself from the incident -of his reform, she merely looked at the matter from the standpoint of -the woman of society--which is something quite different--desirous of -attaining a certain social distinction. - -Thus it was that Lady Innisfail took to herself the credit of the -Reform of the Reprobate, and petted the reprobate accordingly, giving no -attention whatever to the affairs of his son. These affairs, interesting -though they had been to her some time before, now became insignificant -compared with the Great Reform. - -She even went the length of submitting to be confided in by Lord -Fotheringay; and she heard, with genuine interest, from his own lips -that he considered the world in general to be hollow. He had found it -so. He had sounded the depths of its hollowness. He had found that in -all grades of society there was much evil. The working classes--he -had studied the question of the working man not as a parliamentary -candidate, consequently honestly--drank too much beer. They sought -happiness through the agency of beer; but all the beer produced by -all the brewers in the House of Lords would not bring happiness to the -working classes. As for the higher grades of society--the people who -were guilty of partaking of unearned increment--well, they were wrong -too. He thought it unnecessary to give the particulars of the avenues -through which they sought happiness. But they were all wrong. The -domestic life--there, and there only, might one find the elements -of true happiness. He knew this because he had endeavoured to reach -happiness by every other avenue and had failed in his endeavours. He -now meant to supply his omission, and he regretted that it had never -occurred to him to do so before. Yes, some poet or other had written -something or other on the subject of the great charm of a life of -domesticity, and Lord Fotheringay assured Lady Innisfail in confidence -that that poet was right. - -Lady Innisfail sighed and said that the Home--the English Home--with its -simple pleasures and innocent mirth, was where the Heart--the English -Heart--was born. What happiness was within the reach of all if they -would only be content with the Home! Society might be all very well in -its way. There were duties to be discharged--every rank in life carried -its duties with it; but how sweet it was, after one had discharged one's -social obligations, to find a solace in the retirement of Home. - -Lord Fotheringay lifted up his hands and said "Ah--ah," in different -cadences. - -Lady Innisfail folded her hands and shook her head with some degree of -solemnity. She felt confident that if Lord Fotheringay was in earnest, -her autumn party would be talked about with an enthusiasm surpassing -that which would attach to the comments on any of the big shoots in -Scotland, or in Yorkshire, or in Wales. - -But when Lord Fotheringay had an opportunity of conversing alone with -Mr. Airey, he did not think it necessary to dwell upon the delights -which he had begun to perceive might be found in a life of pure -domesticity. He took the liberty of reminding Mr. Airey of the -conversation they had on the morning after Miss Avon's arrival at the -Castle. - -"Had we a conversation then, Lord Fotheringay?" said Mr. Airey, in a -tone that gave Lord Fotheringay to understand that if any contentious -point was about to be discussed, it would rest with him to prove -everything. - -"Yes, we had a conversation," said Lord Fotheringay. "I was foolish -enough to make a confidant of you." - -"If you did so, you certainly were foolish," said Edmund, quietly. - -"I have been keeping my eyes open and my ears open as well, during the -past ten days," said Lord Fotheringay, with a leer that was meant to be -significant. Edmund Airey, however, only took it to signify that Lord -Fotheringay could easily be put into a very bad temper. He said nothing, -but allowed Lord Fotheringay to continue. "Yes, let me tell you that -when I keep both eyes and ears open not much escapes me. I have seen and -heard a good deal. You are a clever sort of person, friend Airey; but -you don't know the world as I know it." - -"No, no--as you know it--ah, no," remarked Mr. Airey. - -Lord Fotheringay was a trifle put out by the irritating way in which the -words were spoken. Still, the pause he made was not of long duration. - -"You have your game to play, like other people, I suppose," he resumed, -after the little pause. - -"You are at liberty to suppose anything you please, my dear Lord -Fotheringay," said Mr. Airey, with a smile. - -"Come," said Lord Fotheringay, adopting quite another tone. "Come, -Airey, speaking as man to man, wasn't it a confoundedly shabby trick for -you to play upon me--getting me to tell you that I meant to marry that -young thing--to save her from unhappiness, Airey?" - -"Well?" said Airey. - -"Well?" said Lord Fotheringay. - -"You didn't complete your sentence. Was the shabby trick accepting your -confidence?" - -"The shabby trick was trying to win the affection of the young woman -after I had declared to you my intention." - -"That was the shabby trick, was it?" - -"I have no hesitation in saying that it was." - -"Very well. I hope that you have nothing more to confide in me beside -this--your confidences have so far been singularly uninteresting." - -Lord Fotheringay got really angry. - -"Let me tell you--" he began, but he was stopped by Airey. - -"No, I decline to let you tell me anything," said he. "You accused -me just now of being so foolish as to listen to your confidences. I, -perhaps, deserved the reproach. But I should be a fool if I were to give -you another chance of levelling the same accusation against me. You will -have to force your confidences on someone else in future, unless such as -concern your liver. You confided in me that your liver wasn't quite the -thing. How is it to-day?" - -"I understand your tactics," said Lord Fotheringay, with a snap. "And -I'll take good care to make others acquainted with them also," he added. -"Oh, no, Mr. Airey; I wasn't born yesterday." - -"To that fact every Peerage in the kingdom bears testimony," said Mr. -Airey. - -Lord Fotheringay had neglected his cigar. It had gone out. He now took -three or four violent puffs at it; he snapped it from between his teeth, -looked at the end, and then dropped it on the ground and stamped on it. - -"It was your own fault," said Airey. "Try one of mine, and don't bother -yourself with other matters." - -"I'll bother myself with what I please," said Lord Fotheringay with a -snarl. - -But he took Mr. Airey's cigar, and smoked it to the end. He knew that -Mr. Airey smoked Carolinas. - -This little scene took place outside the Castle before lunch on the -second day after the departure of Mr. Avon and his daughter; and, after -lunch, Lord Fotheringay put on a yachting jacket and cap, and announced -his intention of having a stroll along the cliffs. His doctor had long -ago assured him, he said, that he did not take sufficient exercise nor -did he breathe enough fresh air. He meant in future to put himself on a -strict regimen in this respect, and would begin at once. - -He was allowed to carry out his intention alone--indeed he did not -hint that his medical adviser had suggested company as essential to the -success of any scheme of open air exercise. - -The day was a breezy one, and the full force of the wind was felt at the -summit of the cliff coast; but like many other gentlemen who dread being -thought elderly, he was glad to seize every opportunity of showing that -he was as athletic as the best of the young fellows; so he strode along, -gasping and blowing with quite as much fresh air in his face as the most -exacting physician could possibly have prescribed for a single dose. - -He made his way to the mooring-place of the boats, and he found Brian in -the boat-house engaged in making everything snug. - -He was very civil to Brian, and after a transfer of coin, inquired about -the weather. - -There was a bit of a draught of wind in the lough, Brian said, but it -was a fine day for a sail. Would his lardship have a mind for a bit of -a sail? The _Acushla_ was cruising, but the _Mavourneen_, a neat little -craft that sailed like a swallow, was at his lardship's service. - -After some little consideration, Lord Fotheringay said that though -he had no idea of sailing when he left the Castle, yet he never could -resist the temptation of a fine breeze--it was nothing stronger than a -breeze that was blowing, was it? - -"A draught--just a bit of a draught," said the man. - -"In that case," said Lord Fotheringay, "I think I may venture. In fact, -now that I come to think of it, I should like to visit the opposite -shore. There is a Castle or something, is there not, on the opposite -shore?" - -"Is it a Castle?" said Brian. "Oh, there's a power of Castles scattered -along the other shore, my lard. It's thrippin' over them your lardship -will be after doin.'" - -"Then we'll not lose a moment in starting," said Lord Fotheringay. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI.--ON FRANKNESS AND FRIENDSHIP. - -BRIAN took care that no moment was lost. In the course of a very few -minutes Lord Fotheringay was seated on the windward thwarts of the boat, -his hands grasping the gunwale to right and left, and his head bowed -to mitigate in some measure the force of the shower of sea-water that -flashed over the boat as her hows neatly clipped the crest off every -wave. - -Lord Fotheringay held on grimly. He hated the sea and all connected with -it; though he hated the House of Lords to almost as great an extent, yet -he had offered the promoter of the Channel Tunnel to attend in the House -and lend the moral weight of his name to the support of the scheme. It -was only the breadth and spontaneousness of Brian's assurance that the -breeze was no more than a draught, that had induced him to carry out his -cherished idea of crossing the lough. - -"Didn't I tell your lardship that the boat could sail with the best of -them?" said the man, as he hauled in the sheet a trifle, and brought -the boat closer to the wind--a manouvre that did not tend to lessen the -cascade that deluged his passenger. - -Lord Fotheringay said not a word. He kept his head bowed to every flap -of the waves beneath the bows. His attitude would have commended itself -to any painter anxious to produce a type of Submission to the Will of -Heaven. - -He was aging quickly--so much Brian perceived, and dwelt upon--with -excellent effect--in his subsequent narrative of the voyage to some -of the servants at the Castle. The cosmetic that will withstand the -constant application of sea-water has yet to be invented, so that in -half an hour Lord Fotheringay would not have been recognized except by -his valet. Brian had taken aboard a well-preserved gentleman with a rosy -complexion and a moustache almost too black for nature. The person who -disembarked at the opposite side of the lough was a stooped old man with -lank streaky cheeks and a wisp of gray hair on each side of his upper -lip. - -"And it's a fine sailor your lardship is entirely," remarked the -boatman, as he lent his tottering, dazed passenger a helping hand up the -beach of pebbles. "And it's raal enjoyment your lardship will be after -having among the Castles of the ould quality, after your lardship's -sail." - -Not a word did Lord Fotheringay utter. He felt utterly broken down in -spirit, and it was not until he had got behind a rock and had taken out -a pocket-comb and a pocket-glass, and had by these auxiliaries, and the -application of a grain or two of roseate powder without which he never -ventured a mile from his base of supplies, repaired some of the ravages -of his voyage, that he ventured to make his way to the picturesque white -cottage, which Miss Avon had once pointed out to him as the temporary -residence of her father and herself. - -It was a five-roomed cottage that had been built and furnished by an -enthusiastic English fisherman for his accommodation during his annual -residence in Ireland. One, more glance did Lord Fotheringay give to his -pocket-mirror before knocking at the door. - -He would have had time to renew his youth, had he had his pigments -handy, before the door was opened by an old woman with a shawl over -her shoulders and a cap, that had possibly once been white, on her -straggling hairs. - -She made the stage courtesy of an old woman in front of Lord -Fotheringay, and explained that she was a little hard of hearing--she -was even obliging enough to give a circumstantial account of the -accident that was responsible for her infirmity. - -"Miss Avon?" said the old woman, when Lord Fotheringay had repeated -his original request in a louder tone. "Miss Avon? no, she's not here -now--not even her father, who was a jewel of a gentleman, though a bit -queer. God bless them both now that they have gone back to England, -maybe never to return." - -"Back to England. When?" shouted Lord Fotheringay. - -"Why, since early in the morning. The Blessed Virgin keep the young -lady from harm, for she's swater than honey, and the Saints preserve her -father, for he was--" - -Lord Fotheringay did not wait to hear the position of the historian -defined by the old woman. He turned away from the door with such words -as caused her infirmity to be a blessing in disguise. - -When Brian greeted his return with a few well-chosen phrases bearing -upon the architecture of the early Celtic nobles, Lord Fotheringay swore -at him; but the boatman, who did a little in that way himself when under -extreme provocation, only smiled as Lord Fotheringay took his seat in -the boat once more, and prepared for the ordeal of his passage. - -There was a good deal in Brian's smile. - -The wind had changed most unaccountably, he explained, so that it would, -he feared, be absolutely necessary to tack out almost to the entrance -of the lough in order to reach the mooring-place. For the next hour -he became the exponent of every system of sailing known to modern -navigators. After something over an hour of this manoeuvring, he had -compassion upon his victim, and ran the boat before the wind--he might -have done so at first if Lord Fotheringay had not shown such a poor -knowledge of men as to swear at him--to the mooring-place. - -"If it's not making too free with your lardship, I'd offer your lardship -a hand up the track," said Brian. "It's myself that has to go up to the -Castle anyway, with a letter to her ladyship from Miss Avon. Didn't -the young lady give it to me in the morning before she started with his -honour her father on the car?" - -"And you knew all this time that Miss Avon and her father had left the -neighbourhood?" said Lord Fotheringay, through his store teeth. - -"Tubbe sure I did," said Brian. "But Miss Avon didn't live in one of the -Castles of the ould quality that your lardship was so particular ready -to explore." - -Lord Fotheringay felt that his knowledge of the world and the dwellers -therein had its limits. - -It was at Lord Fotheringay's bedside that Harold said his farewell to -his father the next day. Lord Fotheringay's incipient rheumatism had -been acutely developed by his drenching of the previous afternoon, and -he thought it prudent to remain in bed. - -"You're going, are you?" snarled the Father. - -"Yes, I'm going," replied the Son. "Lord and Lady Innisfail leave -to-morrow." - -"Have you asked Miss Craven to marry you?" inquired the Father. - -"No," said Harold. - -"Why not--tell me that?" - -"I haven't made up my mind on the subject of marrying." - -"Then the sooner you make it up the better it will be for yourself. I've -been watching you pretty closely for some days--I did not fail to notice -a certain jaunty indifference to what was going on around you on the -night of your return from that tomfoolery in the boats--seal-hunting, -I think they called it. I saw the way you looked at Helen Craven that -night. Contempt, or something akin to contempt, was in every glance. Now -you know that she is to be at Ella's in October. You have thus six weeks -to make up your mind to marry her. If you make up your mind to marry -anyone else, you may make up your mind to live upon the three hundred a -year that your mother left you. Not a penny you will get from me. I've -stinted myself hitherto to secure you your allowance. By heavens, I'll -not do so any longer. You will only receive your allowance from me for -another year, and then only by signing a declaration at my lawyer's to -the effect that you are not married. I've heard of secret marriages -before now, but you needn't think of that little game. That's all I've -to say to you." - -"And it is enough," said Harold. "Good-bye." He left the room and then -he left the Castle, Lady Innisfail only shaking her head and whispering, -"You have disappointed me," as he made his adieux. - -The next day all the guests had departed--all, with the exception of -Lord Fotheringay, who was still too ill to move. In the course of some -days, however, the doctor thought that he might without risk--except, of -course, such as was incidental to the conveyance itself--face a drive on -an outside car, to the nearest railway-station. - -Before leaving him, as she was compelled to do owing to her own -engagements, Lady Innisfail had another interesting conversation--it -almost amounted to a consultation--with her friend Mrs. Burgoyne on the -subject of the Reform of the Hardened Reprobate. And the result of -their further consideration of the subject from every standpoint, was -to induce them to believe that, with such a powerful incentive to the -Higher Life as an acute rheumatic attack, Lord Fotheringay's reform -might safely be counted on. It might, at any rate, be freely discussed -during the winter. If, subsequently, he should become a backslider, it -would not matter. His reform would have gone the way of all topics. - -Helen Craven and Edmund Airey had also a consultation together on the -subject upon which they had previously talked more than once. - -Each of them showed such an anxiety to give prominence to the -circumstance that they were actuated solely for Harold's benefit in -putting into practice the plan which one of them had suggested, it was -pretty clear that they had an uneasy feeling that they required some -justification for the course which they had thought well to pursue. - -Yes, they agreed that Harold should be placed beyond the power of his -father. Mr. Airey said he had never met a more contemptible person than -Lord Fotheringay, and for the sake of making Harold independent of such -a father, he would, he declared, do again all that he had done during -the week of Miss Avon's sojourn at the Castle. - -It was, indeed, sad, Miss Craven felt, that Harold should have such a -father. - -"Perhaps it was because I felt this so strongly that I--I--well, I began -to ask myself if there might not be some way of escape for him," said -she, in a pensive tone that was quite different from the tone of the -frank communication that she had made to Mr. Airey some time before. - -"I can quite understand that," said Edmund. "Well, though Harold hasn't -shown himself to be wise--that is--" - -"We both know what that means," said she, anticipating his definition of -wisdom so far as Harold was concerned. - -"We do," said Edmund. "If he has not shown himself to be wise in this -way, he has not shown himself to be a fool in another way." - -"I suppose he has not," said she, thoughtfully. - -"Great heavens! you don't mean to think that--" - -"That he has told Beatrice Avon that he loves her? No, I don't fancy -that he has, still--" - -"Still?" - -"Well, I thought that, on their return from that awful seal-hunt, I saw -a change in both of them. It seemed to me that--that--well, I don't -quite know how I should express it. Haven't you seen a thirsty look on a -man's face?" - -"A thirsty look? I believe I have seen it on a woman's face." - -"It may be the same. Well, Harold Wynne's face wore such an expression -for days before the seal-hunt--I can't say that I noticed it on Beatrice -Avon's face at the same time; but so soon as they returned from the -boats on that evening, I noticed the change on Harold's--perhaps it was -only fancy." - -"I am inclined to believe that it was fancy. In my belief none of us was -quite the same after that wild cruise. I was beside Miss Avon all the -time that we were sailing out to the caves, and though she and Harold -were in the boat together, yet Lord Innisfail and Durdan were in the -same boat also. I can't see how they could have had any time for an -understanding while they were engaged in looking after the seals." - -Miss Craven shook her head doubtfully. It was clear that she was a -believer in the making of opportunities in such matters as those which -they were discussing. - -"Anyhow, we have done all that we could reasonably be expected to do," -said she. - -"And perhaps a trifle over," said he. "If it were not that I like Harold -so much--and you, too, my dear"--this seemed an afterthought--"I would -not have done all that I have done. It is quite unlikely that Miss Avon -and I shall be under the same roof again, but if we should be, I shall, -you may be certain, find out from her whether or not an understanding -exists between her and Harold. But what understanding could it be?" - -Miss Craven smiled. Was this the man who had made such a reputation -for cleverness, she asked herself--a man who placed a limit on the -opportunities of lovers, and then inquired what possible understanding -could be come to between a penniless man and a girl with "a gray eye or -so." - -"What understanding?" said she. "Why, he may have unfolded to her a -scheme for becoming Lord High Chancellor after two year's hard work at -the bar, with a garden-party now and again; or for being made a Bishop -in the same time; and their understanding may be to wait for one another -until the arrival of either event. Never mind. We have done our best for -him." - -"For them," said Edmund. - -Yes, he tried to bring himself to believe that all that he had done was -for the benefit of his friend Harold and for his friend Beatrice--to say -nothing of his friend Helen as well. After a time he did almost -force himself to believe that there was nothing that was not strictly -honourable in the endeavour that he had made, at Helen's suggestion, -to induce Beatrice Avon to perceive the possibility of her obtaining a -proposal of marriage from a rich and distinguished man, if she were -only to decline to afford the impecunious son of a dissolute peer an -opportunity of telling her that he loved her. - -Now and again, however, he had an uneasy twinge, as the thought occurred -to him that if some man, understanding the exact circumstances of the -case, were to be as frank with him as Helen Craven had been (once), -that man might perhaps be led to say that he had been making a fool of -Beatrice for the sake of gratifying his own vanity. - -It was just possible, and he knew it, that that frank friend--assuming -that frankness and friendship may exist together--might be disposed -to give prominence in this matter to the impulses of vanity, to the -exclusion of the impulses of friendship, and a desire to set the crooked -straight. - -Even the fortnight which he spent in Norway with one of the heads of -the Government party--a gentleman who would probably have shortly at his -disposal an important Under-Secretaryship--failed quite to abate these -little twinges that he had when he reflected upon the direction that -might be taken by a frank friend, in considering the question of the -responsibility involved in his attitude toward Miss Avon. - -It was just a week after Lord Fotheringay had left Castle Innisfail that -a stranger appeared in the neighbourhood--a strange gentleman with the -darkest hair and the fiercest eyes ever seen, even in that region of -dark hair and eyes. He inquired who were the guests at the Castle, and -when he learned that the last of them--a distinguished peer named Lord -Fotheringay--had gone some time, and that it was extremely unlikely that -the Castle would be open for another ten months, his eyes became -fiercer than ever. He made use of words in a strange tongue, which Brian -declared, if not oaths, would do duty for oaths without anyone being the -wiser. - -The stranger departed as mysteriously as he had come. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII.--ON CIRCUMVENTING A STAG. - -IF Edmund Airey had a good deal to think about in Norway, Harold Wynne -was certainly not without a subject for thought in Scotland. - -It was with a feeling of exultation that he had sat in the bows of the -cutter _Acushla_ on her return to her moorings after that seal-hunt -which everyone agreed had been an extraordinary success. Had this -expression of exultation been noticed by Lady Innisfail, it would, -naturally, have been attributed by her to the fact that he had been -in the boat that had made the largest catch of seals. To be sure, Miss -Craven, who had observed at least a change in the expression upon his -face, did not attribute it to his gratification on having slaughtered -some seals, but then Miss Craven was more acute than an ordinary -observer. - -He felt that he did well to be exultant, as he looked at Beatrice Avon -standing by the side of Lord Innisfail at the tiller. The wind that -filled the mainsail came upon her face and held her garments against her -body, revealing every gracious curve of her shape, and suggesting to his -eyes a fine piece of sculpture with flying drapery. - -And she was his. - -It seemed to him when he had begun to speak to her in the solemn -darkness of the seal-cave, that it was impossible that he could receive -any answer from her that would satisfy him. How was it possible that she -could love him, he had asked himself at some agonizing moments during -the week. He thought that she might possibly have come to love him in -time, if she had not been with him in the boat during that night of -mist, when the voice of Helen Craven had wailed round the cliffs. Her -arrival at the Castle could not but have revealed to her the fact that -she might obtain an offer of marriage from someone who was socially far -above him; and thus he had almost lost all hope of her. - -And yet she was his. - -The course adopted by his friend Edmund Airey had astonished him. He -could not believe that Airey had fallen in love with her. It was not -consistent with Airey's nature to fall in love with anyone, he believed. -But he knew that in the matter of falling in love, people do not always -act consistently with their character; so that, after all, Airey might -be only waiting an opportunity to tell her that he had fallen in love -with her. - -The words that he had overheard Airey speak to her upon the night of the -_tableaux_ in the hall--words that had driven him out into the night of -rain and storm to walk madly along the cliffs, and to wonder if he were -to throw himself into the waves beneath, would he be strong enough to -let himself sink into their depths or weak enough to make a struggle for -life--those words had cleared away whatever doubts he had entertained as -to Edmund's intentions. - -And yet she was his. - -She had answered his question so simply and clearly--with such -earnestness and tenderness as startled him. It seemed that they had -come to love each other, as he had read of lovers doing, from the first -moment that they had met. It seemed that her love had, like his, only -increased through their being kept apart from each other--mainly by -the clever device of Miss Craven and the co-operation of Edmund Airey, -though, of course, Harold did not know this. - -His reflections upon this marvel--the increase of their love, though -they had few opportunities of being together and alone--would have been -instructive even to persons so astute and so ready to undertake the -general control of events as Mr. Airey and Miss Craven. Unfortunately, -however, they were as ignorant of what had taken place to induce these -reflections as he was of the conspiracy between them to keep him apart -from Beatrice to secure his happiness and the happiness of Beatrice. - -The fact that Beatrice loved him and had confessed her love for him, -though they had had so few opportunities of being together, seemed to -him the greatest of all the marvels that he had recently experienced. - -As he gave a farewell glance at the lough and recollected how, a -fortnight before, he had walked along the cliffs and had cast to the -winds all his cherished ideas of love, he could not help feeling that -he had been surrounded with marvels. He had had a narrow escape--he -actually regarded a goodlooking young woman with several thousands of -pounds of an income, as a narrow escape. - -This was the last of the reflections that came to him with the sound of -the green seas choked in the narrows of the lough. - -The necessity of preserving himself from sudden death--the Irish -outside car on which he was driving was the worst specimen he had yet -seen--absorbed all his thoughts when he had passed through the village -of Ballycruiskeen; and by the time he had got out of the train that -carried him to the East Coast--a matter of six hours travelling--and -aboard the steamer that bore him to Glasgow, the exultation that he -had felt on leaving Castle Innisfail, and on reflecting upon the great -happiness that had come to him, was considerably chastened. - -He was due at two houses in Scotland. At the first he meant to do -a little shooting. The place was not inaccessible. After a day's -travelling he found himself at a railway station fifteen miles from his -destination. He eventually reached the place, however, and he had some -shooting, which, though indifferent, was far better than it was possible -to obtain on Lord Innisfail's mountains--at least for Lord Innisfail's -guests to obtain. - -The second place was still further north--it was now and again alluded -to as the North Pole by some visitors who had succeeded in finding -their way to it, in spite of the directions given to them by the various -authorities on the topography of the Highlands. Several theories -existed as to the best way of reaching this place, and Harold, who -knew sufficient Scotch to be able to take in the general meaning of the -inhabitants without the aid of an interpreter, was made aware while -at the shooting lodge, of these theories. Hearing, however, that some -persons had actually been known to find the place, he felt certain -that they had struck out an independent course for themselves. It was -incredible to him that any of them had reached it by following the -directions they had received on the subject. He determined to follow -their example; and he had reached the place--eventually. - -It was when he had been for three days following a stag, that he began -to think of his own matters in a dispassioned way. Crawling on one's -stomach along a mile or two of boggy land and then wriggling through -narrow spaces among the rocks--sitting for five or six hours on -gigantic sponges (damp) of heather, with one's chin on one's knees for -strategical purposes, which the gillies pretend they understand, but -which they keep a dead secret--shivering as the Scotch mist clothes one -as with a wet blanket, then being told suddenly that there is a stag -thirty yards to windward--getting a glimpse of it, missing it, and -then hearing the gillies exchanging remarks in a perfectly intelligible -Gaelic regarding one's capacity--these incidents constitute an -environment that tends to make one look dispassionately upon such -marvels as Harold had been considering in a very different spirit while -the Irish lough was yet within hearing. - -On the third day that he had been trying to circumvent the stag, Harold -felt despondent--not about the stag, for he had long ago ceased to take -any interest in the brute--but about his own future. - -It is to be regretted (sometimes) that an exchange of sentiments on -the subject of love between lovers does not bring with it a change of -circumstances, making possible the realization of a scheme of life in -which those sentiments shall play an active part--or at least as active -a part as sentiments can play. This was Harold's great regret. Since he -had found that he loved Beatrice and that Beatrice loved him, the world -naturally appeared lovelier also. But it was with the loveliness of a -picture that hangs in a public gallery, not as an individual possession. - -His material circumstances, so far from having improved since he had -confessed to Edmund Airey that it was necessary for him to marry a woman -with money, had become worse; and yet he had given no thought to the -young woman with the money, but a great many thoughts to the young woman -who had, practically, none. He felt that no more unsatisfactory state of -matters could be imagined. And yet he felt that it would be impossible -to take any steps with a view of bringing about a change. - -He had received several letters from Beatrice, and he had written -several to her; but though in more than one he had told her in that -plain strain which one adopts when one does not desire to be in any way -convincing, that it was a most unfortunate day for her when she met him, -still he did not suggest that their correspondence should cease. - -What was to be the end of their love? - -It was the constant attempt to answer this question that gave the stag -his chance of life when, on the afternoon of the third day, Harold was -commanded by his masters the gillies to fire into that thickening in the -mist which he was given to understand by an unmistakable pantomime, was -the stag. - -While the gillies were exchanging their remarks in Gaelic, flavouring -them with very smoky whiskey, he was thinking, not of the escape of the -stag, but of what possible end there could be to the love that existed -between Beatrice and himself. - -It was the renewed thinking upon this question that brought about the -death of that particular stag and two others before the next evening, -for he had arrived at a point when he felt that he must shoot either -a stag or himself. He had arrived at a condition of despair that made -pretty severe demands upon him. - -The slaughter of the stags saved him. When he saw their bodies stretched -before him he felt exultant once more. He felt that he had overcome his -fate; and it was the next morning before he realized the fact that he -had done nothing of the sort--that the possibility of his ever being -able to marry Beatrice Avon was as remote as it had been when he had -fired blindly into the mist, and his masters, who had carried the guns, -exhausted (he believed) the resources, of Gaelic sarcasm in comment. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII.--ON ENJOYING A RESPITE. - -IT was the first week in October when Harold Wynne found himself in -London. He had got a letter from Beatrice in which she told him that she -and her father would return to London from Holland that week. Mr. Avon -had conscientiously followed the track of an Irish informer in whom he -was greatly interested, and who had, at the beginning of the century, -found his way to Holland, where he was looked upon as a poor exile from -Erin. He had betrayed about a dozen of his fellow-countrymen to their -enemies, and had then returned to Ireland to live to an honoured old age -on the proceeds of the bargain he had made for their heads. - -The result of Harold's consideration of the position that he occupied in -regard to Beatrice, was this visit to London. He made up his mind that -he should see her and tell her that, like Mrs. Browning's hero, he loved -her so well that he only could leave her. - -He could bring himself to do it, he felt. He believed that he was equal -to an act of heroic self-sacrifice for the sake of the girl--that -was how he put the matter to himself when being soaked on the Scotch -mountain. Yes, he would go to her and tell her that the conclusion -to which he had come was that they must forget one another--that only -unhappiness could result from the relationship that existed between -them. He knew that there is no more unsatisfactory relationship between -a man and a woman than that which has love for a basis, but with no -prospect of marriage; and he knew that so long as his father lived -and continued selfish--and only death could divide him from his -selfishness--marriage with Beatrice was out of the question. - -It was with this resolution upon him that he drove to the address in the -neighbourhood of the British Museum, where Beatrice said she was to be -found with her father. - -It was one of those mansions which at some period in the early part of -the century had been almost splendid; now it was simply large. It -was not the house that Harold would have cared to occupy, even rent -free--and this was a consideration to him. But for a scholar who had a -large library of his own, and who found it necessary to be frequently -in the neighbourhood of the larger Library at the Museum, the house must -undoubtedly have had its advantages. - -She was not at home. The elderly butler said that Mr. Avon had found it -necessary to visit Brussels for a few days, and he had thus been delayed -on the Continent beyond the date he had appointed for his return. -He would probably be in England by the end of the week--the day was -Wednesday. - -Harold left the gloom of Bloomsbury behind him, feeling a curious -satisfaction at having failed to see Beatrice--the satisfaction of a -respite. Some days must elapse before he could make known his resolution -to her. - -He strolled westward to a club of which he was a member--the Bedouin, -and was about to order dinner, when someone came behind him and laid a -hand, by no means gently, on his shoulder. Some of the Bedouins thought -it _de rigueur_ to play such pranks upon each other; and, to do them -justice, it was only rarely that they dislocated a friend's shoulder or -gave a nervous friend a fit. People said one never knew what was -coming from the moment they entered the Bedouin Club, and the prominent -Bedouins accepted this statement as embodying one of the most agreeable -of its many distinctive features. - -Harold was always prepared for the worst in this place, so when -the force of the blow swung him round and he saw an extremely plain -arrangement of features, distorted by a smile of extraordinary breadth, -beneath a closely-cropped crown of bright red hair, he merely said, -"Hallo, Archie, you here? I thought you were in South Africa -lion-hunting or something." - -The smile that had previously distorted the features of the young man, -was of such fulness that it might reasonably have been taken for granted -that it could not be increased; the possessor showed, however, that -that smile was not the result of a supreme effort. So soon as Harold had -spoken he gave a wink, and that wink seemed to release the mechanical -system by which his features were contorted, for in an instant his -face became one mouth. In plain words, this mouth of the young man had -swallowed up his other features. All that could be seen of his face was -that enormous mouth flanked by a pair of enormous ears, like plantain -leaves growing on each side of the crater of a volcano. - -Harold looked at him and laughed, then picked up a _menu_ card and -studied it until he calculated that the young man whom he had addressed -as Archie should have thrown off so much of his smile as would enable -him to speak. - -He gave him plenty of time, and when he looked round he saw that some of -the young man's features had succeeded in struggling to the surface, as -it were, beneath the circular mat of red hair that lay between his ears. - -"No South Africa for me, tarty chip," said Archie. ("Tarty chip" was -the popular term of address that year among young men about town. Its -philological significance was never discovered.) - -"No South Africa for me; I went one better than that," continued the -young man. - -"I doubt it," said Harold. "I've had my eye on you until lately. You -have usually gone one worse. Have you any money left--tell the truth?" - -"Money? I asked the tarty chips that look after that sort of thing for -me how I stood the other day," said Archie, "and I'm ashamed to say that -I've been spending less than my income--that is until a couple of months -ago. I've still about three million. What does that mean?" - -"That you've got rid of about a million inside two years," said Harold. - -"You're going it blind," said Archie. "It only means that I've spent -fifty decimals in eighteen months. I can spare that, tarty chip." (It -may possibly be remembered that in the slang of the year a decimal -signified a thousand pounds.) "That means that you've squandered a -fortune, Archie," said Harold, thinking what fifty thousand pounds would -mean to him. - -"There's not much of a squander in the deal when I got value for it," -said Archie. "I got plenty of value. I've got to know all about this -world." - -"And you'll soon get to know all about the next, if you go on at this -rate," said Harold. - -"Not me; I've got my money in sound places. You heard about my show." - -"Your show? I've heard about nothing for the past year but your shows. -What's the latest? I want something to eat." - -"Oh, come with me to my private trough," cried the young man. "Don't lay -down a mosaic pavement in your inside in this hole. Come along, tarty -chip; I've got a _chef_ named Achille--he knows what suits us--also some -'84 Heidsieck. Come along with me, and I'll tell you all about the show. -We'll go there together later on. We'll take supper with her." - -"Oh! with her?" - -"To be sure. You don't mean to say that you haven't heard that I've -taken the Legitimate Theatre for Mrs. Mowbray? Where on God's footstool -have you been for the past month?" - -"Not further than the extreme North of Scotland. It was far enough. I -saw a paragraph stating that Mrs. Mowbray, after being a failure in a -number of places, had taken the Legitimate. What has that got to say to -you?" - -"Not much, but I've got a good deal to say to it. Oh, come along, and -I'll tell you all about it. I'm building a monument for myself. I've got -the Legitimate and I mean to make Irving and the rest of them sit up." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX.--ON THE ADVANTAGES OF READY MONEY. - -ARCHIE BROWN was the only son of Mr. John Brown, the eminent -contractor. Mr. John Brown had been a man of simple habits and no -tastes. When a working navvy he had acquired a liking for oatmeal -porridge, and up to the day of his death, when he had some twenty -thousand persons in his employment, each of them earning money for him, -he never rose above this comestible. He lived a thoroughly happy life, -taking no thought about money, and having no idea, beyond the building -of drinking fountains in his native town, how to spend the profits -realized on his enormous transactions. - -Now, as the building of even the most complete system of drinking -fountains, in a small town in Scotland, does not produce much impression -upon the financial position of a man with some millions of pounds in -cash, and making business profits to the extent of two hundred thousand -a year, it was inevitable that, when a brick one afternoon fell on Mr. -John Brown's head and fractured his skull so severely as to cause his -death, his only son should be left very well provided for. - -Archie Brown was left provided with some millions in cash, and with -property that yielded him about one hundred pounds a day. - -Up to the day of his father's death he had never had more than five -hundred a year to spend as pocket-money--he had saved even out of this -modest sum, for he had scarcely any more expensive tastes than his -father, though he had ever regarded _sole la Normande_ as more -palatable than oatmeal porridge as a breakfast dish. - -He had never caused his father a moment's uneasiness; but as soon as he -was given a bird's eye view, so to speak, of his income, he began to ask -himself if there might not be something in the world more palatable even -than _sole la Normande_. - -In the course of a year or two he had learned a good deal on the subject -of what was palatable and what was not; for from the earliest records it -is understood that the knowledge of good and the knowledge of evil may -be found on the one tree. - -He began to be talked about, and that is always worth paying money -for--some excellent judges say that it is the only thing worth paying -money for. Occasionally he paid a trifle over the market price for this -commodity. But then he knew that he generally paid more than the market -price for everything that he bought, from his collars, which were -unusually high, down to his boots, which were of glazed kid, so that he -did not complain. - -He found that, after a while, the tradespeople, seeing that he paid -them cash, treated him fairly, and that the person who supplied him with -cigars was actually generous when he bought them by the thousand. - -People who at first had fancied that Mr. Archibald Brown was a -plunger--that is, a swindler whom they could swindle out of his -thousands--had reason to modify their views on the subject after some -time. For six months he had been imposed upon in many directions. But -with all the other things which had to be paid for, the fruit of -the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil should, he knew, be included. -Imported in a fresh condition this was, he knew, expensive; but he had -a sufficient acquaintance with the elements of fruit-culture to be well -aware of the fact that in this condition it is worth very much more than -the canned article. - -He bought his knowledge of good and evil fresh. - -He was no fool, some people said, exultantly. - -These were the people whose friends had tried to impose on him but had -not succeeded. - -He was no fool, some people said regretfully. - -These were the people who had tried to impose on him but had not -succeeded. - -Harold had always liked Archie Brown, and he had offered him much -advice--vegetarian banquets of the canned fruit of the Tree of -Knowledge. The shrewd outbursts of confidence in which Archie indulged -now and again, showed Harold that he was fast coming to understand his -position in society--his friends and his enemies. - -Harold, after some further persuasion, got into the hansom which Archie -had hailed, and was soon driving down Piccadilly to the spacious rooms -of the latter--rooms furnished in a wonderful fashion. As a panorama -of styles the sitting-room, which was about thirty feet square, with a -greenhouse in the rear, would have been worth much to a lecturer on -the progress or decadence of art--any average lecturer could make the -furniture bear out his views, whether they took one direction or the -other. - -Two cabinets which had belonged to Louis XV were the finest specimens -known in the world. They contained Svres porcelain and briar-root -pipes. A third cabinet was in the purest style of boarding house art. -A small gilt sofa was covered with old French tapestry which would have -brought five pounds the square inch at an auction. Beside it was -the famous Four-guinea Tottenham Armchair in best Utrecht -velvet--three-nine-six in cretonne, carriage paid to any railway-station -in the United Kingdom. - -A chair, the frame of which was wholly of ivory, carved in Italy, in the -seventeenth century, by the greatest artist that ever lived, apparently -had its uses in Archie Brown's _entourage_, for it sustained in an -upright position a half-empty soda-water bottle--the bottle would not -have stood upright but for the high relief in the carving of the flowing -hair of the figure of Atalanta at one part of the frame. Near it was an -interesting old oak chair that was for some time believed to have once -belonged to King Henry VIII. - -In achieving this striking contrast to the carved ivory, Mr. Brown -thought that he had proved his capacity to appreciate an important -element in artistic arrangement. He pointed it out to Harold without -delay. He had pointed it out to every other person who had visited his -rooms. - -He also pointed out a picture by one Rembrandt which he had picked up -at an auction for forty shillings. A dealer had subsequently assured him -that if he wanted a companion picture by the same painter he would -not guarantee to procure it for him at a lower figure than -twenty-five guineas--perhaps it might even cost him as high as thirty; -therefore--the logic was Archie's--the Rembrandt had been a dead -bargain. - -Harold looked at this Burgomaster's Daughter in eighteenth century -costume, and said that undoubtedly the painter knew what he was about. - -"And so does Archie, tarty chip," said his host, leading him to one of -the bedrooms. - -"Now it's half past seven," said Archie, leaving him, "and dinner will -be served at a quarter to eight. I've never been late but once, and -Achille was so hurt that he gave me notice. I promised that it should -never occur again, and it hasn't. He doesn't insist on my dressing for -dinner, though he says he should like it." - -"Make my apologies to Achille," said Harold. - -"Oh, that won't be necessary," said Archie seriously--"at least I think -it won't." - -Harold had never been in these rooms before--he wondered how it had -chanced that he came to them at all. But before he had partaken of more -than one of the _hors d'ouvres_--there were four of them--he knew -that he had done well to come. Achille was an artist, the Sauterne was -Chateau Coutet of 1861, and the champagne was, as Archie had promised -it should be, Heidsieck of 1884. The electric light was artfully toned -down, and the middle-aged butler understood his business. - -"This is the family trough," said Archie. "I say, Harry, isn't it one -better than the oatmeal porridge of our dads--I mean of my dad; yours, I -know, was always one of us; my dad wasn't, God bless him! If he had been -we shouldn't be here now. He'd have died a pauper." - -Harold so far forgot himself as to say, "Doesn't Carlyle remark -somewhere that it's the fathers who work that the sons--ah, never mind." - -"Carlyle? What Carlyle was that? Do I know him?" asked Archie. - -"No," said Harold, shaking his head. - -"He isn't a tarty chip, eh?" - -"Tart, not tarty." - -"Oh. Don't neglect this jelly. It's the best thing that Achille does. -It's the only thing that he ever repeats himself in. He came to me -boasting that he could give me three hundred and sixty-five different -dinners in the year. 'That's all very well,' said I, 'but what about -Leap Year?' I showed him there that his bluff wouldn't do. 'Pass' said -I, and he passed. But we understand one another now. I will say that he -has never repeated himself except in this jelly. I make him give it to -me once a week." - -"You're right," said Harold. "It is something to think about." - -"Yes, while you're in front of it, but never after," said Archie. -"That's what Achille says. 'The true dinner,' says he, 'is the one that -makes you think while you're at it, but that never causes you a thought -afterwards.'" - -"Achille is more than an artist, he is a philosopher," said Harold. -"What does he call this?" he glanced at the menu card. "'_Glace la -chagrin d'Achille_' What does he mean by that? 'The chagrin of -Achilles'? Where does the chagrin come in?" - -"Oh, he has some story about a namesake of his," said Archie. "He was -cut up about something, and he wouldn't come out of the marquee." - -"The tent," cried Harold. "Achilles sulked in his tent. Of course, -that's the '_chagrin d'Achille_.'" - -"Oh, you heard of it too? Then the story has managed to leak out -somehow. They always do. There's nothing in it. Now I'll tell you all -about the show. Try one of these figs." - -Harold helped himself to a green fig, the elderly butler placed a -decanter of claret on the table, and disappeared with the noiselessness -of a shadow. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX.--ON THE LEGITIMATE IN ART. - -WHEN the history of the drama in England during the last twenty years -of the nineteenth century comes to be written, the episode of the -management of the Legitimate Theatre by Mrs. Mowbray will doubtless be -amply treated from the standpoint of art, and the historian will, it may -be confidently expected, lament the want of appreciation on the part -of the public for the Shakespearian drama, to which the closing of the -Legitimate Theatre was due. - -There were a considerable number of persons, however, who showed a -readiness to assert that the management of the Legitimate by Mrs. -Mowbray should be looked upon as a purely--only purely was not the word -they used--social incident, having no basis whatever in art. It -failed, they said, not because the people of England had ceased to -love Shakespeare, but because Mr. Archie Brown had ceased to love Mrs. -Mowbray. - -However this may be, there were also people who said that the Legitimate -Theatre under the management of Mrs. Mowbray could not have been so -great a financial failure, after all; for Mrs. Mowbray, when her -season came to an end, wore as expensive dresses as ever, and drove as -expensive horses as ever; and as everyone who had been associated with -the enterprise had been paid--some people said overpaid--the natural -assumption was that Shakespeare on the stage was not so abhorrent to the -people of England as was generally supposed. - -The people who took this view of the matter were people who had never -heard the name of Mr. Archie Brown--people who regarded Mrs. Mowbray -as a self-sacrificing lady who had so enthusiastic a desire to make the -public acquainted with the beauties of Shakespeare, that she was quite -content to spend her own fortune (wherever that came from) in producing -"Cymbeline" and other masterpieces at the Legitimate. - -There were other people who said that Archie Brown was a young ass. - -There were others who said that Mrs. Mowbray was a harpy. - -There were others still--they were mostly men--who said that Mrs. -Mowbray was the handsomest woman in England. - -The bitterest--they were mostly women--said that she was both handsome -and a harpy. - -The truth regarding the difficult question of the Legitimate Theatre was -gathered by Harold Wynne, as he swallowed his claret and ate his olives -at the dining table at Archie Birown's rooms in Piccadilly. - -He perceived from what Archie told him, that Archie had a genuine -enthusiasm in the cause of Shakespeare. How he had acquired it, he might -have had considerable difficulty in explaining. He also gathered that -Mrs. Mowbray cared very little for Shakespeare except as a medium for -impressing upon the public the fact--she believed it to be a fact--that -Mrs. Mowbray was the most beautiful woman in England. - -"Cymbeline" had, she considered, been written in the prophetic instinct, -which the author so frequently manifested, that one day a woman with -such shapely limbs as Mrs. Mowbray undoubtedly possessed, might desire -to exhibit them to the public of this grand old England of Shakespeare's -and ours. - -Mrs. Mowbray was probably the most expensive taste that any man in -England could entertain. - -All this Harold gathered from the account of the theatrical enterprise, -as communicated to him by Archie after dinner. - -And the best of it all was, Archie assured him, that no human being -could say a word against the character of Mrs. Mowbray. - -"I never heard a word against the character of her frocks," said Harold. - -"It's a big thing, the management of the Legitimate," said Archie, -gravely. - -"No doubt; even when it's managed, shall we say, legitimately?" said -Harold. - -"I feel the responsibility, I can tell you," said Archie. "Shakespeare -has never been given a proper chance in England; and although she's a -year or two older than me, yet on the box seat of my coach she doesn't -look a day over twenty-two--just when a woman is at her best, Harry. -What I want to know is, shall it be said of us that Shakespeare--the -immortal Shakespeare, mind you--Stratford upon Avon, you know--" - -"I believe I have his late address," said Harold. - -"That's all right. But what I want to know is, shall it be said that -we are willing to throw our Shakespeare overboard? In the scene in the -front of the cave she is particularly fine." - -In an instant Harold's thoughts were carried back to a certain scene -in front of a cave on a moonlight night; and for him the roar of life -through Piccadilly was changed to the roar of the Atlantic. His thoughts -remained far away while Archie talked gravely of building himself a -monument by his revival of "Cymbeline", with which the Legitimate had -been opened by Mrs. Mowbray. Of course, the thing hadn't begun to pay -yet, he explained. Everyone knew that the Bicycle had ruined theatrical -business in London; but the Legitimate could fight even the Bicycle, and -when the public had the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray properly impressed upon -them, Shakespeare would certainly obtain that recognition which he -deserves from England. Were Englishmen proud of Shakespeare, or were -they not? that was what Archie wished very much to know. If the people -of your so-called British Islands wish to throw Shakespeare overboard, -just let them say so. But if they threw him over, the responsibility -would rest with them; Mrs. Mowbray would still be the handsomest woman -in England. At any rate, "Cymbeline" at the Legitimate would be a -monument. - -"As a lighthouse is a monument," said Harold, coming back from the Irish -lough to Piccadilly. - -"I knew you'd agree with me," said Archie. "You know that I've always -had a great respect for your opinion, Harry. I don't object so much as -some tarty chips to your dad. I wish he'd see Mrs. Mowbray. There's no -vet. whose opinion I'd sooner take on the subject than his. He'd find -her all right." - -Harold looked at the young man whose plain features--visible when he did -not smile too broadly--displayed the enthusiasm that possessed him when -he was fancying that his devotion to the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray was a -true devotion to Shakespeare. Archie Brown, he was well aware, was very -imperfectly educated. - -He was not, however, much worse than the general run of people. Like -them he knew only enough of Shakespeare to be able to misquote him now -and again; and, like them, he believed that. Darwinism meant nothing -more than that men had once been monkeys. - -Harold looked at Archie, and felt that Mrs. Mowbray was a fortunate woman -in having met with him. The monument was being raised, Harold felt; and -he was right. The management of the Legitimate-Theatre was a memorial to -Vanity working heart, and soul with Ignorance to the praise and glory of -Shakespeare. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI.--ON A BLACK SHEEP. - -BEFORE Archie had completed his confidences, a visitor was announced. - -"Oh, it's only old Playdell," said Archie. "You know old Playdell, of -course." - -"I'm not so certain that I do," said Harold. - -"Oh, he's a good old soul who was kicked out of the Church by the bishop -for doing something or other. He's useful to me--keeps my correspondence -in order--spots the chaps that write the begging letters, and sees that -they don't get anything out of me, while he takes care that all the -genuine ones get all that they deserve. He's an Oxford man." - -"Playdell--Playdell," said Harold. "Surely he can't be the fellow that -got run out for marrying people without a licence?" - -"That's his speciality," said Archie. "Come along, chippie Chaplain. -Chip in, and have a glass of something." - -A middle-aged man, wearing the coat and the tie of a cleric, entered the -room with a smile and a bow to Harold. - -"You've heard of Mr. Wynne, Play?" said Archie. "The Honourable Harold -Wynne. He's heard of you--yes, you bet your hoofs on that." - -"I dare say you've heard of me, Mr. Wynne," said the man. "It's the -black sheep in a flock that obtain notoriety; the colourless ones escape -notice. I'm a black sheep." - -"You're about as black as they make them, old Play," remarked Archie, -with a prompt and kindly acquiescence. "But your blackness doesn't go -deeper than the wool." - -"You say that because you are always disposed to be charitable, Archie," -said Mr. Playdell. "Even with you I'm afraid that another notorious -character is not so black as he's painted." - -"Neither he is," said Archie. "You know as well as I do that the devil -is not so black as he used to be--he's turning gray in his old age." - -"They treated me worse than they treated the Fiend himself, Mr. Wynne," -said Playdell. "They turned me out of the Church, but the Church still -retains the Prince of Darkness. He is still the most powerful auxiliary -that the Church knows." - -"If you expressed that sentiment when in orders," said Harold, "I can -quite easily understand how you find yourself outside the Church." - -"I was quite orthodox when in the Church, Mr. Wynne. I couldn't afford -to be otherwise," said Playdell. "I wasn't even an Honest Doubter. I -felt that if I had begun to doubt I might become a Dissenter before -I knew what I was about. It is only since I left the Church that I've -indulged in the luxury of being unorthodox." - -"Take a glass of wine for your stomach's sake," said Archie. - -"That lad is the son of a Scotch Nonconformist," said Mr. Playdell -to Harold; "hence the text. Would it be unorthodox to say that an -inscrutable Providence did not see fit to preserve the reply of Timothy -to that advice? For my own part I cannot doubt for a moment that Timothy -inquired for what other reason his correspondent fancied he might take -the wine. I like my young patron's La Rose. It must have been something -very different from this that the person alluded to when he said 'my -love is better than wine.' Yes, I've always thought that the truth of -the statement was largely dependent on the wine." - -"I'll take my oath that isn't orthodox," said Archie. "You'd better mind -what you're about, chippie Chaplain, or I'll treat you as the bishop -did. This is an orthodox household, let me tell you." - -"I feel like Balaam's ass sometimes, Mr. Wynne, in this situation," said -Mr. Playdell. "In endeavouring to avoid the angel with the sword on one -hand--that is the threatening orthodoxy of the Church--I make myself -liable to a blow from the staff of the prophet--our young friend is the -prophet." - -"I will say this for you, chippie Chaplain," said Archie, "you've kept -me straight. Not that I ever did take kindly to the flowing bowl; but we -all know what temptations there are." He looked into his glass and spoke -solemnly, shaking his head. "Yes, Harry, I've never drunk a thimbleful -more than I should since old Play here lectured me." - -"If I could only persuade you--''commenced Mr. Playdell. - -"But I'm not such an ass," cried Archie, interrupting him. Then he -turned to Harold, saying, "The chippie Chaplain wants to marry me -to some one whose name we never mention. That has always been his -weakness--marrying tarty chips that he had no right to marry." - -"If I don't mistake, Mr. Playdell, it was this little weakness that -brought you to grief," said Harold. - -"It was the only point that the bishop could lay hold of, Mr. Wynne," -said Playdell. "I held, and I still hold, that the ceremony of marriage -may be performed by any person who has been ordained--that the question -of a licence is not one that should come forward upon any occasion. -Those who hold other opinions are those who would degrade the ordinance -into a mere civil act." - -"And you married without question every couple who came to you, I -believe?" said Harold. - -"I did, Mr. Wynne. And I will be happy to marry any other couples who -come to me for that purpose now." - -"But, you are no longer in the Church, and such marriages would be no -marriages in the eyes of the law." - -"Nothing can be more certain, Mr. Wynne. But I know that there are many -persons in this country who hold, with me, that the ordinance is not one -that should be made the subject of a licence bought from a bishop--who -hold that the very act of purchase is a gross degradation of the -ordinance of God." - -"I say, chippie Chaplain, haven't we had enough of that?" said Archie. -"You've pegged away at that marriage business with me for a good many -months. Now, I say, pass the marriage business. Let us have a fresh -deal." - -"Mr. Wynne, I merely wished to explain my position to you," said -Playdell. "I'm on the side of the angels in this question, as a great -statesman but a poor scientist said of another question." - -"Pass the statesman as well," cried Archie. - -"What do tarty chips like us care for politics or other fads? He told -me the other day, Harry, that instead of introducing a bill for the -admission of ladies as members of Parliament, it would soon be necessary -to introduce a bill for the admission of gentlemen as members--yes, you -said that. You can't deny it." - -"I don't," said Mr. Playdell. "The result of the last General -Election--" - -"Pass the General Election," shouted Archie. "Mr. Wynne hates that sort -of thing. Now give an account of yourself. What have you done to earn -your screw since morning?" - -"This is what I have come to, Mr. Wynne," said Playdell. "Think of it; a -clergyman and M.A. Oxon, forced to give an account of his stewardship to -a young cub like that!" He laughed after a moment of seriousness. - -"You don't seem to feel deeply the degradation," remarked Harold. - -"It's nothing to the depths to which I have fallen," said Mr. Playdell. -"I was never more than a curate, but in spite of the drawback of -being privileged to preach the Gospel twice a week, the curacy was a -comfortable one. I published two volumes of my sermons, Mr. Wynne. They -sold poorly in England, but I believe that in America they made the -fortune of the publishers that pirated them. It is perfectly well known -that my sermons achieved a great and good purpose in the States. They -were practical. I will say that for them. The leader of the corner in -hogs who ran the prices up last autumn, sold out of the business, I -understand, after reading my sermon on the text, 'The husks that the -swine do eat.' Several judges also resigned, admitting that they -were converted. It was freely stated that even a Congressman had been -reformed by one sermon of mine, while another was known to have brought -tears to the eyes of a reporter on the _New York Herald_. And yet, with -all these gratifying results, I never got a penny out of the American -edition. Just think what would happen on this side of the Atlantic if, -let us say, a Royal Academician were to find grace through a sermon, -or--to assume an extreme case--a member of the Stock Exchange? Why, -the writer would be a made man. I had thoughts of going to America, -Mr. Wynne. At any rate, I'm going to deal with the publishers there -directly. A firm in Boston is at present about to boom a Bowdlerized -edition of the Bible which I have prepared for family reading in the -States--not a word in it that the purest-minded young woman in all -Boston might not see. It should sell, Mr. Wynne. I'm also translating -into English a volume of American humour." - -"I'll give you a chance of going to America, before you sleep if you -don't dry up about your sermons and suchlike skittles," said Archie. -"The decanter's beside you. Fill your glass. Mr. Wynne is coming to my -show to-night." - -Mr. Playdell passed the decanter without filling his glass. "You know -that I never take more than one glass of La Rose," said he. "I have -found out all about your house painter who fell off the ladder and broke -all his ribs--he is the same as your Clergyman's Orphan, and he lives -in the same house as your Widow of a Naval Officer whose little all -was invested in a fraudulent building society--he is also 'First -Thessalonians seven and ten. P.O.O. or stamps'." - -"Great Godfrey!" cried Archie; "and I had already written out a cheque -for twenty pounds to send to that swindler! Do you mean to tell me, -Play, that all those you've mentioned are impostors?" - -"All? Why, there's only one impostor among the lot," said Mr. Playdell. -"He is 'First Thessalonians,' and he has at least a dozen branch -establishments." - -"It's enough to make a tarty chip disgusted with God's footstool," said -Archie. "Before old Play took me in hand I used to fling decimals about -right and left, without inquiry." - -"He was the sole support of several of the most notorious swindlers -in the country," said Mr. Playdell. "I've managed to whittle them down -considerably. Shakespeare is at present the only impostor that has -defied my efforts," he added, in a whisper to Harold. - -Harold laughed. He was beginning to feel some remorse at having -previously looked on Archie Brown as a good-natured fool. He now felt -that, in spite of Mrs. Mowbray, he would not wreck his life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII.--ON SHAKESPEARE AND SUPPER. - -CARRIAGES by the score were waiting at the fine Corinthian entrance -to the Legitimate, when Harold and Archie reached the theatre in their -hansom. The _faade_ of the Legitimate Theatre is so severely Corinthian -that foreign visitors invariably ask what church it is. - -It was probably the classical columns supporting the pediment of the -entrance that caused Archie to abate his frivolous conversation with his -friend in the hansom--Archie had been expressing the opinion that it was -exhilarating--only exhilarating was not the word he used--to swear at -a man who had once been a clergyman and who still wore the dress of a -cleric. "A chap feels that his turn has come," he had said. "No matter -how wrong they are you can't swear at them and tell them to come down -out of that, when they're in their own pulpits--they'd have you up for -brawling. That's why I like to take it out of old Playdell. He tells me, -however, that there's no dean in the Church that gathers in the decimals -as he does in my shop. But, bless you! he saves me his screw three times -over." - -But now that the classical front of the Legitimate came in view, Archie -became solemn. - -He possibly appreciated the feelings of a conscientious clergyman when -about to enter his Church. - -Shakespeare was a great responsibility. - -So was Mrs. Mowbray. - -The performance was not quite over; but before Archie had paid the -hansomeer, the audience was streaming out from every door. - -"Stand here and listen to what the people are saying." whispered Archie. -"I often do it. It is only in this way that you can learn how much -appreciation for Shakespeare still remains in England." - -He took up his position with Harold at the foot of the splendid -staircase of the theatre, where the people chatted together while -waiting for their carriages. - -With scarcely an exception, the remarks had a hearing upon the -performance of "Cymbeline." Only two ladies confined their criticisms to -their respective medical advisers. - -Of the others, one man said that Mrs. Mowbray bore a striking -resemblance to her photographs. - -A second said that she was the most beautiful woman in England. - -A third said that she knocked sparks out of Polly Floss in the same line -of business. (Polly Floss was the leading exponent of burlesque). - -One woman said that Mrs. Mowbray was most picturesquely dressed. - -A second said that she was most picturesquely undressed. - -A third wondered if Liberty had got the exact tint of the robe that Mrs. -Mowbray had worn in the second act. - -"And yet some people say that there's no appreciation of Shakespeare in -England!" said Archie, as he led Harold round the stalls, over which -the attendants were spreading covers, and on to Mrs. Mowbray's private -rooms. - -"From the crowds that went out by every door, I judge that the theatre -is making money, at any rate; and I suppose that's the most practical -test of appreciation," said Harold. - -"Oh, they don't all pay," said Archie. "That's a feature of theatrical -management that it takes an outsider some time to understand. Mrs. -Mowbray should understand it pretty well by this time, so should her -business manager. I'm just getting to understand it." - -"You mean to say that the people are allowed to come in without paying?" - -"It amounts to that in the long run--literally the long run--of the -piece, I believe. Upon my soul, there are some people who fancy that -a chap runs a show as a sort of free entertainment for the public. The -dramatic critics seem to fancy that a chap produces a play, simply in -order to give them an opportunity of showing off their own cleverness -in slating it. It seems that a writer-chap can't show his cleverness in -praising a piece, but only in slanging it." - -"I think that I'd try and make people pay for their seats." - -"I used always to pay for mine in the old days--but then, I was always -squandering my money." - -"I have always paid for mine." - -"The manager says that if you asked people to pay, they'd be mortally -offended and never enter the theatre again, and where would you be -then?" - -"Where, indeed?" said Harold. "I expect your manager must know his -business thoroughly." - -"He does. It requires tact to get people to come to see Shakespeare," -said Archie. "But a chap can't build a monument for himself without -paying for it." - -"It would be ridiculous to expect it," said Harold. - -Pushing aside a magnificent piece of heavy drapery, Archie brought his -friend into a passage illuminated by the electric light; and knocking at -a door at the farther end, he was admitted by Mrs. Mowbray's maid, into -a prettily-furnished sitting-room and into the presence of Mrs. Mowbray, -who was sitting robed in something very exquisite and cloud-like--not -exactly a peignoir but something that suggested a peignoir. - -She was like a picture by Romney. If one could imagine all the charm -of all the pictures of Emma Hamilton (_ne_ Lyon) which Romney painted, -meeting harmoniously in another creature, one would come within -reasonable distance of seeing Mrs. Mowbray, as Harold saw her when he -entered the room. - -Even with the disadvantage of the exaggerated colour and the -over-emphasized eye-lashes necessary for the searching illumination of -the footlights, she was very lovely, Harold acknowledged. - -But all the loveliness of Mrs. Mowbray produced but a trifling effect -compared to that produced by her charm of manner. She was the most -natural woman ever known. - -The position of the natural man has been defined by an eminent -authority. But who shall define the position of the natural woman? - -It was Mrs. Mowbray's perfect simplicity, especially when talking to -men--as a matter of fact she preferred talking to men rather than to -women--that made her seem so lovely--nay, that made a man feel that it -was good for him to be in her presence. She was devoid of the smallest -trace of affectation. She seemed the embodiment of truth. She never -smiled for the sake of conventionality. But when she did smile, just -as Harold entered the room, her head turning round so that her face -was looking over her shoulder, she had all the spiritual beauty of the -loveliest picture ever painted by Greuze, consequently the loveliest -picture ever painted by the hand of man. - -And yet she was so very human. - -An Algy and an Eddy were already in the room--the first was a Marquis, -the second was the eldest son of a duke. Both were handsome lads, of -quiet manners, and both were in the Household Cavalry. Mrs. Mowbray -liked to be surrounded by the youngest of men. - -Harold had been acquainted with her long before she had become an -actress. He had not had an opportunity of meeting her since; but he -found that she remembered him very well. - -She had heard of his father, she said, looking at him in a way that did -not in the least suggest a picture by Greuze. - -When people referred to his father they did not usually assume a look -of innocence. Most of them would have had difficulty in assuming such a -look under any circumstances. - -"My father is frequently heard of," said Harold. - -"And your father's son also," said Mrs. Mowbray. "What a freak of Lady -Innisfail's! She lured you all across to Ireland. I heard so much. And -what came of it, after all?" - -"Acute admiration for the allurements of Lady Innisfail in my case, and -a touch of acute rheumatism in my father's case," said Harold. - -"Neither will be fatal to the sufferers," said Mrs. Mowbray--"or to Lady -Innisfail, for that matter," she added. - -"I should say not," remarked Algy. "We all admire Lady Innisfail." - -"Few cases of acute admiration of Lady Innisfail have proved fatal, so -far as I can hear, Lord Brackenthorpe," said Mrs. Mowbray. "Young mem -have suffered from it and have become exemplary husbands and parents." - -"And if they don't live happy, that we may," said Archie. - -"That's the end of the whole matter," said. Harold. - -"That's the end of the orthodox fairy tale," said Mrs. Mowbray. "Was -your visit to Ireland a fairy story, Mr. Wynne?" - -Harold wondered how much this woman knew of the details of his visit -to Ireland. Before he-could think of an answer in the same strain, Mrs. -Mowbray had risen from the little gilt sofa, and had taken a step or two -toward her dressing-room. The look she tossed to Harold, when she turned -round with her fingers on the handle of the door, was a marvellous one. - -Had it been attempted by any other woman, it would have provoked -derision on the part of the average man--certainly on the part of Harold -Wynne. But, coming from Mrs. Mowbray, it conveyed--well, all that she -meant it to convey. It was not merely fascinating, it was fascination -itself. - -It was such a look as this, he felt--but nearly a year had passed before -he had thought of the parallel--that Venus had cast at Paris upon a -momentous occasion. It was the glance of Venus Victrix. It made a man -think--a year or so afterwards--of Ahola and Aholibah, of Ashtoreth, of -Cleopatra, of Faustina, of Iseult, of Rosamond. - -And yet the momentary expression of her features was as simple and as -natural as that worn by one of Greuze's girls. - -"She'll not be more than ten minutes," said - -Archie. "I don't know how she manages to dress herself in the time." - -He did not exaggerate. Mrs. Mowbray returned in ten minutes, with no -trace of paint upon her face, wearing a robe that seemed to surround her -with fleecy clouds. The garment was not much more than an atmosphere--it -was a good deal less substantial than the atmosphere of London in -December or that of Sheffield in June. - -"We shall have the pleasantest of suppers," she said, "and the -pleasantest of chats. I understand that Mr. Wynne has solved the Irish -problem." - -"And what is the solution, Mrs. Mowbray?" said Lord Brackenthorpe. - -"The solution--ah--'a gray eye or so'," said Mrs. Mowbray. - -The little Mercutio swagger with which she gave point to the words, was -better than anything she had done on the stage. - -"And now, Mr. Wynne, you must lead the way with me to our little -supper-room," said she, before the laugh, in which everyone joined, at -the pretty bit of comedy, had ceased. - -Harold gave her his arm. - -When at the point of entering the room--it was daintily furnished with -old English oak and old English silver--Mrs. Mowbray said, in the most -casual way possible, "I hope you will tell me all that may be told about -that charming White Lady of the Cave. How amusing it must have been to -watch the chagrin of Lord Fotheringay, when Mr. Airey gave him to -understand that he meant to make love to that young person with the -wonderful eyes." - -"It was intensely amusing, indeed," said Harold, who had become prepared -for anything that Mrs. Mowbray might say. - -"Yes, you must have been amused; for, of course, you knew that Mr. Airey -was not in earnest--that he had simply been told off by Miss Craven to -amuse himself with the young person, in order to induce her to take her -beautiful eyes off--off--someone else, and to turn them admiringly upon -Mr. Airey." - -"That was the most amusing part of the comedy, of course," said Harold. - -"What fools some girls are!" laughed Mrs. Mowbray. It was well known -that she disliked the society of women. - -"It's a wise provision of nature that the fools should be the girls." - -"Oh, I have known a fool or two among men," said Mrs. Mowbray, with -another laugh. - -"Have known--did you say _have known?_" said Harold. - -"Any girl who has lived in this world of ours for a quarter of a -century, should have seen enough to make her aware of the fact that the -best way to set about increasing the passion of, let us say, the average -man--" - -"No, the average man is passionless." - -"Well, the passion of whatever man you please--for a young woman whom he -loves, or fancies he loves--it's all the same in the end--is to induce -him to believe that several other men are also in love with her." - -"That is one of the rudiments of a science of which you are the leading -exponent," said Harold. - -"And yet Miss Craven was foolish enough to fancy that the man of whom -she was thinking, would give himself up to think of her so soon as he -believed that Mr. Airey was in love with her rival! Ah, here are our -lentils and pulse. How good it is of you to imperil your digestions by -taking supper with me, when only a few hours can have passed since you -dined." - -"Digestion is not an immortal soul," said Harold, "and I believe that -immortal souls have been imperilled before now, for the sake of taking -supper with the most beautiful woman in the world." - -"Have you ever heard a woman say that I am beautiful?" she asked. - -"Never," said Harold. "That is the one sin which a woman never pardons -in another." - -"You do not know women--" with a little pitying smile. "A woman will -forgive a woman for being more beautiful than herself--for being less -virtuous than herself, but never for being better-dressed than herself." - -"For how many of the three sins do you ask forgiveness of woman--two or -three?" said Harold, gently. - -But instead of making an answer, Mrs. Mowbray said something about the -necessity of cherishing a digestion. It was disgraceful, she said, that -bread-and-butter and arithmetic should be forced upon a school boy--that -such magnificent powers of digestion as he possessed should not be -utilized ta the uttermost. - -Lord Brackenthorpe said he knew a clever artist chap, who had drawn -a sketch of about a thousand people crowding over one another, in an -American hotel, in order to see a boy, who had been overheard asking his -mother what was the meaning of the word dyspepsia. - -Mrs. Mowbray wondered if the melancholy of Hamlet was due to a weak -digestion. - -Harold said he thought it should rather be accepted as evidence that -there was a Schleswig-Holstein question even in Hamlet's day. - -Meantime, the pheasants and sparkling red Burgundy were affording -compensation for the absence of any brilliant talk. - -Then the young men lit their cigarettes. Mrs. Mowbray had never been -known to risk her reputation (for femininity) by letting a cigarette -between her lips; but her femininity was in no way jeopardized--rather -was it accentuated--by her liking to be in the neighbourhood of where -cigarettes were being smoked--that is, when the cigarettes were good and -when the smokers were pleasant young men with titles, or even unpleasant -young men with thousands. - -After the lapse of an hour, a message came regarding Mrs. Mowbray's -brougham. Her guests rose and she looked about for her wrap. - -While Harold Wynne was laying it on her lovely shoulders, she kept -her eyes fixed upon his. Hers were full of intelligence. When he -had carefully fastened the gold clasp just beneath the hollow of her -throat--it required very careful handling--she poised her head to the -extent of perhaps a quarter of an inch to one side, and laughed; then -she moved away from him, but turned her head so that her face was once -more over her shoulder, like the face of the Greuze girl from whom she -had learnt the trick. - -He knew that she wanted him to ask her from whom she had heard the -stories regarding Castle Innisfail and its guests. - -He also knew that the reason she wanted him to ask her this question, -was in order that she might have the delight of refusing to answer him, -while keeping him in the expectancy of receiving an answer. - -Such a delight would, of course, be a malicious one. But he knew that it -would be a thoroughly womanly one, and he knew that Mrs. Mowbray was a -thorough woman. - -Therefore he laughed back at her and did not ask her anything--not even -to take his arm out to her brougham. - -Archie Brown did, and she took his arm, still looking over her shoulder -at Harold. - -It only needed that the lovely, wicked look should vanish in a sentence. - -And it did. - -The full lips parted, and the poise of the head was increased by perhaps -the eighth part of an inch. - -"'A gray eye or so,'" she murmured. - -Her laughter rang down the corridor. - -"And the best of it all is, that no one can say a word against her -character," said Archie. - -This was the conclusion of his rhapsody in the hansom, in which he and -Harold were driving down Piccadilly--a rhapsody upon the beauty, the -genius, and the expensiveness of Mrs. Mowbray. - -Harold was silent. The truth was that he was thinking about something -far apart from Mrs. Mowbray, her beauty, her doubtful genius, and her -undoubted power of spending money. - -"What do you say?" said Archie. "Great Godfrey! you don't mean to say -that you've heard a word breathed against her character?" - -"On the contrary," said Harold, "I've always heard it asserted that Mrs. -Mowbray is the best dressed woman in London." - -"Give me your hand, old chap; I knew that I could trust you to do her -justice," cried Archie. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII.--ON BLESSING OR DOOM. - -EVEN before he slept, Harold Wynne found that he had a good many -matters to think about, in addition to the exquisitely natural poises of -Mrs. Mowbray's shapely head. - -It was apparent to him that Mrs. Mowbray had somehow obtained a -circumstantial account of the appearance of Beatrice Avon at the Irish -Castle, and of the effect that had been produced, in more than one -direction, by her appearance. - -But the most important information that he had derived from Mrs. Mowbray -was that which had reference to the attitude of Edmund Airey toward -Beatrice. - -Undoubtedly, Mrs. Mowbray had, by some means, come to be possessed of -the truth regarding the apparent fascination which Beatrice had for -Edmund Airey. It was a trick--it was the result of a conspiracy between -Helen Craven and Edmund, in order that he, Harold, should be prevented -from even telling Beatrice that he loved her. Helen had felt certain -that Beatrice, when she fancied--poor girl!--that she had produced so -extraordinary an impression upon the wealthy and distinguished man, -would be likely to treat the poor and undistinguished man, whose name -was Harold Wynne, in such a way as would prevent him from ever telling -her that he loved her! - -And Edmund had not hesitated to play the part which Helen had assigned -to him! For more than a moment did Harold feel that his friend had -behaved in a grossly dishonourable way. But he knew that his friend, -if taxed with behaving dishonourably, would be ready to prove--if he -thought it necessary--that, so far from acting dishonourably, he had -shown himself to be Harold's best friend, by doing his best to prevent -Harold from asking a penniless girl to be his wife. Oh, yes, Mr. -Edmund Airey would have no trouble in showing, to the satisfaction of -a considerable number of people--perhaps, even to his own -satisfaction--that he was acting the part of a truly conscientious; -and, perhaps, a self-sacrificing friend, by adopting Helen Craven's -suggestion. - -Harold felt very bitter toward his friend Edmund Airey; though it was -unreasonable for him to do so; for had not he come to precisely the same -conclusion as his friend in respect of Beatrice, this conclusion being, -of course, that nothing but unhappiness could be the result of his -loving Beatrice, and of his asking Beatrice to love him? - -If Edmund Airey had succeeded in preventing him from carrying out his -designs, Harold would be saved from the necessity of having with -Beatrice that melancholy interview to which he was looking forward; -therefore it was unreasonable for him to entertain any feeling of -bitterness toward Edmund. - -But for all that, he felt very bitterly toward Edmund--a fact which -shows that, in some men as well as in all women, logic is subordinate to -feeling. - -It was also far from logical on his part to begin to think, only after -he had accused his friend of dishonourable conduct, of the source whence -the evidence upon which he had founded his accusation, was derived. - -How had Mrs. Mowbray come to hear how Edmund Airey had plotted with -Helen Craven, he asked himself. He began to wonder how she could have -heard about the gray eyes of Beatrice, to which she had alluded more -than once, with such excellent effect from the standpoint of art. From -whom could she have heard so much? - -She certainly did not hear it from Mr. Durdan, even if she was -acquainted with him, which was doubtful; for Mr. Durdan was discreet. -Besides, Mr. Durdan was rarely eloquent on any social subject. He was -the sort of man who makes a tour on the Continent and returns to tell -you of nothing except a flea at Bellaggio. - -Was it possible that some of the fishing men had been taking notes -unknown to any of their fellow guests, for the benefit of Mrs. Mowbray? - -Harold did not think so. - -After some time he ceased to trouble himself with these vain -speculations. The fact--he believed it to be a fact--remained the same: -someone who had been at Castle Innisfail had given Mrs. Mowbray a highly -circumstantial account of certain occurrences in the neighbourhood of -the Castle; and if Mrs. Mowbray had received such an account, why might -not anyone else be equally favoured? - -Thus it was that he strayed into new regions of speculation, where -he could not possibly find any profit. What did it matter to him if -everyone in London knew that Edmund Airey had plotted with Helen Craven, -to prevent an impecunious man from marrying a penniless girl? All that -remained for him to do was to go to the girl, and tell her that he -had made a mistake--that he would be asking her to make too great a -sacrifice, were he to hold her to her promise to love him and him only. - -It was somewhat curious that his resolution in this matter should be -strengthened by the fact of his having learned that Edmund Airey had not -been in earnest, in what was generally regarded at Castle Innisfail as -an attitude of serious, and not merely autumn, love-making, in respect -of Beatrice. - -He did not feel at all annoyed to learn that, if he were to withdraw -from the side of Beatrice, his place would not be taken by that wealthy -and distinguished man, Edmund Airey. When he had at first made up his -mind to go to Beatrice and ask her to forget that he had ever told her -that he loved her, he had had an uneasy feeling that his friend might -show even a greater interest than he had done on the evening of the -_tableaux_ at the Castle, in the future movements of Beatrice. - -At that time his resolution had not been overwhelming in its force. But -now that Mrs. Mowbray had made that strange communication--it almost -amounted to a revelation--to him, he felt almost impatient at the delay -that he knew there must be before he could see the girl and make his -confession to her. - -He had two more days to think over his resolution, in addition to his -sleepless night after receiving Mrs. Mowbray's confidences; and the -result of keeping his thoughts in the one direction was, that at last he -had almost convinced himself that he was glad that the opportunity had -arrived for him to present himself to the girl, in order to tell her -that he would no longer stand in the way of her loving someone else. - -When he found himself in her presence, however, his convictions on this -particular point were scarcely so strong as they might have been. - -She was sitting in front of the fire in the great drawing-room that -retained all the original decorations of the Brothers Adam, and she was -wearing something beautifully simple--something creamy, with old lace. -The furniture of the room also belonged to the period of the Adams, and -on the walls were a number of coloured engravings by Bartolozzi after -Cipriani and Angelica Kauffmann. - -She was in his arms in a moment. She gave herself to him as naturally -and as artlessly as though she were a child; and he held her close to -him, looking down upon her face without uttering a word--kissing her -mouth conscientiously, her shell-pink cheeks earnestly, her forehead -scrupulously, and her chin playfully. - -This was how he opened the interview which he had arranged to part them -for ever. - -Then they both drew a long breath simultaneously, and both laughed in -unison. - -Then he held her away from him for a few seconds, looking upon her -exquisite face. Again he kissed her--but this time solemnly and with -something of the father about the action. - -"At last--at last," he said. - -"At last," she murmured in reply. - -"It seems to me that I have never seen you before," said he. "You seem -to be a different person altogether. I do not remember anything of your -face, except your eyes--no, by heavens! your eyes are different also." - -"It was dark as midnight in the depths of that seal-cave," she -whispered. - -"You mean that--ah, yes, my beloved! If I could have seen your eyes at -that moment I know I should have found them full of the light that I -now see in their depths. You remember what I said to you on the morning -after your arrival at the Castle? Your eyes meant everything to me -then--I knew it--beatitude or doom." - -"And you know now what they meant?" - -He looked at her earnestly and passionately for some moments. Then his -hands dropped suddenly as though they were the hands of a man who had -died in a moment--his hands dropped, he turned away his face. - -"God knows, God knows," he said, with what seemed like a moan. - -"Yes," she said; "God knows, and you know as well as God that in my -heart there is nothing that does not mean love for you. Does love mean -blessing or doom?" - -"God knows," said he again. "Your love should mean to me the most -blessed thing on earth." - -"And your love makes me most blessed among women," said she. - -This exchange of thought could scarcely be said to make easier the task -which he had set himself to do before nightfall. - -He seemed to become aware of this, for he went to the high mantelpiece, -and stood with his hands upon it, earnestly examining the carved marble -frieze, cream-tinted with age, which was on a level with his face. - -She knew, however, that he was not examining the carving from the -standpoint of a critic; and she waited silently for whatever was coming. - -It came when he ceased his scrutiny of the classical figures in high -relief, that appeared upon the marble slab. - -"Beatrice, my beloved," said he, and her face brightened. Nothing that -commenced with the assumption that she was his beloved could be very -bad. "I have been in great trouble--I am in great trouble still." - -She was by his side in a moment, and had taken one of his hands in hers. -She held it, looking up to his face with her eyes full of sympathy and -concern. - -"My dearest," he said, "you are all that is good and gracious. We must -part, and for ever." - -She laughed, still looking at his face. There really was something -laughable in the sequence of his words. But her laugh did not make his -task any easier. - -"When I told you that I loved you, Beatrice, I told you the truth," said -he. "If I were to tell you anything else now it would be a falsehood. -But I had no right ever to speak to you of love. I am absolutely -penniless." - -"That is no confession," said she. "I knew all along that you were -dependent upon your father for everything. I felt for you--so did Mr. -Airey." - -"Mr. Airey?" said he. "Mr. Airey mentioned to you that I was a beggar?" - -"Oh, he didn't say that. He only said--what did he say?--something about -the affairs of the world being very badly arranged, otherwise you should -have thousands--oh, he said he felt for you with all his heart." - -"'With all his appreciation of the value of an opportunity,' he should -have said. Never mind Edmund Airey. You, yourself, can see, Beatrice, -how impossible it would be for any man with the least sense of honour, -situated as I am, to ask you to wait--to wait for something indefinite." - -"You did not ask me to wait for anything. You did not ask me to wait -for your love--you gave it to me at once. There is nothing indefinite in -love." - -"My Beatrice, you cannot think that I would ask you for your love -without hoping to marry you?" - -"Then let us be married to-morrow." - -She did not laugh, speaking the words. He could see that she would not -hesitate to marry him at any moment. - -"Would to heaven that we could be, my dearest! But could there be -anything more cruel than for a penniless man, such as I am, to ask a -girl, such as you are, to marry him?" - -"I cannot see where the cruelty would be. People have been very happy -together before now, though they have had very little money between -them." - -"My dear Beatrice, you were not meant to pass your life in squalid -lodgings, with none of the refinements of life around you; and I--well, -I have known what roughing it means; I would face the worst alone; but -I am not selfish enough to seek to drag you down to my level--to ask you -to face hardship for my sake." - -"But I----" - -"Do not say anything, darling: anything that you may say will only make -it the harder to part. I can do it, Beatrice; I am strong enough to say -good-bye." - -"Then say it, Harold." - -She stood facing him, with her wonderful eyes looking steadily into his. -The message that they conveyed to him was such as he could not fail to -read aright. He knew that if he had said goodbye, he would never have a -chance of looking into those eyes again. - -And yet he made the attempt to speak--to say the word that she had -challenged him to utter. His lips were parted for more than a moment. -He suddenly dropped her hand--he had been holding it all the time--and -turned away from her with a passionate gesture. - -"I cannot say it--God help me! I cannot say good-bye," he cried. - -He had flung himself into a sofa and had buried his face in his hands. - -For a short time he had actually felt that he was desirous to part from -her. For some minutes he had been quite sincere. The force of the words -he had made use of to show Beatrice how absolutely necessary it was that -they should part, had not been felt by her; those words had, however, -affected him. He had felt--for the first time, in spite of his previous -self-communing--that he must say good-bye to her, but he found that he -was too weak to say it. - -He felt a hand upon his shoulder. He could feel her gracious presence -near to him, before her voice came. - -"Harold," she said, "if you had said it, I should never have had an -hour's happiness in my life. I would never have seen you again. I felt -that all the happiness of my life was dependent upon your refraining -from speaking those words. Cannot you see, my love, that the matter -has passed out of our hands--that it is out of our power to part now? -Harold, cannot you see that, let it be for good or evil--for heaven or -doom--we must be together? Whatever is before us, we are not two but -one--our lives are joined beyond the power of separation. I am yours; -you are mine." - -He sprang to his feet. He saw that tears were in her eyes. "Let it be -so," he cried. "In God's name let it be so. Whatever may happen, no -suggestion of parting shall come from me. We stand together, and for -ever, Beatrice." - -"For ever and ever," she said. - -That was how their interview came to a close. - -Did he know when he had set out for her home that this would be the -close of their interview--this clasping of the hands--this meeting of -the lips? - -Perhaps he did not. But one thing is certain: if it had not had this -ending, he would have been greatly mortified. - -His vanity would have received a great blow. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV.--ON THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY. - -WALKING Westward to his rooms, he enjoyed once again the same feeling -of exultation, which had been his on the evening of the return from the -seal-hunt. He felt that she was wholly his. - -He had done all that was in his power to show her how very much better -it would be for her to part from him and never to see him again--how -much better it would be for her to marry the wealthy and distinguished -man who had, out of the goodness of his heart, expressed to her a deep -sympathy for his, Harold's, unfortunate condition of dependence upon a -wicked father. But he had not been able to convince her that it would be -to her advantage to adopt this course. - -Yet, instead of feeling deeply humiliated by reason of the failure of -his arguments, he felt exultant. - -"She is mine--she is mine!" he cried, when he found himself alone in his -room in St. James's. "There is none like her, and she is mine!" - -He reflected for a long time upon her beauty. He thought of Mrs. -Mowbray, and he smiled, knowing that Beatrice was far lovelier, though -her loveliness was not of the same impressive type. One did not seem -to breathe near Beatrice that atmosphere heavy with the scent of roses, -which Mrs. Mowbray carried with her for the intoxication of the nations. -Still, the beauty of Beatrice was not a tame thing. It had stirred him, -and it had stirred other men. - -Yes, it had stirred Edmund Airey--he felt certain of it, although he did -not doubt the truth of Mrs. Mowbray's communication on this subject. - -Even though Edmund Airey had been in a plot with Helen, still Harold -felt that he had been stirred by the beauty of Beatrice. - -He thought over this point for some time, and the conclusion that he -came to was, that he could easily find out if Edmund meant to play no -more important a _rle_ than that of partner in Helen Craven's plot. It -was perfectly clear, that if Edmund had merely acted as he had done at -the suggestion of Helen, he would cease to take any further interest in -Beatrice, unless it was his intention to devote his life to carrying out -the plot. - -In the course of some weeks, he would learn all that could be known on -this point; but meantime his condition was a peculiar one. - -He would have felt mortified had he been certain that Edmund Airey had -not really been stirred by the charm of Beatrice; but he would have been -somewhat uneasy had he felt certain that Edmund was deeply in love -with her. He trusted her implicitly--he felt certain of himself in this -respect. Had he not a right to trust her, after the way in which she -had spoken to him--the way in which she had given herself up to him? But -then he felt that he had made use of such definite arguments to her, in -pointing out the advisability of their parting, as caused it to be -quite possible that she might begin to perceive--after a year or two of -waiting--that there was some value in those arguments of his, after all. - -By the time that he had dined with some people, who had sent him a card -on his return to London, and had subjected himself to the mortifying -influence of some unfamiliar _entres_, and a conversation with a woman -who was the survivor of the wreck of spiritualism in London, he was no -longer in the exultant mood of the afternoon. - -"A Fool's Paradise--a Fool's Paradise!" he murmured, as he sat in an -easy-chair, and gazed into his flickering fire. - -It had been very glorious to think that he was beloved by that exquisite -girl--to think of the kisses of her mouth; but whither was the love -leading him? - -His father's words could not be forgotten--those words which he had -spoken from beneath the eiderdown of his bed at Castle Innisfail; and -Harold knew that, should he marry Beatrice, his father would certainly -carry out his threat of cutting off his allowance. - -Thus it was that he sat in his chair feeling that, even though Beatrice -had refused to be separated from him, still they were as completely -parted by circumstances as if she had immediately acknowledged the force -of his arguments, and had accepted, his invitation to say good-bye for -ever. - -Thus it was that he cried, "A Fool's Paradise--a Fool's Paradise!" as he -thought over the whole matter. - -What were the exact elements of the Paradise in which his exclamation -suggested that he was living, he might have had some difficulty in -defining. - -But then the site of the original Paradise is still a matter of -speculation. - -The next day he went to take lunch with her and her father--he had -promised to do so before he had left her, when they had had their -interview. - -It so happened, however, that he only partook of lunch with Beatrice; -for Mr. Avon had, he learned, been compelled to go to Dublin for some -days, to satisfy himself regarding a document which was in a library in -that city. - -Harold did not grumble at the prospect of a long afternoon by her side; -only he could not help feeling that the _mnage_ of the Avon family -was one of the most remarkable that he had ever known. The historical -investigations of Mr. Avon did not seem to induce him to take a -conventional view of his obligations, as the father of an extremely -handsome girl--assuming that he was aware of the fact of her beauty--or -a pessimistic view of modern society. He seemed to allow Beatrice to be -in every way her own mistress--to receive whatever visitors she pleased; -and to lay no narrow-minded prohibition upon such an incident as -lunching _tte--tte_ with a young man, or perhaps--but Harold had no -knowledge of such a case--an old man. - -He wondered if the historian had ever been remonstrated with on this -subject, by such persons as had not had the advantage of scrutinizing -humanity through the medium of state papers. - -Harold thought that, on the whole, he had no reason to take exception -to the liberality of Mr. Avon's system. He reflected that it was to this -system he was indebted for what promised to be an extremely agreeable -afternoon. - -What he did not reflect upon, however, was, that he was indebted to Mr. -Avon's peculiarities--some people would undoubtedly call the system a -peculiar one--for a charmingly irresponsible relationship toward the -historian's daughter. He did not reflect upon the fact, that if the girl -had had the Average Father, or the Vigilant Mother, to say nothing -of the Athletic Brother, he would not have been able, without some -explanation, to visit her, and, on the strength of promising to love -her, to kiss her, as he had now repeatedly done, on the mouth--or even -on the forehead, which is somewhat less satisfying. Everyone knows that -the Vigilant Mother would, by the application of a maternal thumb-screw -which she always carries attached to her bunch of keys, have -extorted from Beatrice a full confession as to the incidents of the -seal-hunt--all except the hunting of the seals--and that this confession -would have led to a visit to the study of the Average Father, in one -corner of which reposes the rack, in working order, for the reception of -the suitor. Everyone knows so much, and also that the alternative of the -paternal rack, is the fist of the Athletic Brother. - -But Mr. Harold Wynne did not seem to reflect upon these points, when he -heard the lightly uttered excuses of Beatrice for her father's absence, -as they seated themselves at the table in the large dining-room. - -His practised eye made him aware of the fact that Beatrice understood -what he considered to be the essentials of a _recherch_ lunch: a lunch -appeals to the eye; but wine appeals to other senses than the sense of -seeing; and the result of his judgment was to convince him that, if -Mr. Avon was as careless in the affairs of the cellar as he was in the -affairs of the drawing-room, he was to be congratulated upon having -about him someone who understood still hock at any rate. - -In the drawing-room, she busied herself in arranging, in Wedgwood bowls, -some flowers that he had brought her--trifles of sprawling orchids, -Eucharis lilies, and a fairy tropical fern or two, all of which are -quite easy to be procured in London in October for the expenditure of -a few sovereigns. The picture that she made bending over her bowls was -inexpressibly lovely. He sat silent, watching her, while she prattled -away with the artless high spirits of a child. She was surely the -loveliest thing yet made by God. He thought of what the pious old writer -had said about a particular fruit, and he paraphrased it in his own -mind, saying, that doubtless God could make a lovelier thing, but -certainly He had never made it. - -"I am delighted to have such sweet flowers now," she cried, as she -observed, with critical eyes, the effect of a bit of flaming crimson--an -orchid suggesting a flamingo in flight--over the turquoise edge of -the bowl. "I am delighted, because I have a prospect of other visitors -beside yourself, my lord." - -"Other visitors?" said he. He wondered if he might venture to suggest -to her the inadvisability of entertaining other visitors during her -father's absence. - -"Other visitors indeed," she replied. "I did not tell you yesterday all -that I had to tell. I forget now what we talked about yesterday. How did -we put in our time?" - -She looked up with laughing eyes across the bowl of flowers, that she -held up to her face. - -"I don't forget--I shall never forget," said he, in a low voice. - -"You must never forget," said she. "But to my visitors--who are they, do -you fancy? Don't try to guess, for if you should succeed I should be too -mortified to be able to tell you that you were right. I will tell you -now. Three days ago--while we were still on the Continent--Miss Craven -called. She promised faithfully to do so at Castle Innisfail--indeed, -she suggested doing so herself; and I found her card waiting for me on -my return with a few words scrawled on it, to tell me that she would -return in some days. I don't think that anything should be in the same -bowl with a Eucharis lily--even the Venus-hair fern looks out of place -beside it." - -She had strayed from her firebrand orchids to the white lilies. - -"You are quite right, indeed," said he. "A lily and you stand alone--you -make everything else in the world seem tawdry." - -"That is not the message of the lily," said she. "But supposing that -Miss Craven should call upon me to-day--would you be glad of such a -third person to our party?" - -"I should kill her, if she were a thousand times Helen Craven," said he, -with a laugh. "But she is only one visitor; who are the others?" - -"Oh, there is only one other, and he is interesting to me only," she -cried. "Yes, I found Mr. Airey's card also waiting for me, and on it -were scrawled almost the very words that were on Miss Craven's card, so -that he may be here at any moment." Harold did not say a word. He sat -watching her as her hands mingled with their sister-lilies on the table. -Something cold seemed to have clasped his heart--a cold doubt that made -him dumb. - -"Yes," she continued; "Mr. Airey asked me one night at Castle Innisfail -to let him know where we should go after leaving Ireland." - -"Yes," said he, in a slow way; "I heard him make that request of you." - -"You heard him? But you were taking part in the _tableaux_ in the hall." - -"I had left the platform and had strayed round to one of the doors. You -told him where you were going?" - -"I told him that we should be in this house in October, and he said -that he would make it a point to be in town early in October, though -Parliament was not to sit until the middle of January. He has kept his -word." - -"Yes, he has kept his word." - -Harold felt that cold hand tightening upon his heart. "I think that he -was interested in me," continued the girl. "I know that I was interested -in him. He knows so much about everything. He is a close friend of -yours, is he not?" - -"Yes," said Harold, without much enthusiasm. "Yes, he was a close friend -of mine. You see, I had my heart set upon going into Parliament--upon so -humble an object may one's aspirations be centred--and Edmund Airey was -my adviser." - -"And what did he advise you to do?" she asked. - -"He advised me to--well, to go into Parliament." He could not bring -himself to tell her what form exactly Edmund Airey's advice had assumed. - -"I am sure that his advice was good," said she. "I think that I would go -to him if I stood in need of advice." - -"Would you, indeed, Beatrice?" said he. He was at the point of telling -her all that he had learned from Mrs. Mowbray; he only restrained -himself by an effort. - -"I believe that he is both clever and wise." - -"The two do not always go together, certainly." - -"They do not. But Mr. Airey is, I think, both." - -"He has been better than either. To be successful is better than to be -either wise or clever. Mr. Airey has been successful. He will get an -Under-Secretaryship if the Government survives the want of confidence of -the Opposition." - -"And you will go into Parliament, Harold?" - -He shook his head. - -"That aspiration is past," said he; "I have chosen the more excellent -career. Now, tell me something of your aspirations, my beloved." - -"To see you daily--to be near you--to--" - -But the enumeration of the terms of her aspirations is unnecessary. - -How was it that some hours after this, Harold Wynne left the house with -that cold feeling still at his heart? - -Was it a pang of doubt in regard to Beatrice, or a pang of jealousy in -regard to Edmund Airey? - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV.--ON THE HOME. - -HAROLD WYNNE remembered how he had made up his mind to judge whether -or not Edmund Airey had been simply playing, in respect of Beatrice, the -part which, according to Mrs. Mowbray's story, had been assigned to him -by Helen Craven. He had made up his mind that unless Edmund Airey -meant to go much further than--according to Mrs. Mowbray's -communication--Helen Craven could reasonably ask him to go, he would not -take the trouble to see Beatrice again. - -Helen could scarcely expect him to give up his life to the furtherance -of her interests with another man. - -Well, he had found that Edmund, so far from showing any intention of -abandoning the position--it has already been defined--which he had -assumed toward Beatrice, had shown, in the plainest possible way, that -he did not mean to lose sight of her. - -And for such a man as he was, to mean so much, meant a great deal, -Harold was forced to acknowledge. - -He spent the remainder of the day which had begun so auspiciously, -wondering if his friend, Edmund Airey, meant to tell Beatrice some day -that he loved her, and, what was very much more important, that he was -anxious to marry her. - -And then that unworthy doubt of which he had become conscious, returned -to him. - -If Edmund Airey, who, at first, had merely been attracted to Beatrice -with a view of furthering what Helen Craven believed to be her -interests, had come to regard her differently--as he, Harold, assumed -that he had--might it not be possible, he asked himself, that Beatrice, -who had just admitted that she had always had some sort of admiration -for Edmund Airey, would------- - -"Never, never, never!" he cried. "She is all that is good and true and -faithful. She is mine--altogether mine!" - -But his mind was in such a condition that the thought which he had tried -to crush down, remained with him to torture him. - -It should not have been a torturing thought, considering that, a few -days before, he had made up his mind that it was his duty to relinquish -Beatrice--to go to her and bid her good-bye for ever. To be sure, he -had failed to realize this honourable intention of his; but what was -honourable at one time was honourable at another, so that the thought -of something occurring to bring about the separation for which he had -professed to be so anxious, should not have been a great trouble to -him--it should have been just the contrary. - -The next day found him in the same condition. The thought occurred -to him, "What if, at this very moment, Edmund Airey is with her, -endeavouring to increase that admiration which he must know Beatrice -entertains for him?" The thought was not a consoling one. Its effect was -to make him think very severely of the laxity of Mr. Avon's _mnage_, -which would make possible such an interview as he had just imagined. -It was a terrible thing, he thought, for a father to show so utter a -disregard for his responsibilities as to----- - -But here he reflected upon something that had occurred to him in -connection with _tte--tte_ interviews, and he thought it better not -to pursue his course of indignant denunciation of the eminent historian. - -He put on an overcoat and went to pay a visit to his sister, who, he had -heard the previous day, was in town for a short time. In another week -she would be entertaining a large party for the pheasant-shooting at her -country-house in Brackenshire, and Harold was to be her guest as well -as Edmund Airey and Helen Craven. It was to this visit that Lord -Fotheringay had alluded in the course of his chamber interview with his -son at Castle Innisfail. - -Harold had now made up his mind that he would not be able to join his -sister's party, and he thought it better to tell her so than to write to -her to this effect. - -Mrs. Lampson was not at home, the servant said, when he had knocked at -the door of the house in Eaton Square. A party was expected for lunch, -however, so that she would probably return within half an hour. - -Harold said he would wait for his sister, and went upstairs. - -There was one person already in the drawingroom and that person was Lord -Fotheringay. - -Harold greeted him, and found that he was in an extremely good humour. -He had never been in better health, he declared. He felt, he said, -as young as the best of them--he prudently refrained from defining -them--and he was still of the opinion that the Home--the dear old -English Home--was where true and lasting happiness alone was to be -found; and he meant to try the Principality of Monaco later on; for -November was too awful in any part of Britain. Yes, he had seen the -influence of the Home upon exiles in various parts of the world. Had he -not seen strong men weep like children--like innocent children--at -the sight of an English post-mark--the post-mark of a simple English -village? Why had they wept, he asked his son, with the well-gloved -forefinger of the professional moralist outstretched? - -His son declined to hazard an answer. - -They had wept those tears--those bitter tears--Lord Fotheringay said, -with solemn emphasis, because their thoughts went back to that village -home of theirs--the father, the mother, perhaps a sister--who could -tell? - -"Ah, my boy," he continued, "''Mid pleasures and palaces'--''mid -pleasures and'--by the way, I looked in at the Rivoli Palace last night. -I heard that there was a woman at that place who did a new dance. I saw -it. A new dance! My dear boy, it wasn't new when I saw it first, and -that's--ah, never mind--it's some years ago. I was greatly disappointed -with it. There's nothing indecent in it--I will say that for it--but -there's nothing enlivening. Ah, the old home of burlesque--the old -home--that's what I was talking about--the Home--the sentiment of the -Home--" - -"Of burlesque?" suggested Harold. - -"Of the devil, sir," said his father. "Don't try to be clever; it's -nearly as bad as being insolent. What about that girl--Helen Craven, I -mean? Have you seen her since you came to town? She's here. She'll be at -Ella's next week. Perhaps it will be your last chance. Heavens above! -To think that a pauper like you should need to be urged to marry such a -girl! A girl with two hundred thousand pounds in cash--a girl belonging -to one of the best families in all--in all Birmingham. Harold, don't be -a fool! Such a chance doesn't come every day." - -Just then Mrs Lampson entered the room and with her, her latest -discovery, the Coming Dramatist. - -Mrs Lampson was invariably making discoveries. But they were mostly -discoveries of quartz; they contained a certain proportion of gold, to -be sure; but when it came to the crushing, they did not yield enough of -the precious metal to pay the incidental expenses of the plant for the -working. - -She had discovered poets and poetesses--the latter by the score. She -had discovered at least one Genius in black and white--his genius being -testified by his refusal to work; and she had discovered a pianoforte -Genius--his genius being proved by the dishevelment of his hair. The -man who had the reputation for being the Greatest Living Atheist was a -welcome guest at her house, and the most ridiculous of living socialists -boasted of having dined at her table. - -She was foremost in every philanthropic movement, and wrote articles to -the magazines, lamenting the low tone of modern society in London. - -She also sneered (in private) at Lady Innisfail. Her latest discovery, -the Coming Dramatist, had had, he proudly declared, his plays returned -to him by the best managers in London, and by the one conscientious -manager in the United States--the last mentioned had not prepaid the -postage, he lamented. - -He was a fearful joy to cherish; but Mrs. Lampson listened to his -egotism at lunch, and tried to prevent her other guests from listening -to him. - -They would not understand him, she thought, and she did not make a -mistake in this matter. - -She got rid of him as soon as possible, and once more breathed freely. -He had not disgraced her--that was so much in his favour. The same could -not always be said of her discoveries. - -The Christian Dynamitard was, people said, the only gentleman who had -ever been introduced ta society by Mrs. Lampson. - -When Harold found his sister alone, he explained to her that it would -be impossible for him to join her party at Abbeylands--Mr. Lampson's -Bracken-shire place--and his sister laughed and said she supposed that -he had something better on his hands. He assured her that he had nothing -better, only-- - -"There, there," said she, "I don't want you to invent an excuse. You -would only have met people whom you know." - -"Of course," said Harold, "you're not foolish enough to ask your -discoveries down to shoot pheasants. I should like to see some of -them in a _battue_ with my best enemies. Yes, I'd hire a window, with -pleasure." - -"Didn't he behave well--the Coming Dramatist?" said she, earnestly. "You -cannot say he didn't behave well--at least for a Coming Person." - -"He behaved--wonderfully," said Harold. "Good-bye." - -She followed him to the door of the room--nay, outside. - -"By the bye," said she, in a whisper; "do you know anything of a Miss -Avon?" - -"Miss Avon?" said Harold. "Miss Avon. Why, if she is the daughter of -Julius Anthony Avon, the historian, we met her at Castle Innisfail. Why -do you ask me, Ella?" - -"It is so funny," said she. "Yesterday Mr. Airey called upon me, and -before he left he begged of me to call upon her, and even hinted--he has -got infinite tact--that she would make a charming addition to our party -at Abbeylands." - -"Ah," said Harold. - -"And just now papa has been whispering to me about this same Miss Avon. -He commanded me--papa has no tact--to invite her to join us for a week. -I wonder what that means." - -"What what means?" - -"That--Mr. Airey and papa." - -"Great Heaven! Ella, what should it mean, except that two men, for whom -we have had a nominal respect, have gone over to the majority of fools?" - -"Oh, is that all? I was afraid that--ah, good-bye." - -"Good-bye." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI.--ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN OF THE WORLD. - -It was true then--what he had surmised was true! Edmund Airey had shown -himself to be actuated by a stronger impulse than a desire to assist -Helen Craven to realize her hopes--so much appeared perfectly plain to -Harold Wynne, as he strolled back to his rooms. - -He was now convinced that Edmund Airey was serious in his attitude in -respect of Beatrice. At Castle Innisfail he had been ready enough to -play the game with counters, on his side at least, as stakes, but now he -meant to play a serious game. - -Harold recalled what proofs he had already received, to justify his -arriving at this conclusion, and he felt that they were ample--he felt -that this conclusion was the only one possible to be arrived at by -anyone acquainted with all that had come under his notice. - -He was quite astounded to hear from his sister that Edmund Airey had -taken so extreme a step as to beg of her to call upon Beatrice, -and invite her to join the Abbeylands party. Whether or not he had -approached Mrs. Lampson in confidence on this matter, the fact of his -having approached her was, in some degree, compromising to himself, and -no one was better aware of this fact than Edmund Airey. He was not an -eager boy to give way to a passion without counting the cost. There was -no more subtle calculator of costs than Edmund Airey, and Harold knew -it. - -What, then, was left for Harold to infer? - -Nothing, except what he had already inferred. - -What then was left for him to do to checkmate the man who was menacing -him? - -He had lived so long in that world, the centre of which is situated -somewhere about Park Lane, and he had come to believe so thoroughly that -the leading characteristic of this world is worldliness, that he had -lost the capacity to trust anyone implicitly. He was unable to bring -himself to risk everything upon the chance of Beatrice's loving him, in -the face of the worst that might occur. - -Thus it was that the little feeling of distrust which he experienced the -previous day remained with him. It did not increase, but it was there. -Now and again he could feel its cold finger upon his heart, and he knew -that it was there. - -He could not love with that blind, unreasoning, uncalculating love--that -love which knows only heaven and hell, not earth. That perfect love, -which casteth out distrust, was not the love of his world. - -And thus it was that he walked to his rooms, thinking by what means -he could bind that girl to him, so that she should be bound beyond the -possibility of chance, or craft, or worldliness coming between them. - -He had not arrived at any satisfactory conclusion on this subject when -he reached his rooms. - -He was surprised to find waiting for him Mr. Playdell, but he greeted -the man cordially--he had acquired a liking for him, for he perceived -that, with all his eccentricities--all his crude theories that he tried -to vivify by calling them principles, he was still acting faithfully -toward Archie Brown, and was preventing him from squandering hundreds of -pounds where Archie might have squandered thousands. - -"You are naturally surprised to see me, Mr. Wynne," said Playdell. "I -dare say that most men would think that I had taken a liberty in making -an uninvited call like this." - -"I, at any rate, think nothing of the sort, Mr. Playdell," said Harold. - -"I am certain that you do not," said Mr. Play-dell. "I am certain that -you are capable of doing me justice--yes, on some points." - -"I hope that I am, Mr. Playdell." - -"I know that you are, Mr. Wynne. You are not one of those silly persons, -wise in their own conceit, who wink at one another when my name is -mentioned, and suggest that the unfrocked priest is making a very fair -thing out of his young patron." - -"I believe that your influence over him is wholly for good, Mr. -Playdell. If he were to allow you the income of a Bishop instead of -that of a Dean I believe that he would still save money--a great deal of -money--by having you near him." - -"And you are in no way astray, Mr. Wynne. I was prepared for what people -would say when I accepted the situation that Archie offered me, but the -only stipulation that I made was that my accounts were to be audited by -a professional man, and monthly. Thus it is that I protect myself. Every -penny that I receive is accounted for." - -"That is a very wise plan, Mr. Playdell, but--" - -"But it has nothing to do with my coming here to-day? That is what you -are too polite to say. You are right, Mr. Wynne. I have not come here to -talk about myself and my systems, but about our friend Archie. You have -great influence over him." - -"I'm afraid I haven't much. If I had, I wouldn't hesitate to tell him -that he is making an ass of himself." - -"You have come to the point at once, Mr. Wynne." - -Mr. Playdell had risen from his chair and was walking up and down the -room with his head bent. Now he stood opposite to Harold. - -"The point?" said Harold. - -"The point is that he is being robbed right and left through the medium -of the Legitimate Theatre, and a stop must be put to it," said Playdell. - -"And you think that I should make the attempt to put a stop to this -foolishness of his? My dear Mr. Playdell, if I were to suggest to Archie -that he is making an ass of himself over this particular matter, I -should never have another chance of exercising my influence over him for -good or bad. I have always known that Mrs. Mowbray is one of the most -expensive tastes in England. But when the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray is -to be exploited with the beauty of the poetry of Shakespeare, and when -these gems are enclosed in so elaborate a setting as the Legitimate -Theatre--well, I suppose Archie's millions will hold out. There's a deal -of spending in three millions, Mr. Playdell." - -"His millions will hold out," said Mr. Playdell. "And so will he," -laughed Harold. "I have known Mrs. Mowbray for several years, and she -has never ruined any man except her husband, and he is not worth talking -about. She has always liked young men with wealth so enormous that even -her powers of spending money can make no impression on it." - -"Mr. Wynne, you can have no notion what that theatre has cost -Archie--what it is daily costing him. Eight hundred pounds a week -wouldn't cover the net loss of that ridiculous business--that trailing -of Shakespeare in the mire, to gratify the vanity of a woman. I know -what men are when they are very young. If I were to talk to Archie -seriously on this subject, he would laugh at me; if he did not, he would -throw something at me. The result would be _nil_." - -"Unless he was a good shot with a casual missile." - -"Mr. Wynne, he would not listen to me; but he would listen to you--I -know that he would. You could talk to him with all the authority of a -man of the world--a man in Society." - -"Mr. Playdell," said Harold, shaking his head, "if there's no fool like -the old fool, there's no ass like the young ass. Now, I can assure you, -on the authority of a man of the world--you know what such an authority -is worth--that to try and detach Archie from his theatre nonsense just -now by means of a lecture, would be as impossible as to detach a limpet -from a rock by a sermon on--let us say--the flexibility of the marriage -bond." - -"Alas! alas!" said Mr. Playdell. - -"The only way that Archie can be induced to throw over Mrs. Mowbray and -Shakespeare and suchlike follies, is by inducing him to form a stronger -attachment elsewhere." - -"The last state of that man might be worse than the first, Mr. Wynne." - -"Might--yes, it might be, but that is no reason why it should be. The -young ass takes to thistles, because it has never known the enjoyment of -a legitimate pasture." - -"The legitimate pasture is some distance away from the Legitimate -Theatre, Mr. Wynne." - -"I agree with you. Now, the thought has just occurred to me that I might -get Archie brought among decent people, for the first time in his life. -My sister, Mrs. Lampson, is having a party down at her husband's place -in Brackenshire, for the pheasant-shooting. Why shouldn't Archie be one -of the party? There are a number of decent men going, and decent women -also. None of the men will try to get the better of him." - -"And the women will not try to make a fool of him?" - -"I won't promise that--the world can't cease to revolve on its axis -because Archie Brown has a tendency to giddiness." - -Mr. Playdell was grave. Then he said, thoughtfully, "Whatever the women -may be, they can't be of the stamp of Mrs. Mowbray." - -"You may trust my sister for that. You may also trust her to see that -they are less beautiful than Mrs. Mowbray," remarked Harold. - -Mr. Playdell pondered. - -"Pheasant-shooting is expensive in its way," said he. "The preservation -of grouse runs away with a good deal of money also, I am told. Race -horses, it is generally understood, entail considerable outlay. Put -them all together, and you only come within measurable distance of -Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare as a pastime--with nothing to show for the -money--absolutely nothing to show for the money." - -"Except Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare." - -"Mr. Wynne, I believe that your kind suggestion may be the saving of -that lad," said Playdell. - -"Oh, it's the merest chance," said Harold. "He may grow sick of the -whole business after the first _battue_." - -"He won't. I've known men saved from destruction by scoring a century in -a first-class cricket match: they gave themselves up to cricket, to the -exclusion of other games less healthy. If Archie takes kindly to the -pheasants, he may make up his mind to buy a place and preserve them. -That will be a healthy occupation for him. You will give him to -understand that it's the proper thing to do, Mr. Wynne." - -"You may depend upon me. I'll write to my sister to invite him. It's -only an experiment." - -"It will succeed, Mr. Wynne--it will succeed, I feel that it will. If -you only knew, as I do, how he is being fooled, you would understand my -earnestness--you have long ago forgiven my intrusion. Give me a chance -of serving you in return, Mr. Wynne. That's all I ask." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII.--ON THE DEFECTIVE LINK. - -HAROLD had a note written to Mrs. Lampson, begging her to invite his -friend, Mr. Archie Brown, to join her party at Abbeylands, almost before -Mr. Playdell had left the street. He knew that his sister would be very -glad to have Archie. All the world had a general notion of Archie's -millions; and Abbeylands was one of those immense houses that can -accommodate a practically unlimited number of guests. The property -had been bought from a nobleman, who had been brought to the verge of -bankruptcy by trying to maintain it. Mr. Lampson, a patriotic American, -had come to his relief, and had taken the place off his hands. - -That is what all truly patriotic Americans do when they have an -opportunity. - -The new-world democracy comes to the rescue of the old-world -aristocracy, and thus a venerable institution is preserved from -annihilation. - -Harold posted his letter as he went out to dine with a man who was a -member of the Carlton Club, and zealous in heating up recruits for the -Conservative party. He thought that Harold might possibly be open to -conviction, not, of course, on the question of the righteousness of -certain principles, but on the question of the direction in which the -cat was about to jump. The jumping cat is the dominant power in modern -politics. - -Harold ate his dinner, and listened patiently to the man whose -acquaintance with the tendencies of every genus of the political _felis_ -was supposed to be extraordinary. He said little. Before he had gone to -Castle Innisfail the subject would have interested him greatly, but now -he thought that Archie Brown's inanities were preferable to those of the -politician. - -He was just enough to acknowledge, however, that the cigar with which he -left the Carlton was as good a one as he had ever smoked. So that there -was some advantage in being a Conservative after all. - -He walked round St. James's Square, for the night was warm and fine. His -mind was not conscious of having received anything during the previous -two hours upon which it would be profitable to ponder. He thought over -the question which he had put to himself previously--the question of how -he could bind Beatrice to him--how he could make her certainly his own, -and thus banish that cold distrust of which he now and again became -aware--no, it was not exactly distrust, it was only a slightly defective -link in the chain of complete trust. - -She loved him and she promised to love him. He reflected upon this, and -he asked himself what more could he want. What bond stronger than her -word could he desire to have? - -"Oh, I will trust her for ever--for ever," he murmured. "If she is not -true, then there never was truth on earth." - -He fancied that he had dismissed the matter from his mind with this -exorcism. - -And so he had. - -But it so happens that some persons are so constituted that there is but -the slenderest connection between their mind and their heart. Something -that appeals very forcibly to their mind will not touch their heart in -the least. They are Nature's "sports." - -Harold Wynne was one of these people. He had made up his mind that, on -the question of implicitly trusting Beatrice, nothing more remained to -be said. There was still, however, that cold finger upon his heart. - -But having made up his mind that nothing more remained to be said on the -question, he was logical enough--for logic is also a mental attribute, -though by no means universally distributed--to think of other matters. - -He began to think about Mr. Playdell, and his zeal for the reform of -Archie. Harold's respect for Mr. Playdell had materially increased since -the morning. At first he had been inclined to look with suspicion upon -the man who had, by the machinery of the Church, been prohibited from -discharging the functions of a priest of that Church, though, of course, -he was free to exercise that unimportant function known as preaching. He -could not preach within a church, however. If he wished to try and save -souls by preaching, that was his own business. He would not do so with -the sanction of the Church. He was anxious to save the soul of Archie -Brown, at any rate. He assumed that Archie had a soul in embryo, ready -to be hatched, and it was clear to Harold that Mr. Playdell was anxious -to save it from being addled before it had pecked its way out of its -shell. Therefore Harold had a considerable respect for Mr. Playdell, -though he had been one of the unprofitable servants of the Church. - -He thought of the earnest words of the man--of the earnest way in which -he had begged to be given the chance of returning the service, which he -believed was about to be done to him by Harold. - -He had been greatly in earnest; but that fact only made his words the -more ridiculous. - -"What service could he possibly do me?" Harold thought, when he had -had his laugh, recalling the outstretched hand of Mr. Playdell, and his -eager eyes. "_What service could he possibly do me? What service?_" - -He was rooted to the pavement. The driver of a passing hansom pulled -up opposite him, taking the fact of his stopping so suddenly as an -indication that he wanted a hansom. - -He took no notice of the hansom, and it passed up the square. -He remained so long lost in thought, that his cigar, so strongly -impregnated with sound Conservative principles, went out like any -Radical weed, or the penny Pickwick of the Labour Processionist. - -He dropped the unsmoked end, and felt for his pocket-handkerchief. He -raised his hat and wiped his forehead. - -Then he took a stroll into Piccadilly and on to Knightsbridge. He went -down Sloane Street, and into Chelsea, returning by the Embankment to -Westminster--the clock was chiming the hour of 2 a.m. as he passed. - -But the same clock had struck three before he got into bed, and five -before he fell asleep. - - -END OF VOL. II. - - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -In Three Volumes--Volume III - -SIXTH EDITION - -London - -HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 PATERNOSTER ROW - -1893 - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII.--ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD. - -|SHORTLY after noon he was with her. He had left his rooms without -touching a morsel of breakfast, and it was plain that such sleep as -he had had could not have been of a soothing nature. He was pale and -haggard; and she seemed surprised--not frightened, however, for her -love was that which casteth out fear--at the way he came to her--with -outstretched hands which caught her own, as he said, "My beloved--my -beloved, I have a strange word for you--a strange proposal to make. -Dearest, can you trust me? Will you marry me--to-morrow--to-day?" - -She scarcely gave a start. He was only conscious of her hands tightening -upon his own. She kept her eyes fixed upon his. The silence was long. -It was made the more impressive by the distinctness with which the -jocularity of the fishmonger's hoy with the cook at the area railings, -was heard in the room. - -"Harold," she said, in a voice that had no trace of distrust, "Harold, -you are part of my life--all my life! When I said that I loved you, -I had given myself to you. I will marry you any time you -please--to-morrow--to-day--this moment!" - -She was in his arms, sobbing. - -His "God bless you, my darling!" sounded like a sob also. - -In a few moments she was laughing through her tears. - -He was not laughing. - -"Now, tell me what you mean, my beloved," said she, with a hand on each -of his shoulders. - -"Tell me what you mean by coming to frighten me like this. What has -happened?" - -"Nothing has happened, only I want to feel that you are my own--my own -beyond the possibility of being separated from me by any power on earth. -I do not want to take you away from your father's house--I cannot offer -you any home. It may be years before we can live together as those who -love one another as we love, may live with the good will of heaven. I -only want you to become my wife in name, dearest. Our marriage must be -kept a secret." - -"But my own love," said she, "why should you wish to go through this -ceremony? Are we not united by the true bond of love? Can we be more -closely united than we are now? The strength of the marriage bond -is only strong in proportion as the love which is the foundation of -marriage is strong. Now, why should you wish for the marriage rite -before we are prepared to live for ever under the same roof?" - -"Why, why?" he cried passionately, as he looked into the depths of her -eyes. - -He left her and went across the room to one of the windows and looked -out. (It was the greengrocer's boy who was now jocular with the cook at -the area railings.) - -"My Beatrice--" Harold had returned to her from his scrutiny of the -pavement. "My Beatrice, you have not seen all that I have seen in the -world. You do not know--you do not know me as I know myself. Why should -there come to me sometimes an unworthy thought--no, not a doubt--oh, I -have seen so much of the world, Beatrice, I feel that if anything should -come between us it would kill me. I must--I must feel that we are made -one--that there is a bond binding us together that nothing can sever." - -"But, my Harold--no, I will not interpose any buts. You would not ask -me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you know the -world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and knowing -you and loving you with all my heart--with all my soul--I trust you -implicitly--without a question--without the shadow of a doubt." - -"God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to regret -loving me--trusting me." - -"It is my life--it is my life, Harold." - -Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer -with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure. - -"It must be to-morrow," he said, returning to her. "I shall come here at -noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can part us. You will -still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God hasten the day when -you can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the world and call -yourself by my name." - -"I shall be here at noon to-morrow," said she. - -"Unless," said he, returning to her after he had kissed her forehead and -had gone to the door. "Unless"--he framed her face with his hands, -and looked down into the depths of her eyes.--"Unless, when you have -thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot trust me." - -She laughed. - -"Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world," said he. - -He knew the world. - -Another man who knew the world was Pontius Pilate. - -This was why he asked "What is Truth?" - -Harold Wynne was in Archie Brown's room in Piccadilly within half an -hour. - -Archie was at the Legitimate Theatre, Mr. Playdell said--Mr. Playdell -was seated at the dining-room table surrounded by papers. A trifling -difference of opinion had arisen between Mrs. Mowbray and her manager, -he added, and (with a smile) Archie had hurried to the theatre to set -matters right. - -"It is kind of you to call, Mr. Wynne," continued Mr. Playdell. "But I -hope it is not to tell me that you regret the suggestion that you made -yesterday--that you do not see your way to write to your sister to -invite Archie to her place." - -"I wrote to her the moment you left me," said Harold. "Archie will -get his invitation this evening. It is not about him that I came here -to-day, Mr. Playdell. I came to see you. You asked me yesterday to -give you an opportunity of doing something for me. I can give you that -opportunity." - -"And I promise you that I shall embrace it with gladness, Mr. Wynne," -said Playdell, rising from the table. "Tell me how I can serve you and -you will find how ready I am." - -"You still hold to your original principles regarding marriage, Mr. -Playdell?" - -"How could I do otherwise than hold to them, Mr. Wynne? They are the -result of thought; they are not merely a fad to gain notoriety. Let me -prove the position that I take up on this matter." - -"You need not, Mr. Playdeil. I heard all your case when it was -published. I confess that I now think differently respecting you from -what I thought at that time. Will you perform the ceremony of marriage -between a lady who has promised to marry me and myself?" - -"There is only one condition that I make, Mr. Wynne. You must take an -oath that you consider the rite, as I perform it, to be binding upon -you, and that you will never recognize a divorce." - -"I will take that oath willingly, Mr. Playdeil. I have promised my -_fiance_ that we shall be with her at noon to-morrow. She will be -prepared for us. By the way, do you require a ring for the ceremony as -performed by you?" - -Mr. Playdeil looked grave--almost scandalized. - -"Mr. Wynne," said he, "that question suggests to me a certain disbelief -on your part in the validity in the sight of heaven of the rite of -marriage as performed by a man with a full sense of his high office, -even though unfrocked by a Church that has always shown too great a -readiness to submit to secular guidance--secular restrictions in matters -that were originally, like marriage, purely spiritual. The Church -has not only submitted to civil restrictions in the matter of the -celebration of the holy rite of matrimony, but, while declaring at the -altar that God has joined them whom the Church has joined, and while -denying the authority of man to put them asunder, she recognizes the -validity of divorce. She will marry a man who has been divorced from -his wife, when he has duly paid the Archbishop a sum of money for -sanctioning what in the sight of God is adultery." - -"My dear Mr. Playdell," said Harold, "I recollect very clearly the able -manner in which you defended your--your--principles, when they were -called in question. I do not desire to call them in question now. I -believe in your sincerity in this matter and in other matters. I -shall drive here for you at half past eleven o'clock to-morrow. I need -scarcely say that I mean my marriage to be kept a secret." - -"You may depend upon my good faith in that respect," said Mr. Playdell. -"Mr. Wynne," he added, impressively, "this land of ours will never be -a moral one so long as the Church is content to accept a Parliamentary -definition of morality. The Church ought certainly to know her own -business." - -"There I quite agree with you," said Harold. - -He refrained from asking Mr. Playdell if the Church, in dispensing with -his services as one of her priests, had not made an honest attempt to -vindicate her claims to know her own business. He merely said, "Half -past eleven to-morrow," after shaking hands with Mr. Playdell, who -opened the door for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX.--ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - -|HAROLD WYNNE shut himself up in his rooms without even lunching. He -drew a chair in front of the fire and seated himself with the sigh of -relief that is given by a man who has taken a definite step in some -matter upon which he has been thinking deeply for some time. He sat -there all the day, gazing into the fire. - -Yes, he had taken the step that had suggested itself to him the previous -night. He had made up his mind to take advantage of the opportunity that -was afforded him of binding Beatrice to him by a bond which she at least -would believe incapable of rupture. The accident of his meeting with the -man whose views on the question of marriage had caused him to be thrust -out of the Church, and whose practices left him open to a criminal -prosecution, had suggested to him the means for binding to him the girl -whose truth he had no reason to doubt. - -He meant to perpetrate a fraud upon her. He had known of men entrapping -innocent girls by means of a mock marriage, and he had always regarded -such men as the most unscrupulous of scoundrels. He almost succeeded, -after a time, in quieting the whisperings by his conscience of the -word "fraud"--its irritating repetitions of this ugly word--by giving -prominence to the excellence of his intentions in the transaction which -he was contemplating. It was not a mock marriage--no, it was not, as -ordinary mock marriages, to be gone through in order to give a man -possession of the body of a woman, and to admit of his getting rid of -her when it would suit his convenience to do so. It was, he assured -his conscience, no mock marriage, since he was seeking it for no gross -purpose, but simply to banish the feeling of cold distrust which he had -now and again experienced. Had he not offered to free the girl from the -promise which she had given to him? Was that like the course which would -be adopted by a man endeavouring to take advantage of a girl by means -of a mock marriage? Was there anything on earth that he desired more -strongly than a real marriage with that same girl? There was nothing. -But it was, unfortunately, the case that a real marriage would mean ruin -to him; for he knew that his father would keep his word--when it suited -his own purpose--and refuse him his allowance upon the day that he -refused to sign a declaration to the effect that he was unmarried. - -The rite which Mr. Playdell had promised to perform between him and -Beatrice would enable him to sign the declaration with--well, with a -clear conscience. - -But in the meantime this same conscience continued gibing him upon his -defence of his conduct; asking him with an irritating sneer, if he would -mind explaining his position to the girl's father?--if he was not simply -taking advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl's life--of -the remarkable independence which she enjoyed, apparently with the -sanction of her father, to perpetrate a fraud upon her? - -For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound -argument--that is, argument that sounds well--and for general obstinacy, -there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in moderately -good working order. - -After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, -he sprang from his seat crying, "I'll not do it--I'll not do it!" - -He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the -words, "I'll not do it--I'll not do it!" - -In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote -a note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on -second thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an -equally short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be -advisable to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan -which he had suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into -its cover; but when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his -stamp-drawer was empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going -to his club to dine, and he knew that he could get stamps from the -hall-porter. - -He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on -entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe -conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary. - -At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. -He brightened up at the appearance of Harold. - -"I've just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to dine with -me," he cried. - -"I'm sorry that I can't congratulate you upon finding one," said Harold. - -"Then I congratulate myself," said Mr. Durdan, brightly. "You're the -most companionable man that I know in town at present." - -"Ah, then you're not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is here just -now," said Harold with a shrewd laugh. - -"Edmund Airey? Edmund Airey?" said Mr. Durdan. "Let me tell you that -your friend Edmund Airey is----" - -"Don't say it in the open air," said Harold. - -"Come inside and make the revelation to me." - -"Then you will dine with me? Good! My dear fellow, my medical man has -warned me times without number of the evil of dining alone, or with a -newspaper--even the _Telegraph_. It's the beginning of dyspepsia, he -says; so I wait at the door any time I am dining here until I get hold -of the right man." - -"If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you're -afraid of, you may reckon upon my services," said Harold. "But to tell -you the truth, I'm a bit down myself to-night." - -"What's the matter with you--nothing serious?" said Mr. Durdan. - -"I've been working out some matters," said Harold. - -"I know what's the matter with you," said the other. "That friend of -yours has been trying to secure you for the Government, and you were too -straightforward to be entrapped? Airey is a clever man--I don't deny his -cleverness for a moment. Oh, yes; Mr. Airey is a very clever man." It -seemed that he was now levelling an accusation against Mr. Airey that -his best friends would find difficulty in repudiating. "Yes, but you and -I, Wynne, are not to be caught by a phrase. The moment he fancied that I -was attracted to her--I say, fancied, mind--and that he fancied--it may -have been the merest fancy--that she was not altogether indifferent to -me, he forced himself forward, and I have good reason to believe that he -is now in town solely on her account. I give you my word, Wynne, I never -spoke a sentence to Miss Avon that all the world mightn't hear. Oh, -there's nothing so contemptible as a man like Airey--a fellow who is -attracted to a girl only when he sees that she is attracting other men. -Yes, I met a man yesterday who told me that Airey was in town. 'Why -should he be in town now?' I inquired. 'There's nothing going on in -town.' He winked and said, '_cherchez la femme_'--he did upon my word. -Oh, the days of the Government are numbered. Will you try Chablis or -Sauterne?" - -Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis. - -For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan's -prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of -Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any -stamps. - -He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night. - -Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat -the two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small -pieces. - -With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling -of distrust. - -Yes, he would make sure of her. - -He unlocked one of the drawers in his writing-table and brought out -a small _boule_ case. When he had found--not without a good deal of -searching--the right key for the box, he opened it. It contained an -ivory miniature of his mother, in a Venetian mounting, a few jewels, and -two small rings. One of them was set with a fine chrysoprase cameo of -Eros, and surrounded by rubies. The other was an old _in memoriam_ ring. - -He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time, -slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept -turning it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and -relocked the box and the drawer. - -"It will be hers," he said. "Would I use my mother's ring for this -ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud--if I meant to take advantage of it -to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with her, so may God deal -with me when my hour comes." It was a ring that had been left to him -with a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had now chosen it for -the ceremony which was to be performed the next day. - -Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence -the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument -had done. - -The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after -noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had -been repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once -been a priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, -did not consider the rite a mockery. - -Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a -dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell -forward until his face was buried in his hands. - -It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial. - -Her hand--his mother's ring was upon the third finger--was upon his -head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, "My husband--my -husband--I shall be a true wife to you for ever and ever. We shall live -trusting one another for ever, my beloved!" - -They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands -for a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head -against his. - -In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him, -looking into her eyes. - -"Oh, my love, my love," he cried. "What am I that you should have given -to me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I should have asked -you to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as yours, Beatrice? -Was there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive me, Beatrice?" - -"Only once," said she, "I felt that--I scarcely know what I felt, -dear--I think it was that your hurrying on our marriage showed--was it a -want of trust?" - -"I was a fool--a fool!" he said bitterly. "The temptation to bind you to -me was too great to be resisted. But now--oh, Beatrice, I will give up -my life to make you happy!" - - - - -CHAPTER XL.--ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. - -|THE next afternoon when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with -two letters in her hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, -letting her know that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least -a fortnight longer; the second was from Mrs. Lampson--she had paid -Beatrice a ten minutes' visit the previous day--inviting her to stay for -a week at Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday. - -"What am I to do in the matter, my husband--you see how quickly I have -come to recognize your authority?" she cried, while he glanced at his -sister's invitation. - -"My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and -other matters, by pleasing yourself," said he. - -"No," said she. "I will only do what you advise me. That, you should see -as a husband--I see it clearly as a wife--will give me a capital chance -of throwing the blame on you in case of any disappointment. Oh, yes, you -may be certain that if I go anywhere on your recommendation and fail to -enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at your door. That's the way -with wives, is it not?" - -"I can't say," said he. "I've never had one from whom to get any hints -that would enable me to form an opinion." - -"Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to -please myself?" said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was -extremely charming. - -"I've seen other men's wives now and again," said he. "It was a great -privilege." - -"And they pleased themselves?" - -"They did not please me, at any rate. I don't see why you shouldn't go -down to my sister's place next week. You should enjoy yourself." - -"You will be there?" - -He shook his head. - -"I was to have been there," said he; "but when I promised to go I had -not met you. When I found that you were to be in town, I told Ella, my -sister, that it was impossible for me to join her party." - -"Of course that decides the matter," said she. "I must remain here, -unless you change your mind and go to Abbeylands." - -He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where -she was opening the old mahogany escritoire. - -"I particularly want you to go to my sister's," he said. "A reason has -just occurred to me--a very strong reason, why you should accept the -invitation, especially as I shall not be there." - -"Oh, no," said she, "I could not go without you." - -"My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean to -be so graceful an exponent?" said he, standing behind her with a hand on -each of her shoulders. "The fact is, dearest, that far more than you -can imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to throw -people--my relations in particular--off the notion that something came -of our meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go to Abbeylands -while it was known that I had excused myself, you can understand what -the effect would be." - -"The effect, so far as I'm concerned, would be that I should be -miserable, all the time I was away from you." - -"The effect would be, that those people who may have been joining our -names together, would feel that they have been a little too precipitate -in their conclusions." - -"That seems a very small result for so much self-sacrifice on our part, -Harold." - -"It's not so small as it may seem to you. I see now how important -it would be to me--to both of us--if you were to go for a week to -Abbeylands while I remain in town." - -"Then of course I'll go. Yes, dear; I told you that I would trust you -for ever. I placed all my trust in you yesterday. How many people would -condemn me for marrying you in such indecent haste--that is what they -would call it--and without a word of consultation with my father either? -When I showed my trust in you at that time--the most important in -my life--you may, I think, have confidence that I will trust you in -everything. Yes, I'll go." - -He had turned away from her. How could he face her when she was talking -in this way about her trust in him? - -"There has never been trust like yours, my beloved," said he, after a -pause. "You will never regret it for a moment, my love--never, never!" - -"I know it--I know it," said she. - -"The fact is, Beatrice," said he, after another pause, "my relatives -think that if I were to marry Helen Craven I should be doing a -remarkably good stroke of business. They were right: it would be a good -stroke--of business." - -"How odd," cried Beatrice. She had become thoroughly interested. "I -never thought of such a possibility at Castle Innisfail. She is nice, I -think; only she does not know how to dress." - -In an instant there came to his memory Mrs. Mowbray's cynical words -regarding the extent of a woman's forgiveness. - -"The question of being nice or of dressing well does not make any -difference so far as my friends are concerned," said he. "All that is -certain is that Helen Craven has several thousands of pounds a year, and -they think that I should be satisfied with that." - -"And so you should," she cried, with the light of triumph in her eyes. -"I wonder if Mr. Airey knew what the wishes of your relatives were in -this matter. I should like to know that, because I now recollect that -he suggested something in that way when we talked together about you one -evening at the Castle." - -"Edmund Airey gave me the strongest possible advice on the subject," -said Harold. "Yes, he advised me to ask Helen Craven to be my wife. More -than that--I only learnt it a few days ago--so soon as you appeared at -the Castle, and he saw--he sees things very quickly--that I was in love -with you, he thought that if he were to interest you greatly, and -that if you found out that he was wealthy and distinguished, you might -possibly decline to fall in love with me, and so----" - -"And so fall in love with him?" she cried, starting up from her chair -at the desk. "I see now all that he meant. He meant that I should be -interested in him--I was, too, greatly interested in him--and that I -should be attracted to him, and away from you. But all the time he had -no intention of allowing himself to be attracted by me to the point -of ever asking me to marry him. In short, he was amusing himself at my -expense. Oh, I see it all now. I must confess that, now and again, I -wondered what Mr. Airey meant by placing himself so frequently by my -side. I felt flattered--I admit that I felt flattered. Can you imagine -anything so cruel as the purpose that he set himself to accomplish?" - -Her face had become pale. This only gave emphasis to the flashing of her -eyes. She was in a passion of indignation. - -"Edmund Airey and his tricks were defeated," said Harold in a low voice. -"Yes, we have got the better of him, Beatrice, so much is certain." - -"But the cruelty of it--the cruelty--oh, what does it matter now?" she -cried. Then her paleness vanished into a delicate roseate flush, as she -gave a laugh, and said, "After all, I believe that my indignation is due -only to my wounded vanity. Yes, all girls are alike, Harold. Our vanity -is our dominant quality." - -"It is not so with you, Beatrice," he said. "I know you truly, my dear. -I know that you would be as indignant if you heard of the same trickery -being carried on in respect of another girl." - -"I would--I know I would," she cried. "But what does it matter? As you -say, I--we--have defeated this Mr. Airey, so that my vanity at least can -find sweet consolation in reflecting that we have been cleverer than he -was. I don't suppose that he could imagine anyone existing cleverer than -himself." - -"Yes, I think that we have got the better of him," said Harold. He was -a little surprised to find that she felt so strongly on the subject of -Edmund's attitude in regard to herself. He did not think it wise to tell -her that that attitude was due to the timely suggestion of Helen. He -could not bring himself to do so. He felt that his doing so would be -to place himself on a level with the man who gives his wife during the -first year of their married life, a circumstantial account of the -many wealthy and beautiful young women who were anxious--to a point of -distraction--to marry him. - -He felt that there was no need for him to say anything about Helen--he -almost wished that he had said nothing about Edmund. - -"We got the better of him," he said a second time. "Never mind Edmund -Airey. You must go to Abbeylands and amuse yourself. You will most -likely meet with Archie Brown there. Archie is the plainest looking and -probably the richest man of his age in England. He is to be made the -subject of an experiment at Abbeylands." - -"Is he to be vivisected?" said she. She was now neither pale nor -roseate. She was herself once more. - -"There's no need to vivisect poor Archie," said he. "Everyone knows that -there's nothing particular about Archie. No; we are merely trying a new -cure for him. He has not been in a very healthy state lately." - -"If he is delicate, I suppose he will be thrown a good deal with us--the -females, the incapables--while the pheasant-shooting is going on." - -"You will see how matters are managed at Abbeylands," said Harold. "If -you find that Archie is attracted toward any girl who is distinctly -nice, you might--how does a girl assist her weaker sister to make up her -mind to look with friendly eyes upon such a one as Archie?" - -"Let me see," said she. "Wouldn't the best way be for girl number one to -look with friendly eyes on him herself?" - -Harold lay back on his chair and laughed at first; then he gazed at her -in wonder. - -"You are cleverer than Edmund Airey and Helen Craven when they combine -their wisdom," said he. "Your woman's instinct is worth more than their -experience." - -"I never knew what the instincts of a woman were before this morning," -said she. "I never felt that I had any need to exercise the instinct -of defence. I suppose the young seal, though it has never been in the -water, jumps in by instinct should it be attacked. Oh, yes, I dare say I -could swim as well as most girls of my age." - -It was only when he had returned to his rooms that he fully comprehended -the force of her parable of the young seal. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI.--ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS. - -|THE next morning Archie drove one of his many machines round to -Harold's rooms and broke in upon him before he had finished his -breakfast. - -"Hallo, my tarty chip," cried Archie; "what's the meaning of this?" - -He threw on the table an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting of -Mrs. Lampson. - -"What's the meaning of what?" said Harold. "Have you got beyond the -restraint of Mr. Playdell alcoholically, that you ask me what's the -meaning of that envelope?" - -"I mean what does the inside mean?" said Archie. - -"I'm sure you know better than I do, if you've read what's inside it." - -"Oh, you're like one of the tarty chips in the courts that cross-examine -other tarty chips until their faces are blue," said Archie. "There's -no show for that sort of thing here. So just open the envelope and see -what's inside." - -"How can I do that and eat my kidneys?" said Harold. "I wish to heavens -you wouldn't come here bothering me when I'm trying to get through a -tough kidney and a tougher leading article. What's the matter with the -letter, Archie, my lad?" - -"It's all right," said Archie. "It's an invite from your sister for -a big shoot at Abbeylands. What does it mean--that's what I'd like to -know? Does it mean that decent people are going to make me the apple of -their eye, after all?" - -"I don't think it goes quite so far as that," said Harold. "I expect it -means that my sister has come to the end of her discoveries and she's -forced to fall back on you." - -"Oh, is that all?" Archie looked disappointed. "All? Isn't it enough?" -said Harold. "Why, you're in luck if you let her discover you. I knew -that her atheists couldn't hold out. She used them up too quickly. One -should he economical of one's genuine atheists nowadays." - -"Great Godfrey! does she take me for an atheist?" shouted Archie. - -"Did you ever hear of an atheist shooting pheasants?" said Harold. "Not -likely. An atheist is a man that does nothing except talk, and talks -about nothing except himself. Now, you're asked to the shoot, aren't -you?" - -"That's in the invite anyway." - -"Of course. And that shows that you're not taken for an atheist." - -"I'm glad of that. I draw the line at atheism," Archie replied with a -smile. - -"I hope you'll have a good time among the pheasants." - -"Do you suppose that I'll go?" - -"I'm sure you will. I may have thought you a bit of a fool before I came -to know you, Archie--" - -"And since you heard that I had taken the Legitimate." - -"Well, yes, even after that masterpiece of astuteness. But I would never -think that you'd be fool enough to throw away this chance." - -"Chance--chance of what?" - -"Of getting among decent people. I told you that my sister has nothing -but decent people when there's a shoot--there's no Coming Man in -anything among the house-party. Yes, it's sure to be comfortable. It's -the very thing for you." - -"Is it? I'm not so certain about it. The people there are pretty sure to -allude in a friendly spirit to my red hair." - -"Well, yes, I think you may depend upon that. That means that you'll get -on so well among them that they will take an interest in your -personality. If you get on particularly well with them they may even -allude to the simplicity of your mug. If they do that, you may be -certain that you are a great social success." - -Archie mused. - -It was in this musing spirit that he took in a contemplative way a lump -of sugar out of the sugar bowl, turned it over between his fingers as -though it was something altogether new to him. Then he threw the lump up -to the ceiling, his face became one mouth, and the sugar disappeared. - -"I think I'll go," he said, as he crunched the lump. "Yes, I'll be -hanged if I don't go." - -"That's more than probable," said Harold. - -"Yes, I'd like to clear off for a bit from this kennel." - -"What kennel?" - -"This kennel--London. Do you go the length of denying that London's a -kennel?" - -"I don't do anything of the sort." - -"You'd best not. I was thinking if a run to Australia, or California, or -Timbuctoo would not be healthy just now." - -"Oh." - -"Yes, I made up my mind yesterday, that if I don't have better hands -soon, I'll chuck up the whole game. That's the sort of new potatoes that -I am." - -"The Legitimate?" - -"The Legitimate be frizzled! Am I to continue paying for the suppers -that other tarty chips eat? That's what I want you to tell me. You know -what a square deal is, Wynne, as well as most people." - -"I believe I do." - -"Well, then, you can tell me if I'm to pay for dry champagne for her -guests." - -"Whose guests?" - -"Great Godfrey! haven't I been telling you? Mrs. Mowbray's guests. Who -else's would they be? Do you mean to tell me that, in addition to giving -people free boxes at the Legitimate every night to see W. S. late of -Stratford upon Avon, it's my business to supply dry champagne all round -after the performance?" - -"Well," said Harold, "to speak candidly to you, I've always been of -the opinion that the ideal proprietor of a theatre is one who supplies -really comfortable stalls free, and has really sound champagne handed -round at intervals during the performance. I also frankly admit that -I haven't yet met with any manager who quite realized my ideas in this -matter. Archie, my lad, the sooner you get down to Abbeylands the better -it will be for yourself." - -"I'll go. Mind you, I don't cry off when I know the chaps that she asks -to supper--I'll flutter the dimes for anyone I know; but I'm hanged if -I do it for the chaps that chip in on her invite. They'll not draw cards -from my pack, Wynne. No, I'll see them in the port of Hull first. That's -the sort of new potatoes that I am." - -"Give me your hand, Archie," cried Harold. "I always thought you nothing -better than a millionaire, but I find that you're a man after all." - -"I'll make things hum at the Legitimate yet," said Archie--his voice was -fast approaching the shouting stage. "I'll send them waltzing round. I -thought once upon a time that, when she laid her hand upon my head -and said, 'Poor old Archie,' I could go on for ever--that to see the -decimals fluttering about her would be the loveliest sight on earth -for the rest of my life. But I'm tired of that show now, Wynne. Great -Godfrey! I can get my hair smoothed down at a barber's for sixpence, and -yet I believe that she charged me a thousand pounds for every time she -patted my head. A decimal for a pat--a pat!" - -"You could buy the whole Irish nation for less money, according to some -people's ideas--but they're wrong," said Harold. - -"Wynne," said Archie, solemnly. "I've been going it blind for some time. -Shakespeare's a fraud. I'll shoot those pheasants." - -He had picked up his hat, and in another minute Harold saw him sending -his pair of chestnuts down the street at a pace that showed a creditable -amount of self-restraint on the part of Archie. - -Three days afterwards Harold got a letter from Mrs. Lampson, giving him -a number of commissions to execute for her--delicate matters that could -not be intrusted to any one except a confidential agent. The postscript -mentioned that Archie Brown had arrived a few days before and had -charmed every one with his shyness. On this account she could scarcely -believe, she said, that he was a millionaire. She added that Lady -Innisfail and her daughter had just arrived at Abbeylands, that the Miss -Avon about whom she had inquired, had accepted her invitation and was -coming to Abbeylands on the next day; and finally, Mrs. Lampson said -that her father was dull enough to make people believe that he was -really reformed. He was inquiring when Miss Avon was coming, and he -shared the fate of all men (and women) who were unfortunate enough to -be reformed: he had become deadly dull. Lady Innisfail had assured her, -however, that it was very rarely that a Hardened Reprobate permanently -reformed--even with the incentive of acute rheumatism--before he was -sixty-five, so that it would be unwise to be despondent about -Lord Fotheringay. If this was so--and Lady Innisfail was surely an -authority--Mrs. Lampson said that she looked forward to such a lapse on -the part of her father as would restore him to the position of interest -which he had always occupied in the eyes of the world. - -Harold lay back in his chair and laughed heartily at the reference made -by his sister to the shyness of Archie, and also to the fact of Norah -Innisfail's sitting at the table with the Young Reprobate as well as the -Old. He wondered if the conversation had yet turned upon the management -of the Legitimate Theatre. - -It was after he had lunched on the next Tuesday that Harold received -this letter--written by his sister the previous day. He had passed -an hour with Beatrice, who was to start by the four-twenty train for -Abbeylands station. He had said goodbye to her for a week, and already -he was feeling so lonely that he was soon pacing his room calling -himself a fool for having elected to remain in town while she was to go. - -He thought how they might have had countless strolls through the fine -park at Abbeylands--through the picturesque ruins of the old Abbey--on -the banks of the little trout stream. Instead of being by her side among -those interesting scenes, he would have to remain--he had been foolish -enough to make the choice--in the neighbourhood of nothing more joyous -than St. James's Palace. - -This was bad enough; but not merely would he be away from the landscapes -at Abbeylands, the elements of life in those landscapes would be -represented by Beatrice and Another. - -Yes; she would certainly appear with someone at her side--in the place -he might have occupied if he had not been such a fool. - -An hour had passed before he had got the better of his impulse to call -a hansom and drive to the railway terminus and take a seat beside her in -the train. When the clock had struck four, and it was therefore too late -for him to entertain the idea of going with her, he became more inclined -to take a reasonable view of the situation. - -"I was right." he said, as he seated himself in front of the fire, -and stared into the smouldering coals. "Yes, I was right. No one must -suspect that we are--bound to one another"--the words were susceptible -of a sufficiently liberal interpretation. "The penetration of Edmund -Airey will be at fault for the first time, and the others who had so -many suspicions at Castle Innisfail, will find themselves completely at -fault." - -He began to think how, though he had been cruelly dealt with by Fate in -some respects--in respect of his own father, for instance, and also in -respect of his own poverty--he had still much to be thankful for. - -He was beloved by the loveliest woman whom he had ever seen--the only -woman for whom he had ever felt a passion. And the peculiar position -which she occupied, had enabled him to see her every day and to kiss her -exquisite face--there was none to make him afraid. Such obstacles in the -way of a lover's freedom as the Average Father, the Vigilant Mother -and the Athletic Brother he had never encountered. And then a curious -circumstance--the thought of Beatrice as a part of the landscapes around -Abbeylands caused him to lay special emphasis upon this--had enabled him -to bind the girl to him with a bond which in her eyes at least--yes, in -his eyes too, by heaven, he felt--was not susceptible of being loosened. - -Yes, the ways of Providence were wonderful, he felt. If he had not met -Mr. Playdell.... and so forth. - -But now Beatrice was his own. She might stray through the autumn -woods by the side of Edmund Airey or any man whom she might meet at -Abbeylands; she would feel upon her finger the ring that he had placed -there--the ring that---- - -He sprang to his feet with a sudden cry. - -"Good God! the Ring! the Ring!" - -He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It pointed to four-seventeen. - -He pulled out his watch. It pointed to four-twenty-two. - -He rushed to the sofa where an overcoat was lying. He had it on him in a -moment. He snatched up a railway guide and stuffed it into his pocket. - -In another minute he was in a hansom, driving as fast as the hansomeer -thought consistent with public safety--a trifle over that which the -police authorities thought consistent with public safety--in the -direction of the Northern Railway terminus. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII.--ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - -|HE tried, while in the hansom, to unravel the mysteries of the system -by which passengers were supposed to reach Brackenshire. He found the -four-twenty train from London indicated in its proper order. This was -the train by which he had invariably travelled to Abbeylands--it was the -last train in the day that carried passengers to Abbeylands Station, for -the station was on a short branch line, the junction being Mowern. - -On reaching the terminus he lost no time in finding a responsible -official--one whose chastely-braided uniform looked repressful of tips. - -"I want to get to Mowern Junction before the four-twenty train from here -goes on to Abbeylands. Can I do it?" said Harold. - -"Next train to the Junction five-thirty-two, sir," said the official. - -"That's too late for me," said Harold. "The train leaves the Junction -for Abbeylands a quarter of an hour after arriving at Mowern. Is there -no local train that I might manage to catch that would bring me to the -Junction?" - -"None that would serve your purpose, sir." - -Harold clearly saw how it was that this company could never get their -dividend over four per cent. - -"Why is there so long a wait at Mowern?" he asked. - -"Waits for Ditchford Mail, sir." - -"And at what time does a train start for Ditch-ford?" - -"Can't tell, sir. Ditchford is on the Nethershire system--they have -running powers over our line to Mowern." - -Harold whipped out his guide, and found Ditch-ford in the index. By an -inspiration he turned at once to the page devoted to the Nethershire -service of trains. He found that, by an exquisite system of timing the -trains, it was possible to reach a station a mile from Ditchford on the -one line, just six minutes after the departure of the last local train -to Ditchford on the other line. It took a little ingenuity, no doubt, -on the part of the Directors of both lines to accomplish this, but still -they managed to do it. - -"I beg pardon, sir," said an official wearing a uniform that suggested -tolerance of views in the matter of tips--the more important official -had moved away. "I beg pardon, sir. Why not take the four-fifty-five -to Mindon, and change into the Ditchford local train--that'll reach the -junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was -stationed at change into the Ditchford local train--that'll reach the -junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was -stationed at that part of the system." - -To glance at the clock, and to perceive that he had time enough to drive -to the Nethershire terminus, and to transfer a coin to the unconscious -but not reluctant hand of the official of the liberal views, occupied -Harold but a moment. At four-fifty-five he was in the Nethershire train -on his way to Mindon. - -He had not waited to verify the man's statement as to the trains, but -in the railway carriage he did so, and he found that the beautiful -complications of the two systems were at least susceptible of the -interpretation put on them. - -For the next two hours Harold felt that he could devote himself, if -he had the mind, to the problem of the ring that had been so suddenly -suggested to him. - -It did not require him to spend more than the merest fraction of this -time in order to convince him that the impulse upon which he had acted, -was one that he would have been a fool to repress. - -The ring which he had put on her finger, and which she had worn -since, and would most certainly wear--he had imagined her doing so--at -Abbeylands, could not fail to be recognized both by his father and his -sister. It had belonged to his mother, and it was unique. It had flashed -upon him suddenly that, unless he was content that his father and sister -should learn that he had given her that ring, it would be necessary for -him to prevent Beatrice from wearing it even for an hour at Abbeylands. - -Apart altogether from the question of the circumstances under which he -had put the ring upon her finger--circumstances which he had good reason -for desiring to conceal--the fact that he had given to her the object -which he valued most highly in the world, and which his father and -sister knew that he so valued, would suggest to both these persons as -much as would ruin him. - -His father would, he knew, be extremely glad to discover some pretext to -cut off the last penny of his allowance; and assuredly he would regard -this gift of the ring as an ample pretext for adopting such a course of -action. Indeed, Lord Fotheringay had never been at a loss for a pretext -for reducing his son's allowance; and now that he was posing--with -but indifferent success, as Harold had learned from Mrs. Lampson's -postscript--as a Reformed Sinner, he would, his son knew, think that, -in cutting off his son's allowance, he was only acting consistently with -the traditions of Reformed Sinners. - -The Reformed Sinner is usually a sinner whose capacity to enjoy the -pleasures of sin has become dulled, and thus he is intolerant of the -sins of others, and particularly intolerant of the capacity of others to -enjoy sin. This is why he reduces the allowances of his children. Like -the man who advances to the position of teetotal lecturer, after having -served for some time as the teetotal lecturer's Example, he knows all -about the evil which he means to combat--to be more exact, which he -means his children to combat. - -All this Harold knew perfectly well. He knew that the only difference -that the reform of his father would make to him, was that, while his -father had formerly cut down his allowance with a courteously worded -apology, he would now stop it altogether without an apology. - -How could he have failed to remember, when he put that ring upon her -finger, how great were the chances that it would be seen there by his -father or his sister? - -This was the question which occupied his thoughts for the first hour -of his journey. He lay back looking out on the gray October landscapes -through which the train rushed--the wood glowing in crimson and brown -like a mighty smouldering furnace--the groups of children picking -blackberries on the embankments--the canal boat moving slowly along the -gray waterway--and he asked himself how he had been such a fool as to -overlook the likelihood of the ring being seen on her hand by his father -or his sister. - -The truth was, that he had at that time not considered the possibility -of her going to Abbey-lands. He knew that Mrs. Lampson intended inviting -her; but he felt certain that, when she heard that he was not going, she -would not accept the invitation. She would not have accepted it, if it -had not suddenly occurred to him that the fact of her going while he -remained in town would be to his advantage. - -Would he be in time to prevent the disaster which he foresaw would occur -if she appeared in the drawing-room at Abbeylands wearing the ring? - -He looked at his watch. The train was three minutes late in reaching -several of the stations on its route, and it was delayed for another -three minutes when there was only a single line of rails. How would -it be possible for the train to make up so great a loss during the -remainder of the journey? - -He reminded the guard at one of many intolerable stoppages, that the -train was long behind its time. The guard could not agree with him, it -was only about seven minutes late, he assured Harold. - -On it went, and it seemed as if the engine-driver had a clearer sense of -his responsibilities than the guard, for during the next thirty miles, -he managed to save over two minutes. All this Harold noticed with more -interest than he had ever taken in the details of any railway journey. - -When at last Mindon was reached, and he left the train to change into -the one which was to carry him on to the Junction, he found that this -train had not yet come up. Here was another point to be considered. -Would the train come up in time? - -He was not left for long in suspense. The long row of lighted carriages -ran up to the platform before he had been waiting for two minutes, and -in another two minutes the train was steaming away with him. - -He looked at his watch once more, and then he was able to give himself -a rest, for he saw that unless some accident were to happen, he would be -at Mowern Junction before the train should leave for Abbeylands Station -on the branch line. - -In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the -branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of -one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice. - -The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment -and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it. - -"Harold! How on earth--" she began. - -"I have a rather important message for you," he said. "Will you take a -turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The train does -not start for six minutes." - -She was out of the carriage in a moment. "Mr. Wynne has a message for -me--it is probably from Mrs. Lampson," she said to her maid, who was in -the same compartment. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII.--ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - -|WHAT can be the matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have -travelled by the same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am -so glad to see you. You have changed your mind--you are coming on with -me? Oh, I see it all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful -surprise." - -The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm--he -could feel the ring on her finger. - -"No, no," said he; "everything remains as it was this morning. I only -wish that I were going on with you. Providentially something occurred to -me when I was sitting alone after lunch. That is why I came. I managed -to catch a train that brought me here just now--the train I was in ran -past this platform and I saw your face." - -"What can have occurred to you that you could not tell me in a letter?" -she asked, her face still bearing the look of glad surprise that had -come to it when she had heard the sound of his voice. - -"We shall have to go into a waiting-room, or--better still--an empty -carriage," said he. "I see several men whom I know, and--worse luck! -women--they are on their way to Abbeylands, and if they saw us together -in this confidential way, they would never cease chattering when they -arrived. We shall get into a compartment--there is one that still -remains unlighted, it will be the best for our purpose; there will be no -chance of a prying face appearing at the window." - -"Shall we have time?" she asked. - -"Plenty of time. By getting into the carriage you will run no chance of -being left behind--the worst that can happen is that I may be carried on -with you." - -"The worst? Oh, that is the best--the best." They had strolled to the -end of the platform where it was dimly lighted, and in an instant, -apparently unobserved by anyone, they had got into an unlighted -compartment at the rear of the train, and Harold shut the door -quietly, so as not to attract the attention of the three or four men in -knickerbockers who were stretching their legs on the platform until the -train was ready to start. - -"We are fortunate," said he. "Those men outside will be your -fellow-guests for the week. None of them will think of glancing into -a dark carriage; but if one of them does so, he will be nothing the -wiser." - -"And now--and now," she cried. - -"And now, my dearest, you remember the ring that I put upon your -finger?" - -"This ring? Do you think it likely that I have forgotten it already?" -she whispered. - -"No, no, dearest; it was I who forgot it," he said. "It was I who forgot -that my father and my sister are perfectly certain to recognize that -ring if you wear it at Abbeylands: they will be certain to see it on -your linger, and they will question you as to how it came into your -possession." - -"Of course they will," she said, after a pause. "You told me that it was -a ring that belonged to your mother. There can only be one such ring in -the world. Oh, they could not fail to recognize it. The little chubby -wicked Eros surrounded by the rubies--I have looked at the design every -day--every night--sometimes the firelight gleaming upon the circle of -rubies has made them seem to me a band of blood. Was that the idea of -the artist who made the design, I wonder--a circle of blood with the god -Eros in the centre." - -She had taken off her glove, and had laid the hand with the ring in one -of his hands. - -He had never felt her hand so soft and warm before. His hand became -hot through holding hers. His heart was beating as it had never beaten -before. - -The force of his grasp pressed the sharply cut cameo into his flesh. The -image of that wicked little god, the son of Aphrodite, was stamped upon -him. It seemed as if some of his blood would mingle with the blood that -sparkled and beat within the heart of the rubies. - -He had forgotten the object of his mission to her. Still holding her -hand with the ring, he put his arm under the sealskin coat that reached -to her feet, and held her close to him while he kissed her as he had -never before kissed her. - -Suddenly he seemed to recollect why he was with her. He had not hastened -down from London for the sake of the kiss. - -"My beloved, my beloved!" he murmured--each word sounded like a sob--"I -should like to remain with you for ever." - -She did not say a word. She did not need to say a word. He could feel -the tumult of her heart, and she knew it. - -"For God's sake, Beatrice, let me speak to you," he said. - -It was a strange entreaty. His arm was about her, his hand was holding -one of hers, she was simply passive by his side; and yet he implored of -her to let him speak to her. - -It was some moments before she could laugh, however; which was also -strange, for the humour of the matter which called for that laugh, was -surely capable of being appreciated by her immediately. - -She gave a laugh and then a sigh. - -The carriage was dark, but a stray gleam of light from a side platform -now and again came upon her face, and her features were brought into -relief with the clearness and the whiteness of a lily in a jungle. - -As she gave that laugh--or was it a sigh?--he started, perceiving that -the expression of her features was precisely that which the artist in -the antique had imparted to the features of the little chrysoprase Eros -in the centre of that blood-red circle of the ring. - -"Why do you laugh, Beatrice?8 said he. - -"Did I laugh, Harold?" said she. "No--no--I think--yes, I think it was a -sigh--or was it you who sighed, my love?" - -"God knows," said he. "Oh, the ring--the ring!" - -"It feels like a band of burning metal," she said. - -"It is almost a pain for me to wear it. Have you not heard of the -curious charms possessed by rings, Harold--the strange spells which they -carry with them? The ring is a mystery--a mystic symbol. It means what -has neither beginning nor ending--it means perfection--completeness--it -means love--love's completeness." - -"That is what your ring must mean to us, my beloved," said he. "Whether -you take it from your finger or let it remain there, it will still mean -the completeness of such love as is ours." - -"And I am to take it off, Harold?" - -"Only so long as you stay at Abbeylands, Beatrice. What does it matter -for one week? You will see, dearest, how my plans--my hopes--must -certainly he destroyed if that ring is seen on your finger by my father -or my sister. It is not for the sake of my plans only that I wish you to -refrain from wearing it for a week; it is for your sake as well." - -"Would they fancy that I had stolen it, dear?" she asked, looking up to -his face with a smile. - -"They might fancy worse things than that, Beatrice," said he. "Do -not ask me. You may be sure that I am advising you aright--that the -consequences of that ring being recognized on your finger would be more -serious than you could understand." - -"Did I not say something to you a few days ago about the completeness of -my trust in you, Harold?" she whispered. "Well, the ring is the symbol -of this completeness also. I trust you implicitly in everything. I have -given myself up to you. I will do whatever you may tell me. I will not -take the ring off until I reach Abbeylands, but I shall take it off -then, and only replace it on my finger every night." - -"My darling, my darling! Such love as you have given to me is God's best -gift to the world." - -He had committed himself to an opinion practically to the same effect -upon more than one previous occasion. - -And now, as then, the expression of that opinion was followed by a long -silence, as their faces came together. - -"Beatrice," he said, in a tremulous voice. - -"Harold." - -"I shall go on with you to Abbeylands. Come what may, we shall not now -be separated." - -But they were separated that very instant. The carriage was flooded with -light--the chastened flood that comes from an oil lamp inserted in a -hollow in the roof--and they were no longer in each others arms. They -heard the sound of the porter's feet on the roof of the next carriage. - -"It is so good of you to come," said she. - -There was now perhaps three inches of a space separating them. - -"Good?" said he. "I'm afraid that's not the word. We shall be under one -roof." - -"Yes," she said slowly, "under one roof." - -"Tickets for Ashmead," intoned a voice at the carriage window. - -"We are for Abbeylands Station," said Harold. - -"Abb'l'ns," said the guard. "Why, sir, you know the Abb'l'ns train -started six minutes ago." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV.--ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A SYSTEM. - -|HAROLD was out of the compartment in a moment. Did the guard mean that -the train had actually left for Abbeylands? It had left six minutes -before, the guard explained, and the station-master added his guarantee -to the statement. - -Harold looked around--from platform to platform--as if he fancied that -there was a conspiracy between the officials to conceal the train. - -How could the train leave without taking all its carriages with it? - -It did nothing of the kind, the station-master said, firmly but -respectfully. - -The guard went on with his business of cutting neat triangles out of -the tickets of the passengers in the carriages that were alongside the -platform--passengers bound for Ashmead. - -"But I--we--my--my wife and I got into one of the carriages of the -Abbeylands train," said Harold, becoming indignant, after the fashion -of his countrymen, when they have made a mistake either on a home or -foreign railway. "What sort of management is it that allows one -portion of a train to go in one direction and another part in another -direction?" - -"It's our system, sir," said the official. "You see, sir, there're never -many passengers for either the Abbeyl'n's"--being a station-master he -did not do an unreasonable amount of clipping in regard to the -names--"or the Ashm'd branch, so the Staplehurst train is divided--only -we don't light the lamps in the Ashm'd portion until we're ready to -start it. Did you get into a carriage that had a lamp, sir?" - -"I've seen some bungling at railway stations before now," said Harold, -"but bang me if I ever met the equal of this." - -"This isn't properly speaking a station, sir, it's a junction," said -the official, mildly, but with the force of a man who has said the last -word. - -"That simply means that greater bungling may be found at a junction than -at a station," said Harold. "Is it not customary to give some notice -of the departure of a train at a junction as well as a station, my good -man?" - -The official became reasonably irritated at being called a good man. - -"The train left for Abbeyl'n's according to reg'lation, sir," said he. -"If you got into a compartment that had no lamp----" - -"Oh, I've no time for trifling," said Harold. "When does the next train -leave for Abbey-lands?" - -"At eight-sixteen in the morning," said the official. - -"Great heavens! You mean to say that there's no train to-night?" - -"You see, if a carriage isn't lighted, sir, we----" - -The man perceived the weakness of Harold's case--from the standpoint -of a railway official--and seemed determined not to lose sight of it. -"Contributory negligence" he knew to be the most valuable phrase that a -railway official could have at hand upon any occasion. - -"And how do you expect us to go on to Abbeylands to-night?" asked -Harold. - -"There's a very respectable hotel a mile from the junction, sir," said -the man. "Ruins of the Priory, sir--dates back to King John, page 84 -_Tourist's Guide to Brackenshire_." - -"Oh," said Harold, "this is quite preposterous." He went to where -Beatrice was seated watching, with only a moderate amount of interest, -the departure of five passengers for Ashmead. - -"Well, dear?" said she, as Harold came up. - -"For straightforward, pig-headed stupidity I'll back a railway company -against any institution in the world," said he. "The last train has -left for Abbeylands. Did you ever know of such stupidity? And yet the -shareholders look for six per cent, out of such a system." - -"Perhaps," said she timidly--"perhaps we were in some degree to blame." - -He laughed. It was so like a woman to suggest the possibility of some -blame attaching to the passengers when a railway company could be -indicted. To the average man such an idea is as absurd as beginning to -argue with a person at whom one is at liberty to swear. - -"It seems that there is a sort of hotel a mile away," said he. "We -cannot be starved, at any rate." - -"And I--you--we shall have to stay there?" said she. - -He gave a sort of shrug--an Englishman's shrug--about as like the real -thing as an Englishman's bow, or a Chinaman's cheer. - -"What can we do?" said he. "When a railway company such as this--oh, -come along, Beatrice. I am hungry--hungry--hungry!" - -He caught her by the arm. - -"Yes, Harold--husband," said she. - -He started. - -"Husband! Husband!" he said. "I never thought of that. Oh, my -beloved--my beloved!" - -He stood irresolute for a moment. - -Then he gave a curious laugh, and she felt his hand tighten upon her arm -for a moment. - -"Yes," he whispered. "You heard the words that--that man said while our -hands were together? 'Whom God hath joined'--God--that is Love. Love -is the bond that binds us together. Every union founded on Love is -sacred--and none other is sacred--in the sight of heaven." - -"And you do not doubt my love," she said. - -"Doubt it? oh, my Beatrice, I never knew what it was before now." They -left the station together, after he had written and despatched in her -name a telegram to her maid, directing her to explain to Mrs. Lampson -that her mistress had unfortunately missed the train, but meant to go by -the first one in the morning. - -By chance a conveyance was found outside, and in it they drove to the -Priory Hotel which, they were amazed to find, promised comfort as well -as picturesqueness. - -It was a long ivy-covered house, and bore every token of being a portion -of the ancient Priory among the ruins of which it was standing. Great -elms were in front of the house, and on one side there were apple trees, -and at the other there was a garden reaching almost to where a ruined -arch was held together by its own ivy. - -As they were in the act of entering the porch, a ray of moonlight -gleamed upon the ruins, and showed the trimmed grass plots and neat -gravel walks among the cloisters. - -Harold pointed out the picturesque effect to Beatrice, and they stood -for some moments before entering the house. - -The old waiter, whose moderately white shirt front constituted a very -distinctive element of the hall with its polished panels of old oak, did -not bustle forward when he saw them admiring the ruins. - -"Upon my word," said Harold, entering, "this is a place worth seeing. -That touch of moonlight was very effective." - -"Yes, sir," said the waiter; "I'm glad you're pleased with it. We try to -do our best in this way for our patrons. Mrs. Mark will be glad to know -that you thought highly of our moonlight, sir." - -The man was only a waiter, but he was as solemn as a butler, as he -opened the door of a room that seemed ready to do duty as a coffee-room. -It had a low groined ceiling, and long narrow windows. - -An elderly maid was lighting candles in sconces round the walls. - -"Really," said Harold, "we may be glad that the bungling at the junction -brought us here." - -"Yes, sir," said the man with waiter-like acquiescence; "they do bungle -things sometimes at that junction." - -"We were on our way to Abbeylands," said Harold, "but those idiots on -the platform allowed us to get into the wrong carriages--the carriages -that were going to Ashmead. We shall stay here for the night. The -station-master recommended us to go here, and I'm much obliged to him. -It's the only sensible--" - -"Yes, sir: he's a brother to Mrs. Mark--Mrs. Mark is our proprietor," -said the waiter. - -"_Mrs_. Mark," said Harold. - -"Yes, sir: she's our proprietor." - -Harold thought that, perhaps, when the owner of an hotel was a woman, -she might reasonably be called the proprietor. - -"Oh, well, perhaps a maid might show my--my wife to a room, while I see -what we can get for dinner--supper, I suppose we should call it." - -The middle-aged woman who was lighting the candles came forward smiling, -as she adroitly extinguished the wax taper by the application of her -finger and thumb. With her Beatrice disappeared. - -Harold quite expected that he was about to come upon the weak element -in the management of this picturesque inn. But when he found that a cold -pheasant as well as some hot fish was available for supper, he admitted -that the place was perfect. There was no wine card, but the old waiter -promised a Champagne for which, he said, Mr. Lampson, of Abbeylands, had -once made an offer. - -"That will do for us very well," said Harold. "Mr. Lampson would -not make an offer for anything--wine least of all--of which he was -uncertain." - -The waiter went off in the leisurely style that was only consistent with -the management of an establishment that dated back to King John; and in -a few minutes Beatrice appeared, having laid aside her sealskin coat, -and her hat. - -How exquisite she seemed as she stood for an instant in the subdued -light at the door! - -And she was his. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV.--ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. - -|SHE was his. - -He felt the joy of it as she stood at the door in her beautifully -fitting travelling dress. - -The thought sent an exultant glow through his veins, as he looked at her -from where he was standing at the hearth. (There was no "cosy corner" -abomination.) - -She was his. - -He went forward to meet her, and put out both his hands to her. - -She placed a hand in each of his. - -"How delightfully warm you are," she said. "You were standing at the -fire." - -"Yes," he said. "I was at the fire; in addition, I was also thinking -that you are mine." - -"Altogether yours now," she said looking at him with that trustful smile -which should have sent him down on his knees before her, but which did -not do more than cause his eyes to look at her throat instead of gazing -straight into her eyes. - -They seated themselves on one of the old window-seats, and talked face -to face, listlessly watching the old waiter lay a white cloth on a -portion of the black oak table. - -When they had eaten their fish and pheasant--Harold wondered if the -latter had come from the Abbeylands' preserves, and if Archie Brown had -shot it--they returned to the window-seat, and there they remained for -an hour. - -He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to -the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds. - -She was his. - -The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom -candlestick with a box of matches. - -"Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?" he inquired. - -"I require nothing, thank you," said Harold. - -"Very good, sir," said the waiter. "The candles in the sconces will burn -for another hour. If that will not be long enough--" - -"It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely comfortable, -and I wish you goodnight," said Harold. - -"Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam." - -This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon -the stairs. - -"At last--at last!" whispered Harold, as he put an arm on the deep -embrasure of the window behind her. - -She let her shapely head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. Then -she looked up to his face. - -"Who could have thought it?" she cried. "Who could have predicted that -evening when I stood on the cliffs and sent my voice out in that wild -way across the lough, that we should be sitting here to-night?" - -"I knew it when I got down to the boat and drew your hands into mine by -that fishing-line," said he. "When the moon showed me your face, I knew -that I had seen the face for which I had been searching all my life. -I had caught glimpses of that face many times in my life. I remember -seeing it for a moment when a great musician was performing an -incomparable work--a work the pure beauty of which made all who listened -to it weep. I can hear that music now when I look upon your face. It -conveys to me all that was conveyed to me by the music. I saw it -again when, one exquisite dawn, I went into a garden while the dew was -glistening over everything. There came to me the faint scent of violets. -I thought that nothing could be lovelier; but in another moment, the -glorious perfume of roses came upon me like a torrent. The odour of the -roses and the scent of the violets mingled, and before my eyes floated -your face. When the moonlight showed me your face on that night beside -the Irish lough I felt myself wondering if it would vanish." - -"It has come to stay," she whispered, in a way that gave the sweetest -significance to the phrase that has become vulgarized. - -"It came to stay with me for ever," he said. "I knew it, and I felt -myself saying, 'Here by God's grace is the one maid for me.'" - -He did not falter as he looked down upon her face--he said the words -"God's grace" without the least hesitancy. - -The moonlight that had been glistening on the ivy of the broken arches -of the ancient Priory, was now shining through the diamond panes of -the window at which they were sitting. As her head lay back it was -illuminated by the moon. Her hair seemed delicate threads of spun glass -through which the light was shining. - -One of the candles flared up for a moment in its socket, then dwindled -away to a single spark and then expired. - -"You remember?" she whispered. - -"The seal-cave," he said. "I have often wondered how I dared to tell you -that I loved you." - -"But you told me the truth." - -"The truth. No, no; I did not love you then as I regard loving now. Oh, -my Beatrice, you have taught me what 'tis to love. There is nothing in -the world but love, it is life--it is life!" - -"And there are none in the world who love as you and I do." - -His face shut out the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence -before she said, "It was only when you had parted from me every day that -I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad -Good-byes--sad Good-nights out of the moonlight from hers. There was a -long silence before she said, "It was only when you had parted from me -every day that I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter -moments! Those sad Good-byes--sad Good-nights!" - -"They are over, they are over!" he cried. The lover's triumph rang -through his words. "They are over. We have come to the night when no -more Good-nights shall be spoken. What do I say? No more Good-nights? -You know what a poet's heart sang--a poet over whose head the waters of -passion had closed? I know the song that came from his heart--beloved, -the pulses of his heart beat in every line:"= - - -```"'Good-night! ah, no, the hour is ill - -'```That severs those it should unite: - -'``Let us remain together still, - -````Then it will be good night.= - - -```"' How can I call the lone night good, - -`````Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? - -```Be it not said--thought--understood; - -````Then it will be good night.= - - -```"'To hearts that near each other move - -'```From evening close to morning light, - -```The night is good because, oh, Love, - -````They never say Good-night.'"= - - -His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were -closed and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh--a sigh that -had something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his -neck, and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone. - -How had she gone? - -Whither had she gone? - -How long had he been alone? - -He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room. - -Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his -arms? Had he been repeating Shelley's poem in the hearing of no one? - -He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old -Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch -where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. -It was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one -window above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated. - -It had no drapery--he could see through it half way into the room -beyond. - -Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from -the wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved -Head of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies. - -He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until--until.... - -There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony. - -His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling -whiteness beneath the light of the candles. - -He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which -he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand -on the handle of the door. - -There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly -watching the struggle. - -It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul. - -The man's fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his hands -across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them. - -Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started -up, and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled--madly--blindly--away -from the house. - -Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone--he only fell -upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground. - -When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot -of an ancient prostrate Cross. - -He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his -parched lips the cry, "Christ have mercy upon me!" - -He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp -stone. - -This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward. - -He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance. - -She was saved! - -And he--he had saved his soul alive! - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI.--ON A BED OF LOGS. - - -|ONWARD he fled, he knew not whither; he only knew that he was flying -for the safety of his soul. - -He passed far beyond the limits of the Priory grounds, but he did not -reach the high road. He crossed a meadow and came upon a trout stream. -He walked beside it for an hour. At the end of that time there was no -moonlight to glitter upon its surface. Clouds had come over the sky and -drops of rain were beginning to fall. - -He crossed the stream by a little bridge, and reached the border of a -wood. It was now long past midnight. He had been walking for two hours, -but he had no consciousness of weariness. It was not until the rain was -streaming off his hair that he recollected that he had no hat. But on -still he went through the darkness and the rain, as though he were being -pursued, and that every step he took was a step toward safety. - -He came upon a track that seemed to lead through the wood, and upon this -track he went for several miles. The ground was soft, and at some places -the rain had turned it into a morass. The autumn leaves lay in drifts, -sodden and rotting. Into more than one of these he stumbled, and when he -got upon his feet again, the damp leaves and the mire were clinging to -him. - -For three more hours he went on by the winding track through the wood. -In the darkness he strayed from it frequently, but invariably found it -again and struggled on, until he had passed right through the wood and -reached a high road that ran beside it. - -As though he had been all the night wandering in search for this road, -so soon as he saw it he cried, "Thank God, thank God!" - -But something else may have been in his mind beyond the satisfaction of -coming upon the road. - -At the border of the wood where the track broadened out, there was a -woodcutter's rough shed. It was piled up with logs of various sizes, and -with trimmed boughs awaiting the carts to come along the road to carry -them away. He entered the shed, and, overpowered with weariness, sank -down upon a heap of boughs; his head found a resting place in a forked -branch and in a moment he was sound asleep. - -His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it -might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the -window. - -True; but his soul was saved. - -He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him. - -The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that -came from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with -the smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small -branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices. - -He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not -realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself. -Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he -said, "Thank God, thank God!" - -Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held -bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a -constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable. - -The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They -stood shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high. - -The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them, -whether in regard to attack or defence. - -"Well, you're awake, my gentleman," said the man with the truncheon. - -The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of -strength, aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in -the shed. - -"Yes, I believe I'm awake," said Harold. "Is the morning far advanced?" - -"That's as may be," said the truncheon-holder, shrewdly, and after a -pause of considerable duration. - -"You're not the man to compromise yourself by a hasty statement," said -Harold. - -"No," said the man, after another pause. - -"May I ask what is the meaning of this rather imposing demonstration?" -said Harold. - -"Ay, you may, maybe," replied the man. "But it's my business to tell -you that--" here he paused and inflated his lungs and person -generally-- "that all you say now will be used as evidence against -you." - -"That's very official," said Harold. "Does it mean that you're a -constable?" - -"That it do; and that you're in my charge now. Close up, bill-hooks, and -stand firm," the man added to his companions. - -"Don't trumle for we," said one of the billhook-holders. - -"You see there's no use broadening vi'lent-like," said the -truncheon-holder. - -"That's clear enough," said Harold. "Would it be imprudent for me to -inquire what's the charge against me?" - -"You know," said the policeman. - -"Come, my man," said Harold; "I'm not disposed to stand this farce any -longer. Can't you see that I'm no vagrant--that I haven't any of your -logs concealed about me. What part of the country is this? Where's the -nearest telegraph office?" - -"No matter what's the part," said the constable; "I've arrested you -before witnesses of full age, and I've cautioned you according to the -Ack o' Parliament." - -"And the charge?" - -"The charge is the murder." - -"Murder--what murder?" - -"You know--the murder of the Right Honourable Lord Fotheringay." - -"What!" shouted Harold. "Lord--oh, you're mad! Lord Fotheringay is my -father, and he's staying at Abbeylands. What do you mean, you idiot, by -coming to me with such a story?" The policeman winked in by no means a -subtle way at the two men with the bill-hooks; he then looked at Harold -from head to foot, and gave a guffaw. - -"The son of his lordship--the murdered man--you heard that, friends, -after I gave the caution according to the Ack o' Parliament?" he said. - -"Ay, ay, we heard--leastways to that effeck," replied one of the men. - -"Then down it goes again him," said the constable. "He's a -gentleman-Jack tramp--and that's the worst sort--without hat or head -gear, and down it goes that he said he was his lordship's son." - -"For God's sake tell me what you mean by talking of the murder of Lord -Fotheringay," said Harold. "There can be no truth in what you said. Oh, -why do I wait here talking to this idiot?" He took a few steps toward one -end of the shed. The men raised their bill-hooks, and the constable made -an aggressive demonstration with his truncheon. - -Against Stupidity the gods fight in vain, but now and again a man with -good muscles can prevail against it. Harold simply dealt a kick upon -the heavy handle of the bill-hook nearest to him, and it swung round -and caught in the stomach the second man, who immediately dropped his -implement. He needed both hands to press against his injured person. - -The constable ran to the other end of the shed and blew his whistle. - -Harold went out in the opposite direction and got upon the high road; -but before he had quite made up his mind which way to go, he heard the -clatter of a horse galloping. He saw that a mounted constable was coming -up, and he also noticed with a certain amount of interest, that he was -drawing a revolver. - -Harold stood in the centre of the road and held up his hand. - -One of the few occasions when a man of well developed muscles, if he is -wise, thinks himself no better than the gods, is when Stupidity is in -the act of drawing a revolver. - -"Are you the sergeant of constabulary?" Harold inquired, when the man -had reined in. He still kept his revolver handy. - -"Yes, I'm the sergeant of constabulary. Who are you, and what are you -doing here?" said the man. - -"He's the gentleman-Jack tramp that the lads found asleep in the shed, -sergeant," said the constable, who had hurried forward with the naked -truncheon. "The lads came on him hiding here, when they were setting -about their day's work. They ran for me, and that's why I sent for you. -I've arrested him and cautioned him. He was nigh clearing off just now, -but I never took an eye off him. Is there a reward yet, sergeant?" - -"Officer," said Harold. "I am Lord Fotheringay's son. For God's -sake tell me if what this man says is true--is Lord Fotheringay -dead--murdered?" - -"He's dead. You seem to know a lot about it, my gentleman," said the -sergeant. "You're charged with his murder. If you make any attempt at -resistance, I'll shoot you down like a dog." - -The man had now his revolver is his right hand. Harold looked first at -him, and then at the foolish man with the truncheon. He was amazed. What -could the men mean? How was it that they did not touch their helmets to -him? He had never yet been addressed by a policeman or a railway porter -without such a token of respect. What was the meaning of the change? - -This was really his first thought. - -His mind was not in a condition to do more than speculate upon this -point. It was not capable of grasping the horrible thing suggested by -the men. - -He stood there in the middle of the road, dazed and speechless. It was -not until he had casually looked down and had seen the condition of his -feet and legs and clothes that, passing from the amazed thought of -the insolence of the constables, into the amazement produced by his -raggedness--he was apparently covered with mire from head to foot--the -reason of his treatment flashed upon him; and in another instant every -thought had left him except the thought that his father was dead. His -head fell forward on his chest. He felt his limbs give way under him. -He staggered to the low hank at the side of the road and managed to seat -himself. He supported his head on his hands, his elbows resting on his -knees. - -There he remained, the four men watching him; for the interest which -attaches to a distinguished criminal in the eyes of ignorant rustics, is -almost as great as that which he excites among the leaders of society, -who scrutinize him in the dock through opera glasses, and eat _pt de -foie gras_ sandwiches beside the judge. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII.--ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - -|SOME minutes had passed before Harold had sufficiently recovered to be -able to get upon his feet. He could now account for everything that -had happened. His father must have been found dead under suspicious -circumstances the previous day, and information had been conveyed to the -county constabulary. The instinct of the constabulary being to connect -all crime with tramps, and his own appearance, after his night of -wandering, as well as the conditions under which he had been found, -suggesting the tramp, he had naturally been arrested. - -He knew that he could only suffer some inconvenience for an hour or so. -But what would be the sufferings of Beatrice? - -"The circumstances under which I am found are suspicious enough to -justify my arrest," he said to the mounted man. "I am Lord Fotheringay's -son." - -"Gammon! but it'll be took down," said the constable with the truncheon. - -"Hold your tongue, you fool!" cried the sergeant to his subordinate. - -"I can, of course, account for every movement of mine, yesterday and the -day before," said Harold. "What hour is the crime supposed to have taken -place? It must have been after four o'clock, or I should have received a -telegram from my sister, Mrs. Lampson. I left London shortly before five -last evening." - -"If you can prove that, you're all right," said the sergeant. "But -you'll have to give us your right name." - -"You'll find it on the inside of my watch," said Harold. - -He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the -sergeant. - -"You're a fool!" said the sergeant, looking at the hack of the watch. -"This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It has a crown over -a crest, and arms with supporters." - -"Of course," said Harold. "I forgot that it was my father's watch -before he gave it to me." The sergeant smiled. The constable and the two -bill-hook men guffawed. - -"Give me the watch," said Harold. - -The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket. - -"You've put a rope round your neck this minute," said he. "Handcuffs, -Jonas." - -The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold's -hands instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his -revolver out of its case. - -"It has never occurred before this minute," said the constable. - -"What do you mean? Where's the handcuffs?" cried the sergeant. - -"Never before," said the constable, "I took them out to clean them -with sandpaper, sergeant--emery and oil's recommended, but give me -sandpaper--not too fine but just fine enough. Is there any man in the -county that can show as bright a pair of handcuffs as myself, sergeant? -You know." - -"Show them now," said the sergeant. - -"You'll have to come to the house with me, for there they be to be," -replied the constable. "Ay, but I've my truncheon." - -"Which way am I to go with you?" said Harold. "You don't think that I'm -such a fool as to make the attempt to resist you? I can't remain here -all day. Every moment is precious." - -"You'll be off soon enough, my good man," said the sergeant. "Keep -alongside my horse, and if you try any game on with me, I'll be equal to -you." He wheeled his horse and walked it in the direction whence he had -come. Harold kept up with it, thinking his thoughts. The man with the -truncheon and the two men who had wielded the billhooks marched in file -beside him. Marching in file had something official about it. - -It was a strange procession that appeared on the shining wet road, -with the dripping autumn trees on each side, and the gray sodden clouds -crawling up in the distance. - -How was he to communicate with her? How was he to let Beatrice know that -she was to return to London immediately? - -That was the question which occupied all his thoughts as he walked -with bowed head along the road. The thought of the position which he -occupied--the thought of the tragic incident which had aroused the -vigilance of the constable--the desire to learn the details of the -terrible thing that had occurred--every thought was lost in that -question: - -"How am I to prevent her from going on to Abbeylands?" - -Was it possible that she might learn at the hotel early in the morning, -that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered? When the news of the murder had -spread round the country--and it seemed to have done so from the course -that the woodcutters had adopted on coming upon him asleep--it would -certainly be known at the hotel. If so, what would Beatrice do? - -Surely she would take the earliest train back to London. - -But if she did not hear anything of the matter, would she then remain at -the hotel awaiting his return? - -What would she think of him? What would she think of his desertion of -her at that supreme moment? - -Can a woman ever forgive such an act of desertion? Could Beatrice ever -forgive his turning away from her love? - -Was he beginning to regret that he had fled away from the loveliest -vision that had ever come before his eyes? - -Did Saint Anthony ever wish that he had had another chance? - -If for a single moment Harold Wynne had an unworthy thought, assuredly -it did not last longer than a single moment. - -"Whatever may happen now--whether she forgives me or forsakes me--thank -God--thank God!" - -This was what his heart was crying out all the time that he walked along -the road with bowed head. He felt that he had been strong enough to save -her--to save himself. - -The procession had scarcely passed over more than a quarter of a mile of -the road, when a vehicle appeared some distance ahead. - -"Steady," said the sergeant. "It's the Major in his trap. I sent a -mounted man for him. You'll be in trouble about the handcuffs, Jonas, my -man." - -"Maybe the murderer would keep his hands together to oblige us," -suggested the constable. - -"I'll not be a party to deception," said his superior. "Halt!" - -Harold looked up and saw a dog-cart just at hand. It was driven by a -middle-aged gentleman, and a groom was seated behind. Harold had an -impression that he had seen the driver previously, though he could -not remember when or where he had done so. He rather thought he was an -officer whom he had met at some place abroad. - -The dog-cart was pulled up, and the officials saluted in their own way, -as the gentleman gave the reins to his groom and dismounted. - -"An arrest, sir," said the sergeant. "The two woodcutters came upon him -hiding in their shed at dawn, and sent for the constable. Jonas, -very properly, sent for me, and I despatched a man for you, sir. When -arrested, he made up a cock-and-bull story, and a watch, supposed to be -his murdered lordship's, was found concealed about his person. It's now -in my possession." - -"Good," said the stranger. Then he subjected Harold to a close scrutiny. - -"I know now where I met you," said Harold. "You are Major Wilson, the -Chief Constable of the County, and you lunched with us at Abbeylands two -years ago." - -"What! Mr. Wynne!" cried the man. "What on earth can be the meaning of -this? Your poor father--" - -"That is what I want to learn," said Harold eagerly. "Is it more than a -report--that terrible thing?" - -"A report? He was found at six o'clock last evening by a keeper on the -outskirts of one of the preserves." - -"A bullet--an accident? he may have been out shooting," said Harold. - -"A knife--a dagger." - -Harold turned away. - -"Remain where you are, sergeant," said Major Wilson. "Let me have a word -with you, Mr. Wynne," he added to Harold. - -"Certainly," said Harold. His voice was shaky. "I wonder if you chance -to have a flask of brandy in your cart. You can understand that I'm not -quite--" - -"I'm sorry that I have no brandy," said Major Wilson. "Perhaps you -wouldn't mind sitting on the bank with me while you explain--if you -wish--I do not suggest that you should--I suppose the constables -cautioned you." - -"Amply," said Harold. "I find that I can stand. I don't suppose that any -blame attaches to them for arresting me. I am, I fear, very disreputable -looking. The fact is that I was stupid enough to miss the train from -Mowern junction last night, and I went to the Priory Hotel. I came out -when the night was fine, without my hat, and I---- had reasons of my own -for not wishing to return to the hotel. I got into the wood and wandered -for several hours along a track I found. I got drenched, and taking -shelter in the woodcutters' shed, I fell asleep. That is all I have to -say. I have not the least idea what part of the country this is: I must -have walked at least twenty miles through the night." - -"You are not a mile from the Priory Hotel," said Major Wilson. - -"That is impossible," cried Harold. "I walked pretty hard for five -hours." - -"Through the wood?" - -"I practically never left the track." - -"You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood -instead of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone -Woods. Mr. Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard -of or saw in my life." - -"Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I shall -be inconvenienced for long," said Harold. "It is a shocking thing for a -son to be suspected even for a moment of the murder of his own father; -but sometimes a curious combination of circumstances----" - -"Of course--of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg of you. -Did you leave London yesterday?" - -"Yes, by the four-fifty-five train." - -"Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?" - -"I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the -collector, the return portion is in my pocket." - -He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and -took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it. - -"Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?" he then -inquired. - -"I'm afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the train to -go to Abbeylands without me," said Harold. "That was at ten minutes past -seven o'clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I made elaborate inquiries -from the railway officials in London between half past four and the hour -of the train's starting. I also spoke to the station-master at Mindon, -asking him if he was certain that the train would arrive at the junction -in time." Major Wilson's face brightened. Before it had been somewhat -overcast. - -"A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up -everything," said Major Wilson. "Yes, everything except--wasn't that -midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?" - -"Yes," said Harold, after a pause. "It was extremely odd. So odd that -I know that you will pardon my attempting to explain it--at least just -now. You will, I think, be satisfied if you have evidence that I was in -London yesterday afternoon. I am anxious to go to my sister without -delay. Surely some clue must be forthcoming as to the ruffian who did -the deed." - -"The only clue--if it could be termed a clue--is the sheath of the -dagger," replied Major Wilson. "It is the sheath of an ordinary belt -dagger, such as is commonly worn by the peasantry in Southern Italy and -Sicily. Lord Fotheringay lived a good deal abroad. Do you happen to know -if he became involved in any quarrel in Italy--if there was any reason -to think that his life had been threatened?" - -Harold shook his head. - -"My poor father returned from abroad a couple of months ago, and joined -Lady Innisfail's party in Ireland. I have only seen him once in -London since then. He must have been followed by some one who fancied -that--that--" - -"That he had been injured by your father?" - -"That is what I fear. But my father never confided his suspicions--if he -had any on this matter--to me." - -They had walked some little way up the road. They now returned slowly -and silently. - -A one-horse-fly appeared in the distance. When it came near, Harold -recognized it as the one in which he had driven with Beatrice from the -station to the hotel. - -"If you will allow me," said Harold to Major Wilson, "I will send to the -hotel for my overcoat and hat." - -"Do so by all means," said Major Wilson. "There is a decent little -inn some distance on the road, where you will be able to get a brush -down--you certainly need one. I'll give my sergeant instructions to send -some telegrams at the junction." - -"Perhaps you will kindly ask him to return to me my watch," said Harold. -"I don't suppose that he will need it now." - -Harold stopped the fly, and wrote upon a card of his own the following -words, "_A shocking thing has happened that keeps me from you. My poor -father is dead. Return to town by first train._" - -He instructed the driver to go to the Priory Hotel and deliver the card -into the hand of the lady whom he had driven there the previous evening, -and then to pay Harold's bill, drive the lady to the junction, and -return with the overcoat and hat to the inn on the road. - -Harold gave the man a couple of sovereigns, and the driver said that he -would be able easily to convey the lady to the junction in time for the -first train. - -While the sergeant went away to send the Chief Constable's telegrams, -Major Wilson and Harold drove off together in the dog-cart--the man with -the truncheon and the men who had carried the bill-hooks respectfully -saluted as the vehicle passed. - -In the course of another half hour, Harold was in the centre of a cloud -of dust, produced by the vigorous action of an athlete at the little -inn, who had been engaged to brush him down. When he caught sight of -himself in a looking-glass on entering the inn, Harold was as much -amazed as he had been when he heard from the Chief Constable that he had -been wandering round the wood all night. He felt that he could not blame -the woodcutters for taking him for a tramp. - -He managed to eat some breakfast, and then he fly came up with his -overcoat and hat. He spoke only one sentence to the driver. - -"You brought her to the train?" - -"Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir." - -He handed Harold an envelope. - -Inside was a sheet of paper. - -"_Dearest--dearest--You have all my sympathy--all my love. Come to me -soon._" - -These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice. - -He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the -bed and burst into tears. - -It was ten years since he had wept. - -Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer. - -It was ten years since he had prayed. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII--ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL INCIDENT. - -|THIS is not the story of a murder. However profitable as well as -entertaining it would be to trace through various mysteries, false -alarms, and intricacies the following up of a clue by the subtle -intelligence of a detective, until the rope is around the neck of the -criminal, such profit and entertainment must be absent from this story -of a man's conquest of the Devil within himself. Regarding the incident -of the murder of Lord Fotheringay much need not be said. - -The sergeant appeared at the inn with replies to the telegrams that -he had been instructed to send to the railway officials, and they were -found to corroborate all the statements made by Harold. A ticket of the -number of that upon the one which Harold still retained, had been issued -previous to the departure of the four-fifty-five train from London. - -"Of course, I knew what the replies would be," said Major Wilson. "But -you can understand my position." - -"Certainly I can," said Harold. "It needs no apology." - -They drove to the junction together to catch the train to Abbeylands -station. An astute officer from Scotland Yard had been telegraphed for, -to augment the intelligence of the County Constabulary Force in the -endeavour to follow up the only clue that was available, and Major -Wilson was to travel with the London officer to the scene of the crime. - -In a few minutes the London train came up, and the passengers for -the Abbeylands line crossed to the side platform. Among them Harold -perceived his own servant. The man was dressed in black, and carried a -portmanteau and hat-box. He did not see his master until he had reached -the platform. Then he walked up to Harold, laid down the portmanteau -and endeavoured--by no means unsuccessfully--to impart some -emotion--respectful emotion, and very respectful sympathy, into the act -of touching his hat. - -"I heard the sad news, my lord," said the man, "and I took the liberty -of packing your lordship's portmanteau and taking the first train to -Abbeylands. I took it for granted that you would be there, my lord." - -"You acted wisely, Martin," said Harold. "I will ask you not to make any -change in addressing me for some days, at least." - -"Very good, my lord--I mean, sir," said the man. - -He had not acquired for more than a minute the new mode of address, and -yet he had difficulty in relinquishing it. - -Abbeylands was empty of the guests who, up to the previous evening, had -been within its walls. From the mouth of the gamekeeper, who had found -the body of Lord Fotheringay, Harold learned a few more particulars -regarding his ghastly discovery, but they were of no importance, though -the astute Scotland Yard officer considered them--or pretended to -consider them--to be extremely valuable. - -For a week the detectives were very active, and the newspapers announced -daily that they had discovered a clue, and that an arrest might be -looked for almost immediately. - -No arrest took place, however; the detectives returned to their -head-quarters, and the mild sensation produced by the heading of a -newspaper column, "The Murder of Lord Fotheringay" was completely -obliterated by the toothsome scandal produced by the appearance of a -music-hall artist as the co-respondent in a Duchess's divorce case. It -was eminently a case for sandwiches and plovers' eggs; and the costumes -which the eaters of these portable comestibles wore, were described -in detail by those newspapers which everyone abuses and--reads. The -middle-aged rheumatic butterfly was dead and buried; and though many -theories were started--not by Scotland Yard, however--to account for -his death, no arrests were made. Whoever the murderer was, he remained -undetected. (A couple of years had passed before Harold heard a highly -circumstantial story about the appearance of a foreign gentleman with -extremely dark eyes and hair, in the neighbourhood of Castle Innisfail, -inquiring for Lord Fotheringay a few days after Lord Fotheringay had -left the Castle). - -Mrs. Lampson, the only daughter of the deceased peer, had received so -severe a shock through the tragic circumstances of her father's death, -that she found it necessary to take a long voyage. She started for Samoa -with her husband in his steam yacht. It may be mentioned incidentally, -however, that, as the surface of the Bay of Biscay was somewhat ruffled -when the yacht was going southward, it was thought advisable to change -the cruise to one in the Mediterranean. Mrs. Lampson turned up on the -Riviera in the spring, and, after entertaining freely there for some -time, an article appeared above her signature in a leading magazine -deploring the low tone of society at Monte Carlo and on the Riviera -generally. - -It was in the railway carriage on their way to London from -Abbeylands--the exact time was when Harold was in the act of repeating -the stanzas from Shelley--that Helen Craven and Edmund Airey conversed -together, sitting side by side for the purpose. - -"He is Lord Fotheringay now," remarked Miss Craven, thoughtfully. - -Edmund looked at her with something of admiration in his eyes. The young -woman who, an hour or two after being shocked at the news of a tragedy -enacted at the very door of the house where she had been a guest, could -begin to discuss its social bearing, was certainly a young woman to be -wondered at--that is, to be admired. - -"Yes," said Edmund, "he is now Lord Fotheringay, whatever that means." - -"It means a title and an income, does it not?" said she. - -"Yes, a sort of title and, yes, a sort of income," said he. - -"Either would be quite enough to marry and live on," said Helen. - -"He contrived to live without either up to the present." - -"Yes, poorly." - -"Not palatially, certainly, but still pleasantly." - -"Will he ask her to marry him now, do you think?" - -"Her?" - -"Yes, you know--Beatrice Avon." - -"Oh--I think that--that I should like to know what you think about it." - -"I think he will ask her." - -"And that she will accept him?" - -She did not know how much thought he had been giving to this question -during some hours--how eagerly he was waiting her reply. - -"No." she said; "I believe that she will not accept him, because she -means to accept you--if you give her a chance." - -The start that he gave was very well simulated. Scarcely so admirable -from a standpoint of art was the opening of his eyes accompanied by a -little exclamation of astonishment. - -"Why are you surprised?" she said, as if she was surprised at his -surprise--so subtly can a clever young woman flatter the cleverest of -men. - -He shook his head. - -"I am surprised because I have just heard the most surprising -sentence that ever came upon my ears. That is saying a good deal--yes, -considering how much we have talked together." - -"Why should it be surprising?" she said. "Did you not call upon her in -town?" - -"Yes, I called upon her," he replied, wondering how she had come to know -it. (She had merely guessed it.) - -"That would give her hope." - -"Hope?" - -"Hope. And it was this hope that induced her to accept Mrs. Lampson's -invitation, although she must have known that Mrs. Lampson's brother -was not to be of the party. I have often wondered if it was you or Lord -Fotheringay who asked Mrs. Lampson to invite her?" - -"It was I," said Edmund. - -Her eyes brightened--so far as it was possible for them to brighten. - -"I wonder if she came to know that," said Helen musingly. "It would be -something of a pity if she did not know it." - -"For that matter, nearly everything that happens is a pity," said he. - -"Not everything," said she. "But it is certainly a pity that the person -who had the bad taste to stab poor Lord Fotheringay did not postpone his -crime for at least one day. You would in that case have had a chance of -returning by the side of Beatrice Avon instead of by the side of some -one else." - -"Who is infinitely cleverer," said Edmund. - -At this point their conversation ended--at least so far as Harold and -Beatrice were concerned. - -Helen felt, however, that even that brief exchange of opinions had been -profitable. Her first thought on hearing of the ghastly discovery of -the gamekeeper, was that all her striving to win Harold had been in -vain--that all her contriving, by the help of Edmund Airey, had been to -no purpose. Harold would now be free to marry Beatrice Avon--or to ask -her to marry him; which she believed was much the same thing. - -But in the course of a short time she did not feel so hopeless. She -believed that Edmund Airey only needed a little further flattery to -induce him to resume his old attitude in regard to Beatrice; and the -result of her little chat with him in the train showed her not merely -that, in regard to flattery, he was pretty much as other men, only, of -course, he required it to be subtly administered--but also that he had -no intention of allowing his compact in regard to Beatrice to expire -with their departure from Castle Innisfail. He admitted having called -upon her in London, and this showed Helen very plainly that his attitude -in respect of Beatrice was the result of a rather stronger impulse -than the desire to be of service to her, Helen, in accordance with -the suggestions which she had ventured to make during her first frank -interview with him. - -She made up her mind that he would not require in future to be -frequently reminded of that frank interview. She knew that there exists -a more powerful motive for some men's actions than a desire to forward -the happiness of their fellow-men. - -This was her reflection at the precise moment that Harold's face was -bent down to the face of Beatrice, while he whispered the words that -thrilled her. - -As for Edmund Airey, he, too, had his thoughts, and, like Helen, he -considered himself quite capable of estimating the amount of importance -to be attached to such an incident as the murder of Lord Fotheringay, -as a factor in the solution of any problem that might suggest itself. -A murder is, of course, susceptible of being regarded from a social -standpoint. The murder of Lord Fotheringay, for instance, had broken up -what promised to be an exceedingly interesting party at Abbeylands. A -murder is very provoking sometimes; and when Edmund Airey heard Lady -Innisfail complain to Archie Brown--Archie had become a great friend -of hers--of the irritating features of that incident--when he heard -an uncharitable man declare that it was most thoughtless of Lord -Fotheringay to get a knife stuck into his ribs just when the pheasants -were at their best, he could not but feel that his own reflections were -very plainly expressed. - -He had not been certain of himself during the previous two months. For -the first time in his life he did not see his way clearly. It was -in order to improve his vision that he had begged Mrs. Lampson--with -infinite tact, she admitted to her brother--to invite Beatrice to -Abbeylands. He rather thought that, before the visit of Beatrice -should terminate, he would be able to see his way clearly in certain -directions. - -But now, owing to the annoying incident that had occurred, the -opportunity was denied him of improving his vision in accordance -with the prescription which he had prepared to effect this purpose; -therefore---- - -He had reached this point in his reflections when the special train, -which Mr. Lampson had chartered to take his guests back to town, ran -alongside the platform at the London terminus. - -This was just the moment when Harold looked up to the window from the -Priory grounds and saw that vision of white glowing beauty. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX.--ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CONFESSION. - -|HE stood silent, without taking a step into the room, when the door had -been closed behind him. - -With a cry she sprang from her seat in front of the fire and put out her -hands to him. - -Still he did not move a step toward her. He remained at the door. - -Something of fear was upon her face as she stood looking at him. He was -pale and haggard and ghostlike. She could not but perceive how strongly -the likeness to his father, who had been buried the previous day, -appeared upon his face now that it was so worn and haggard--much more so -than she had ever seen his father's face. - -"Harold--Harold--my beloved!" she cried, and there was something of fear -in her voice. "Harold--husband--" - -"For God's sake, do not say that, Beatrice!" - -His voice was hoarse and quite unlike the voice that had whispered the -lines of Shelley, with his face within the halo of moonlight that had -clung about her hair. - -She was more frightened still. Her hands were clasped over her -heart--the lamplight gleamed upon the blood-red circle of rubies on the -one ring that she wore--it had never left her finger. - -He came into the room. She only retreated one step. - -"For God's sake, Beatrice, do not call me husband! I am not your -husband!" - -She came toward him; and now the look of fear that she had worn, became -one of sympathy. Her eyes were full of tears as she said, "My poor -Harold, you have all the sympathy--the compassion--the love of my heart. -You know it." - -"Yes," he said, "I know it. I know what is in your heart. I know its -purity--its truth--its sweetness--that is why I should never have come -here, knowing also that I am unworthy to stand in your presence." - -"You are worthy of all--all--that I can give you." - -"Worthy of contempt--contempt--worthy of that for which there is no -forgiveness. Beatrice, we have not been married. The form through which -we went in this room was a mockery. The man whom I brought here was not -a priest. He was guilty of a crime in coming here. I was guilty of a -crime in bringing him." - -She looked at him for a few moments, and then turned away from him. - -She went without faltering in the least toward the chair that still -remained in front of the fire. But before she had taken more than a -few steps toward it, she looked back at him--only for a second or two, -however; then she reached the chair and seated herself in it with her -back to him. She looked into the fire. - -There was a long silence before he spoke again. - -"I think I must have been mad," he said. "Mad to distrust you. It was -only when I was away from you that madness came upon me. The utter -hopelessness of ever being able to call you mine took possession of me, -body and soul, and I felt that I must bind you to me by some means. An -accident suggested the means to me. God knows, Beatrice, that I meant -never to take advantage of your belief that we were married. But when -I felt myself by your side in the train--when I felt your heart beating -against mine that night--I found myself powerless to resist. I was -overcome. I had cast honour, and truth, yes, and love--the love that -exists for ever without hope of reward--to the winds. Thank God--thank -God that I awoke from my madness. The sight which should have made me -even more powerless to resist, awoke me to a true sense of the life -which I had been living for some hours, and by God's grace I was strong -enough to fly." - -Again there was a long silence. He could see her finely-cut profile as -she sat upright, looking into the fire. He saw that her features had -undergone no change whatever while he was speaking. It seemed as if his -recital had in no respect interested her. - -The silence was appalling. - -She put out her hand and took from a small table beside her, the hook -which apparently she had been reading when he had entered. She turned -over the leaves as if searching for the place at which she had been -interrupted. - -He came beside her. - -"Have you no word for me--no word of pity--of forgiveness--of farewell?" -he said. - -She had apparently found her place. She seemed to be reading. - -"Beatrice, Beatrice, I implore of you--one word--one word--any word!" - -He had clutched her arm as he fell on his knees passionately beside her. -The book dropped to the floor. She was on her feet at the same instant. - -"Oh God--oh God, what have I done that I should be the victim of these -men?" she cried, not in a strident voice, but in a low tone, tremulous -with passion. "One man thinks it a good thing to amuse himself by -pretending that I interest him, and another whom I trusted as I would -have trusted my God, endeavours to ruin my life--and he has done it--he -has done it! My life is ruined!" - -She had never looked at him while he was speaking to her. She had not -been able for some time to comprehend the full force of the revelation -he had made to her; but so soon as she had felt his hand upon her arm, -she seemed in a moment to understand all. - -Now she looked at him as he knelt at her feet with his head bowed down -to the arm of the chair in which she had been sitting--she looked down -upon him; and then with a cry as of physical pain, she flung herself -wildly upon a sofa, sobbing hysterically. - -He was beside her in a moment. - -"Oh, Beatrice, my love, my love, tell me what reparation I can make," he -cried. "Beatrice, have pity upon me! Do not say that I have ruined your -life. It was only because I could not bear the thought that there was -a chance of losing you, that I did what I did. I could not face that, -Beatrice!" - -She still lay there, shaken with sobs. He dared not put his hand upon -her. He dared not touch one of her hands with his. He could only stand -there by her side. Every sob that she gave was like a dagger's thrust -to him. He suffered more during those moments than his father had done -while the hand of the assassin was upon him. - -The long silence was broken only by her sobs. - -"Beatrice--Beatrice, you will say one word to me--one word, Beatrice, -for God's sake!" - -Some moments had passed while she struggled hard to control herself. - -It was long before she was successful. - -"Go--go--go!" she cried, without raising her head from the satin cushion -of the sofa. "Oh, Harold, Harold, go!" - -"I will go," he said, after another long pause. "I will go. But I leave -here all that I love in the world--all that I shall ever love. I was -false to myself once--only once; I shall never be so again. I shall -never cease loving you while I live, Beatrice. I never loved you as I do -now." - -She made no sign. - -Even when she heard the door of the room open and close, she did not -rise. - -And the fire burnt itself out, and the lamp burnt itself out, but still -she lay there in her tears. - - - - -CHAPTER L.--ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - - -|HIS worst forebodings had come to pass. That was the one feeling which -Harold had on leaving her. - -He had scarcely ventured to entertain a hope that the result of his -interview with her and of his confession to her would be different. - -He knew her. - -That was why he had gone to her without hope. He knew that her nature -was such as made it impossible for her to understand how he could have -practised a fraud upon her; and he knew that understanding is the first -step toward forgiving. - -Still, there ever pervades the masculine mind an idea that there is no -limit to a woman's forgiveness. - -The masculine mind has the best of reasons for holding fast to this -idea. It is the result of many centuries of experience of woman--of many -centuries of testing the limits of woman's forgiveness. The belief that -there is nothing that a woman will not forgive in a man whom she loves, -is the heritage of man--just as the heritage of woman is to believe -that nothing that is done by a man whom she loves, stands in need of -forgiveness. - -Thus it is that men and women make (occasionally) excellent companions -for one another, and live together (frequently) in harmony. - -Thus it was that, in spite of the fact that his reason and his knowledge -of the nature of Beatrice assured him that his confession of the fraud -in which he had participated against her would not be forgiven by her, -there still remained in the mind of Harold Wynne a shadowy hope that she -might yet be as other women, who, understanding much, forgive much. - -He left her presence, feeling that she was no as other women are. - -That was the only grain of comfort that remained with him. He loved her -more than he had ever done before, because she was not as other women -are. - -She could not understand how that cold distrust had taken possession of -him. - -She knew nothing of that world in which he had lived all his life--a -world quite full of worldliness--and therefore she could not understand -how it was that he had sought to bind her to him beyond the possibility -(as he meant her to think) of ever being separated from him. She -had laid all her trust in him. She had not even claimed from him the -privilege of consulting with someone--her father or someone with whom -she might be on more confidential terms--regarding the proposition which -he had made to her. No, she had trusted him implicitly, and yet he had -persevered in regarding her as belonging to the worldly ones among whom -he had lived all his life. - -He had lost her. - -He had lost her, and he deserved to lose her. This was his thought as -he walked westward. He had not the satisfaction of feeling that he was -badly treated. - -The feeling on the part of a man that he has been badly treated by a -woman, usually gives him much greater satisfaction than would result -from his being extremely well treated by the same, or, indeed, by any -other woman. - -But this blessed consciousness of being badly treated was denied to -Harold Wynne. He had been the ill-treater, not the ill-treated. He -reflected how he had taken advantage of the peculiar circumstances of -the girl's life--upon the absence of her father--upon her own trustful -innocence--to carry out the fraud which he had perpetrated upon her. -Under ordinary circumstances and with a girl of an ordinary stamp, such -a fraud would have been impossible. He was well aware that a girl living -under the conditions to which most girls are subjected, would have -laughed in his face had he suggested the advisability of marrying him -privately. - -Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she -enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not -cause him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot. - -One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was -why he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, "Thank God--thank -God!" - -He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card. - -"I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord," said -Martin. - -"The lady?" - -Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come -to him. - -"Yes, my lord; Miss Craven," said Martin, handing him the card. "But she -said that perhaps you would see her." - -"_Only for a minute_," were the words written in pencil on Miss Craven's -card. - -"Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven," said Harold. - -"Very good, my lord." - -She stood at the door. The light outside was very low; so was the light -in the room. - -Between two dim lights was where Helen looked her best. A fact of which -she was well aware. - -She seemed almost pretty as she stood there. - -She had made up pale, which she considered appropriately sympathetic on -her part. And, indeed, there can scarcely be a difference of opinion on -this point. - -In delicate matters of taste like this she rarely-made a mistake. - -"It was so good of you to come," said he, taking her hand. - -"I could not help it, Harold," said she. - -"Mamma is in the brougham; she desired me to convey to you her deepest -sympathy." - -"I am indeed touched by her thoughtfulness," said Harold. "You will tell -her so." - -"Mamma is not very strong," said Helen. "She would not come in with me. -She, too, has suffered deeply. But I felt that I must tell you face to -face how terribly shocked we were--how I feel for you with all my heart. -We have always been good friends--the best of friends, Harold--at least, -I do not know where I should look in the world for another such friend -as you." - -"Yes, we were always good friends, Helen," said he; "and I hope that we -shall always remain so." - -"We shall--I feel that we shall, Harold," said she. - -Her eyes were overflowing with tears, as she put out a hand to him--a -hand which he took and held between both his own, but without speaking a -word. "I felt that I must go to you if only for a moment--if only to say -to you as I do now, 'I feel for you with all my heart. You have all my -sympathy.' That is all I have to say. I knew you would allow me to see -you, and to give you my message. Good-bye." - -"You are so good--so kind--so thoughtful," said he. "I shall always feel -that you are my friend--my best friend, Helen." - -"And you may always trust in my friendship--my--my--friendship," said -she. "You will come and see us soon--mamma and me. We should be so glad. -Lady Innisfail wanted me to go with her to Netherford Hall--several of -your sister's party are going with Lady Innisfail; but of course I could -not think of going. I shall go nowhere for some time--a long time, I -think. We shall be at home whenever you call, Harold." - -"And you may be certain that I shall call soon," said he. "Pray tell -Mrs. Craven how deeply touched--how deeply grateful I am for -her kindness. And you--you know that I shall never forget your -thoughtfulness, Helen." - -Her eyes were still glistening as he took her hand and pressed it. She -looked at him through her tears; her lips moved, but no words came. She -turned and went down the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, and -then Martin met her, opened the hall-door, and saw her put into the -brougham by her footman. - -"Well," said her mother, when the brougham got upon the wood pavement. -"Well, did you find the poor orphan in tears and comfort him?" Mrs. -Craven was not devoid of an appreciation of humour of a certain form. -She had lived in Birmingham for several years of her life. - -"Dear mamma," said Helen, "I think you may always trust to me to know -what is right to do upon all occasions. My visit was a success. I knew -that it would be a success. I know Harold Wynne." - -"I know one thing," said Mrs. Craven, "and that is, that he will never -marry you. Whatever Harold Wynne might have done, Lord Fotheringay will -never marry you, my dear. Make up your mind to that." - -Her daughter laughed in the way that a daughter laughs at a prophetic -mother clad in sables, with a suspicion of black velvet and beads -underneath. - - - - -CHAPTER LI.--ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND OTHERS. - -|DURING the next few days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot -have his father murdered without attracting a considerable amount of -attention to himself. Cards "_With deepest sympathy_" were left upon him -by the hundred, and the majority of those sympathizers drove away to -say to their friends at their clubs what a benefactor to society was the -person who had run that knife into the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some -suggested that a presentation should be got up for that man; and when -someone asked what the police meant by taking so much trouble to find -the man, another ventured to formulate the very plausible theory that -they were doing so in order to force him to give sittings to an eminent -sculptor for a statue of himself with the knife in his hand, to be -erected by public subscription outside the House of Lords. - -"Yes; _pour encourager les autres!_" said one of the sympathizers. - -Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now? - -It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic -end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated. - -It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence. - -The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a -standpoint. - -They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord -Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of -displaying their ingenuity. - -They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of -questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his -tastes. - -They wondered if he had an enemy. - -They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the -daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy -they would be on the track of the assassin. - -After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure -of Providence. - -Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through -the medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered -in order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of -Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective -force. - -Other newspapers--they were mostly the organs of the Opposition--sneered -at the Home Secretary. - -Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of -his club, that the days of the Government were numbered. - -Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers; -and as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family -than any of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he -was determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and -to do so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes, -as well as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the -result of his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the -trouble that they entailed. - -He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve -thousand pounds a year, if he really wished--as he said he did--to make -provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping in -repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county. - -Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under -twelve hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on -twelve thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so -soon as he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was -that, by his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying -this sudden increase in revenue. - -If he had only been patient--if he had only been trustful for one week -longer! - -He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly--his cruelty--his -fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of -individual responsibility. - -He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise -he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided -carrying out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer -puppy--where would the Evolutionists be without their pointer -puppy?--can avoid pointing. - -Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done -would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question. -The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of -relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few -persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from -swearing; which seems rather a pity. - -Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr. -Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing -his sympathy for his friend's bereavement. His only allusion to the -bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard. - -Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything, -Harold might depend on his doing it. - -Harold said, "Thank you, old chap, I don't think I can reasonably ask -you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that -have yet to run from ten to sixty years." - -"Therein the patient must minister to himself," said Edmund. "I suppose -it is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any -advice--well, you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone -the length of taking my advice--yes, sometimes. That's more than the -majority of people do--unless my advice bears out their own views. -Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when -he has made up his mind what course to adopt." - -"I have always found your counsel good," said Harold. "You know men and -their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women." - -Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well -acquainted with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that -suggested a doubt of his capacity. - -"Women--and their motives?" said he. - -"Quite so," said Harold. "Their motives. You once assured me that there -was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that -is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the -motives of woman; though it would be reasonable--at least as reasonable -as most talk of women--to speak of the motives of a woman." - -"What woman do you speak of?" said Edmund, quickly. - -"I speak as a fool--broadly," said Harold. "I feel myself to be a fool, -when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian -the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the -country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an -Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories, -and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads -while Brian was telling them." - -"There's no doubt about that," said Edmund. - -"By the way, didn't you ask me for my advice on some point during one of -those days on the Irish lough?" - -"If I did, I'm certain that I received good counsel from you," said -Harold. - -"You did. But you didn't take it," said Edmund, with a laugh. - -"I told you once that you hadn't given me time. I tell you so again," -said Harold. - -"Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund. - -"You understand women--and their motives," said Harold. "Yes, Miss -Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have often wondered -why you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an agreeable -addition to the party at Abbeylands." - -Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour--not for a second did -his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend. - -"The fact was," said he--and he smiled as he spoke--"I was under the -impression that your father--ah, well, if he hadn't that mechanical -rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the walking doll -and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me upon one -occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was amused." - -"And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am -beginning to understand something of men--and their motives," remarked -Harold. - -"If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and fathom -the object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about Siberia. -They are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the horrors of -exile in Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible for what -goes on there. And the worst of it is that they'll do it, too. Do you -remember Bulgaria?" - -"Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong -programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform." - -"I'm trying to think out something at the present moment. Well, -good-bye. Don't fail to let me know if I can do anything for you." - -He had been gone some time before Harold smiled--not the smile of a man -who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but the -sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at fault -when he has thought the worst about one of his friends. - -There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part -of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as -much to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect -composure with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding -his motive in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson--with infinite tact--that -Beatrice Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he -had an interest to know. - -Edmund Airey's acquaintance with men--and women--had led him to feel -sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the suggestion made -by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if he had any -particular reason for making that suggestion. This was perfectly plain -to Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking about for some -time with that answer ready for the question which had just been put to -him. - -"He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment," said Harold, while -that bitter smile was still upon his features. - -And he was right. - - - - -CHAPTER LII.--ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE. - -|MR. AIREY had called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy -entertainment at Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to -find her at home. Now, however, he was more lucky. She had already two -visitors with her in the big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced. - -He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he -entered. He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so; -only he hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he -knew himself to be. He would not have liked them--whoever they were---to -leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were -close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider -themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her -quick flush as he entered. - -He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years. - -Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of -pleasure made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was -so good of him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush -would increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he -quickly perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his -sudden appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale -rather than roseate. - -He noticed this when her visitors--they were feeble folk, the head of a -department in the Museum and his sister--had left the house. - -"It is delightful to be face to face with you once more," he said. "I -seem to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am beside you -again." - -She gave a little laugh--did he detect something of scorn in its -ring?--as she said, "Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater ocean that -we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men that flows -around us." - -No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it. - -"I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide," said he. "I -see you with your feet among the purple heather--I wonder if there was a -sprig of white about it--along the shores of the Irish lough. I see you -in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing from the west, making -the green one red." - -She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been -witnessed from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond -the headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and -pretended to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know -how close the tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh? - -"So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan's views on the Irish -question, I shall be quite satisfied," said she. "Poor Mr. Durdan! How -he saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the phenomena of Nature! -The sunset--the sea--the clouds--all had more or less to do with the -Irish question." - -"And he was not altogether wrong," said Edmund. "Mr. Durdan is a man -of scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes stumbles across a -truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish question----" - -"Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe," -said she. "Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the -Government are numbered." - -"He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of -persons," said Edmund. - -"And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic," said she. - -"We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we not?" -said he. - -"We have talked confidently at least." - -"And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon." - -"All?" - -"Well, perhaps, I made some reservations." - -"Oh." - -"Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations of -mine--some day." - -He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not -be overlooked. - -"And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure." - -She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her. -The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face. - -That was what the effect suggested to him. - -He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining -through her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before. - -She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her -word, "confidently." - -He repeated the word. - -"Confidently--confidently;" then he shook his head. "Alas! no. A man who -speaks confidently on the subject of his aspirations--on the subject of -a supreme aspiration--is a fool." - -"And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man was -master of his fate," said she. - -"Did I?" said he. "That must have been when you first appeared among us -at Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since then." - -"For example?" said she. - -"Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned," he -replied, with scarcely a pause. - -She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely -resembling in its tone her first--that one which caused him to wonder if -there was a touch of scorn in its ripple. - -He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing -that he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on? - -She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading -him on when at Castle Innis-fail--among the purple heather or the -crimson sunsets about which he had been talking--and yet he had been -led on. He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an -understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of -the slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is -when aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative -of every change--of every motive. - -"I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you," said he, and -his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he had been -saying--had he not been announcing an acquirement of modesty?--"Yes, if -you had been with us at Abbeylands you might have become associated in -my mind with the glory of the colour of an autumn woodland. But it was, -of course, fortunate for you that you got the terrible news in time to -prevent your leaving town." - -He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the -rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her -gown. The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had -said, or from what she fancied he was about to say? - -It was a nice question. - -But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming -that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord -Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without -emotion. - -"I wonder if you care for German Opera," said he. There could scarcely -be even the most subtle connection between this and his last remark. -She looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he had -spoken. Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and -German Opera become apparent. - -"German Opera, Mr. Airey?" - -"Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the Opera -House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every performance, -I believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German Opera--she has -even sat out a performance of 'Parsifal'--and I know that she is eager -to make converts. She would be delighted to call upon you when she -returns from Brighton." - -"It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will be -there--I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?" - -He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave -of her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, "You -will be there?" - -She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases, -"I should love to go. You will be there?" She was looking critically at -the toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make a thorough -examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were busy tying -knots on the girdle of her gown. - -He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was -conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward -silence by saying--not quite casually, of course, but still in not too -pointed a way, "Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my -devotion will be for German Opera, however." The words were well chosen, -he felt. They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those words that -she had uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so charming. Only, -of course, being a man, he could choose his words. They were -artificial--the result of a choice; whereas it was plain that she could -not choose but utter the phrases that had come from her. She was a girl, -and so spoke impulsively and from her heart. - -"Meantime," said she--she had now herself almost under control again, -and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she put out her -hand to meet his. "Meantime, you will come again to see me? My father is -greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also would, I know, be -very pleased to see you." - -"I hope that you will be pleased," said he. "If so, I will -call--occasionally--frequently." - -"Frequently," said she, and once again--but only for a moment this -time--she scrutinized her foot. - -"Frequently," said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could choose his -tones as well as his words. - -He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him--the -satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken -cleverly, but acted cleverly--which is quite a different thing. - -Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling -upon her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had -been under the impression that he would do well to see her and make his -proposal to her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The -moment that he had heard of Lord Fotheringay's death, it had occurred to -him that he would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After -due consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in -the first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to -make him feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice. - -Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a -hurry. - -"_I should love to go--you will be there_." - -Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence -of the phrases had not been the result of art or thought. - -He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon -an impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days -that he had passed by her side--carrying out the compact which he had -made with Helen Craven--had produced an impression upon her far more -powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a -space of time. - -In short, she was his. - -That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his -resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing -his views on this point. - -Was he in love with her? - -He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII.--ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. - -|IT was commonly reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of -publicity that the days of the Government were numbered. - -There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before -the month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of -Siberia was spreading through the length and breadth of the land. -The active and observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of -England, Scotland, and perhaps--so far as they allowed themselves to -be understood--of Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the -question altogether. - -Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his -campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an -agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try -to move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings -remained intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are -burst that the British householder will join in any agitation that may -be started. The British farmer invariably turns out the Government after -a bad harvest; and there can be but little doubt that a succession of -wet summers would make England republican. - -It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the -atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this -England of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years -became the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of -great commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet -summer, and none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the -household water-pipes. - -The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees -Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the -agitation made itself felt. - -"The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled," we were -told. "Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush down the -manhood of England," we were assured. "The Heart was still there--it was -beating still; and wherever the Heart of an Englishman beats there was -found a foe--a determined, resolute foe--nay, an irresistible foe, to -tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known that was equal -to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble men and -women--women--women--to a living death among the snows of Siberia? -Could any one present form an idea of the horrors of a Siberian winter?" -(Cries of "Yes, yes," from householders whose water-pipes had burst.) -"Well, in the name of our common humanity--in the name of our common -sympathies--in the name of England (cheers)--England, mind you, with her -fleet, that in spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part -of the Government, was still the mistress of the main--(loud cheers) -England, mind you, whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity -of a Government that had refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at -Woolwich and Aldershot--(tremendous cheers) in the name of this grand -old England of ours let those who were responsible for Siberia--that -blot upon the map of Europe"--(the agitator is superior to -geography)--"let them be told that their day is over. Let the Government -that can look with callous eyes upon such horrors as are enacted among -the frosts and snows of Siberia be told that its day is over (cheers). -Did anyone wish to know something of these horrors?" ('Yes, yes!') -"Well, here was a book written by a correspondent to a New York journal, -and which, consequently, was entitled to every respect".... and so -forth. - -That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every -meeting. And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed -up the labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the -agricultural question, and several other questions, with the stories of -Siberian horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of -the Government. - -The friends of the Government were at their wits' end to know how to -reply to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out -that England was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this -sophistry was too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst, -and those who were responsible for it were hooted on every platform. - -It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a -Dinner at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully -sensible of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only -carrying out the desire of the people of England, in postponing -consideration of this vast question until a still greater question -had been settled. After long and careful deliberation, Her Majesty's -Ministers had resolved to submit to the country a programme the first -item of which was the Conversion of the Jews. - -The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The -friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days -they knew that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a -political factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A -Government that had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be -supported by England--this great Christian England of ours. - -"My Lords and Gentlemen," said the Prime Minister, "the contest on which -we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is a contest of -England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My Lords and -Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty's Ministers will be on the side of -Religion." - -It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government. - -It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were -broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal -for making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon -pretty frequently--much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone -in all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and -upon several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey's box by the -side of the enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having -remained in her stall from the beginning to the end of "Parsifal." -Mr. Airey never missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He -missed all the others. - -Only once did he venture to introduce Harold's name in her drawing-room. -He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and then he watched -her narrowly as he said, "By the way, I have never come upon him here. -Does he not call upon you?" - -There was only a little brightening of her eyes--was it scorn?--as -she replied: "Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a very -different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now." - -"I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly -changed, poor fellow!" said Edmund. - -"Greatly changed--not ill?" she said. - -He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety--or was it -merely womanly curiosity? - -"Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father's death and -the circumstances attending it affected him deeply." - -"It gave him a title at any rate." - -The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer -suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay. - -"You are too hard on him, Beatrice," said Edmund. She had come to be -Beatrice to him for more than a week--a week in which he had been twice -in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his opera box. - -"Too hard on him?" said she. "How is it possible for you to judge what -is hard or the opposite on such a point?" - -"I have always liked Harold," said he; "that is why I must stand up for -him." - -"Ah, that is your own kindness of heart," said she. "I remember how you -used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember that when you -told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter against the -destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others, not -nearly so good, were wealthy." - -"I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that. Oh, -yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist on -your not being too hard on him." - -He laughed, and so did she--yes, after a little pause. - -"Come again--soon," she said, as she gave him her hand, which he -retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes--they were more -than usually lustrous--and said, - -"Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don't you remember what I said to you -in this room--it seems long ago, we have come to be such close friends -since--what I said about my aspirations--my supreme aspiration?" - -"I remember it," said she--her voice was very low. - -"I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice," said he. - -Then he dropped her hand and was gone. - -He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the -residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he -found about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large -circle. - -It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of -manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for -him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room--an alcove -that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings. - -"The advice that I gave to you was good," said he. - -"Your advice was that I should make no move whatever," said she. "That -could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to make any move -in my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once, and then we -were out. Have you learned anything?" - -"I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry Harold -Wynne," said Edmund. - -"Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so apt -to rush at conclusions." - -"Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process, though -it is the slower." - -"That is a confession--crawling! But how have you found out that she -will not marry him?" - -"He has treated her very badly." - -"That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If -women declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of -spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present." - -"She will not marry him." - -"Will she marry you?" - -Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and -it was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement. - -"Will she marry you?" she cried, in a voice that had a strident ring -about it. "Will she marry you?" - -"I think it highly probable," said he. - -She looked at him in silence for a long time. - -"Let us return to the room," said she. - -They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV.--ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER. - -|IT was a few days after Edmund Airey had made his revelation--if it -was a revelation--to Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in -the person of Archie Brown. The second week in January had now come. The -season of German Opera was over, and Parliament was about to assemble; -but neither of these matters was engrossing the attention of Archie. -That he was in a state of excitement anyone could see, and before he had -even asked after Harold's health, he cried, "I've fired out the lot of -them, Harry; that's the sort of new potatoes I am." - -"The lot of what?" asked Harold. - -"Don't you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists," said Archie. - -"The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don't surely expect me to believe -that you possess sufficient political power to influence the fortunes of -a French dynasty." - -"French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists--the actors, the -carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare, and -Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I've fired out the lot of them, -and be hanged to them!" - -"Oh, I see; you've fired out Shakespeare?" - -"He's eternally fired out, so far as I'm concerned. Why should I end my -days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of hundred years -ago--may be more?" - -"Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?" - -"I've made things hum at the Legitimate this morning"--Archie had once -spent three months in the United States--"and now I've made the lot of -them git. I've made W. S. git." - -"And Mrs. Mowbray?" - -"She gits too." - -"She'll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you're not wanting in -courage." - -"What courage was there needed for that?"--Archie had picked up a quill -pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to balance it on the -toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. "What courage is needed to -tell a chap that's got hold of your watch chain that the time has come -for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn't I the master of the lot of -them? Do you fancy that the manager was my master? Do you fancy that -Mrs. Mowbray was my--I mean, do you think that I'm quite an ass?" - -"Well, no," said Harold--"not quite." - -"Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing out a -crowd of navvies when he found that they didn't pay? Not he. And do you -suppose that I haven't inherited some of his good qualities?" - -"And when does the Legitimate close its doors?" - -"This day week. Those doors have been open too long already. -Seventy-five pounds for the Widow's champagne for the Christmas -week--think of that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray's friends drink nothing but -Clicquot. She expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it -Shakespeare. If you grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained -to the tarty chips at Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he -get off? Don't you believe it, Harry." - -"Nothing shall induce me." - -"The manager's only claim to have earned his salary is that he has been -at every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of people to -send orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that the most -valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people who will -accept orders. That's theatrical enterprise nowadays. They say it's the -bicycle that has brought it about." - -"Anyhow you've quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your hand; Archie. -You're a man." - -"Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my -head again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager's office. She -didn't pat my head, Harry--the day is past for pats, and so I told her. -The day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She gave me a -look when I said that--if she could give such looks on the stage she'd -crowd the house--and then she cried, 'Nothing on earth shall induce me -ever to speak to you again.' 'I ask nothing better,' said I. After that -she skipped. I promised Norah that I'd do it, and I have done it." - -"You promised whom?" - -"Norah. Great Godfrey! you don't mean to say that you haven't heard that -Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?" - -"Norah--Innisfail--and--you--you?" - -Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced -Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him. - -"What are you laughing about?" said Archie. "You shouldn't laugh, -considering that it was you that brought it about." - -"I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can't for -the life of me see how--" - -"Didn't you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and didn't I -meet Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I fancied that I was -getting fond of her mother?" - -"Oh, yes; I can understand that," said Harold, who was fully acquainted -with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success. - -"But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady Innisfail's -part--so she explained when--ah--later on. Then I went with her to Lord -Innisfail's place at Netherford and--well, there's no explaining these -things. Norah is the girl for me! I've felt a better man for knowing -her, Harry. It's not every girl that a chap can say that of--mostly the -other way. Lord Innisfail heard something about the Legitimate business, -and he said that it was about time I gave it up; I agreed with him, and -I've given it up." - -"Archie," said Harold, "you've done a good morning's work. I was going -to advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again--never to grant her an -interview--she's an edged tool--but after what you've done, I feel that -it would be a great piece of presumption on my part to offer you any -advice." - -"Do you know what it is?" said Archie, in a low and very confidential -voice: "I'm not quite so sure of her character as I used to be. I know -you always stood up for her." - -"I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time," said -Harold. - -"Was that seventy-five pound's worth of the Widow swallowed by one lover -in a week?" asked Archie. "Oh, I'm sick of the whole concern. Don't you -mention Shakespeare to me again." - -"I won't," said Harold. "But it strikes me that Shakespeare is like -Madame Roland's Liberty." - -"Whose Liberty?" - -"Madame Roland's." - -"Oh, she's a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They're all Madames -there. I dare say I've got a bill from her to pay with the rest of them. -Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I'm off. I thought I'd drop -in and tell you all that happened, as you're accountable for my meeting -Norah." - -"You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations," said -Harold. "Accept the same yourself." - -"You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn't you?" said -Archie. "How was it that you didn't fall in love with Norah when you -were there? That's what has puzzled me. How is it that every tarty chip -didn't want to marry her? Oh, I forgot that you--well, wasn't there a -girl with lovely eyes in Ireland?" - -"You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes," said Harold. - -"She had wonderful gray eyes," said Archie. Harold became grave. "Oh, -yes, Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them wide open. She -told me a good deal about their party in Ireland. She took it for -granted that you--" - -"Archie," said Harold, "like a good chap don't you ever talk about that -to me again." - -"All right, I'll not," said Archie. "Only, you see, I thought that you -wouldn't mind now, as everyone says that she's going to marry Airey, the -M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you'd be glad to hear that I'd -fired out the Legitimate." - -"So I am--very glad." - -Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to -balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other. - -He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him -gathering up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into -the square. - -It had fallen--the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund Airey. - -Could he blame her? - -He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the -severest punishment--such punishment as was now in her power to inflict. -She had trusted him with all her heart--all her soul. She had given -herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud. -That was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness. - -He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any -bitterness--all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of his -own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey's cleverness. He did not -know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which he -came, after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of -the relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund -Airey's cleverness was the more abhorrent. - -But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James's, drove with his customary -rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to Norah. - -Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of -Archie to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this -devotion should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that -it absorbed a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by -Archie that no one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray's character, -yet, like Harold--perhaps even better than Harold--she knew that Mrs. -Mowbray was an extremely well-dressed woman. She listened with interest -to Archie's account of how he had accomplished that process of "firing -out" in regard to the Legitimate artists; and when he had told her all, -she could not help wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well -dressed in the future as she had been in the past. - -Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how -Harold had congratulated him. - -"You didn't forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr. Airey is -going to marry Miss Avon?" said Norah. - -"Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?" he asked. - -"Good gracious! You didn't suggest that you were commissioned by me to -tell him that?" - -"Not likely. That's not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was on the -cautious side, and I didn't even mention the name of the girl." He did -not think it necessary to say that the reason for his adoption of this -prudent course was that he had forgotten the name of the girl. "No, but -when I told him that Airey was going to marry her, he gave me a look." - -"A look? What sort of a look?" - -"I don't know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a surgeon who had -just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut up. Then he -turned to me and said as gravely as a parson--a bit graver than some -parsons--that he'd feel obliged to me if I'd never mention her name -again." - -"But you hadn't mentioned her name, you said." - -"Neither I had. He didn't mention it either. I can only give you an idea -of what he said, I won't take my oath about the exact words. But I'll -take my oath that he was more knocked down than any chap I ever came -across." - -"I knew it," said Norah. "He's in love with her still. Mamma says he's -not; but I know perfectly well that he is. She doesn't care a scrap for -Mr. Airey." - -"How do you know that?" - -"I know it." - -"Oh." - - - - -CHAPTER LV.--ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN. - -|IT was early on the same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received -intimation of a visitor--a lady, the butler said, who gave the name of -Mrs. Mowbray. - -"I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I'll see her," was the -reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home. - -"Was it possible," she thought, "that her visitor was the Mrs. -Mowbray whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all the -illustrated papers?" - -Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at -herself in a mirror--for a girl does not like to appear before a woman -of the highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is -consistent with tradition--her mind was set at rest. There may have been -many Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a -figure, and such a face. - -She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking -for some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent -on the face of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her -visitor. - -She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray's set of sables had cost -someone--perhaps even Mrs. Mowbray herself--seven hundred guineas. - -"Thank you, I will not sit down," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I feel that I must -apologize for this call." - -"Oh, no," said Beatrice. - -"Oh, yes; I should," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I will do better, however, for -I will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss Avon, I have heard -so much about you during the past few months from--from--several people, -I could not help being interested in you--greatly interested indeed." - -"That was very kind of you," said Beatrice, wondering what further -revelation was coming. - -"I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used to -know Lady Innisfail long ago." - -"Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?" asked -Beatrice. - -"Well, not exactly," said Mrs. Mowbray; "but it was some of Lady -Innisfail's guests--some who were entertained at the Irish Castle. -I used also to know Mrs. Lampson--Lord Fotheringay's daughter. How -terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her brother." - -"I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since," said Beatrice, "but--" - -"You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say that -I hope you have seen him--that you still see him? Do not think me -a gossiping, prying old woman--I suppose I am old enough to be your -mother--for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss Avon. He is -the best man on earth." - -Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to -Harold. Her flush had not decreased. - -"I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord Fotheringay, -Mrs. Mowbray," said Beatrice, somewhat unequally. - -"Do not say that," said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of pleading -tones. "Do not say that. You would make me feel how very gross has been -my effrontery in coming to you." - -"No, no; please do not think that," cried Beatrice, yielding, as every -human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the gracious -manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece of -insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming -from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another -woman's compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her -resources, both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a -young cub such as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of -fascination. She knew that she would never pat Archie's red head again. - -"Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard my -visit as an insolent intrusion." - -Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully -appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that -mellifluous voice--by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes -that were resting upon her face. - -"He is so fond of you," Mrs. Mowbray went on. "There is no lover's -quarrel that will not vanish if looked at straight in the face. Let -me look at yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that demon -of distrust can be exorcised." Beatrice had become pale. The word -_distrust_ had broken the spell of the Siren. - -"Mrs. Mowbray," said she, "I must tell you again that on no -consideration--on no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord Fotheringay -with you." - -"Why not with me, my child?" said Mrs. Mowbray. "Because I distrust -you--no I don't mean that. I only mean that--that you have given me no -reason to trust you. Why have you come to me in this way, may I ask -you? It is not possible that you came here on the suggestion of Lord -Fotheringay." - -"No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is going -to marry," said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile. - -Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs. -Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face. - -Then she took a step toward the bell rope. "One moment," said Mrs. -Mowbray. "Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?" - -Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been -less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled -it gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, "I -shall marry him if I please." - -She was feminine. - -So was Mrs. Mowbray. - -"Will you?" she said. "Do you fancy for a moment--are you so infatuated -that you can actually fancy that I--I--Gwendoline Mowbray, will allow -you--you--to take Edmund Airey away from me? Oh, the child is mad--mad!" - -"Do you mean to tell me," said Beatrice, coming close to her, "that -Edmund Airey is--is--a lover of yours?" - -"Ah," said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, "you do not live in our world, my -child." - -"No, I do not," said Beatrice. "I now see why you have come to me -to-day." - -"I told you why." - -"Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover." - -"_Has been?_ My child, it is only when I please that a lover of mine -becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund -Airey to associate with my 'have beens.' It was from him that I learned -all about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from Ireland -merely as 'a gray eye or so.' You still mean to marry him?" - -"I still mean to do what I please," said Beatrice. She had now reached -the bell rope and she pulled it very gently. - -"You are an extremely beautiful young person," said Mrs. Mowbray. "But -you have not been able to keep close to you a man like Harold Wynne--a -man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you expect--" - -Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her -sentence to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with -a stranger. - -Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart -at the door through which her visitor had passed. - -It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she -retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had -participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray's sables were incomparably the -finest that she had ever seen. - -Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before -the butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In -another minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a -true-hearted girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry -an eligible man, or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise. - -"I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice," said -Norah. "That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the news." - -"I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the -least," said Beatrice. - -"My news concerns myself," said Norah. - -"Then it's sure to interest me," cried Beatrice. - -"It's so funny! But yet it's very serious," said Norah. "The fact is -that I'm going to marry Archie Brown." - -"Archie Brown?" said Beatrice. "I hope he is the best man in the -world--he should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah." - -"I thought perhaps you might have known him," said Norah. "I find that -there are a good many people still who do not know Archie Brown, -in spite of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done for -Shakespeare." - -"The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?" - -"Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in -Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the -interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the -people had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is -very much disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the -Lord Chamberlain isn't nearly particular enough in the plays that he -allows to be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the -theatres--they are never sure that something objectionable will not be -played--and go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted. Archie -says he'll turn the Legitimate into a Music Hall--that is, if he can't -sell the lease." - -"Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my -dearest Norah." - -"If you had come down to Abbeylands in time--before that awful thing -happened--you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma took a -great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the same. -At any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He's such a good fellow, -with red hair--not the sort that the old Venetian painters liked, but -another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features--his mouth, for -instance--are too large, but if you look at him in one position, when -he has his face turned away from you, he's quite--quite--ah--quite -curious--almost nice. You'll like him, I know." - -"I'm sure of it," said Beatrice. - -"Yes; and he's such a friend of Harold Wynne's," continued the -artful Norah. "Why, what's the matter with you, Beatrice? You are as -pale--dearest Beatrice, you and I were always good friends. You know -that I always liked Harold." - -"Do not talk about him, Norah." - -"Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that." - -"He is gone--gone away." - -"Not he. He's too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was with him -to-day, and when he heard that--well, the way some people are talking -about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog--Archie -told me so." - -"Oh, do not talk of him, Norah." - -"Why should I not?" - -"Because--ah, because he's the only one worth talking about, and now -he's gone from me, and I'll never see him again--never, never again!" -Before she had come to the end of her sentence, Beatrice was lying -sobbing on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa--the same cushion that -had absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave her. - -"My dearest Beatrice," whispered Norah, kneeling beside her, with her -face also down a spare corner of the cushion, "I have known how you were -moping here alone. I've come to take you away. You'll come down with us -to our place at Netherford. There's a lake with ice on it, and there's -Archie, and many other pretty things. Oh, yes, you'll come, and we'll -all be happy." - -"Norah," cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, "Mr. Airey will be -here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say that he -would be here, and I know what he means." Mr. Airey did call in half an -hour, and he found Beatrice--as he felt certain she should--waiting to -receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved -of. - -But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together -beyond those just recorded. - - - - -CHAPTER LVI.--ON THE BITTER CRY. - -|EDMUND AIREY drank his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him, -and while doing so, he told her of the progress that was being made -by the agitation of the Opposition and the counter agitation of the -Government. There was no disguising the fact that the country--like the -fool that it was--had been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There -was nothing like a bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of -the country. If any cry was only bitter enough it would succeed. -Fortunately, however, the Government, in its appeal against the Atheism -of the Continent, had also struck a chord that vibrated through the -length and breadth of England and Scotland. The Government orators were -nightly explaining that no really sincere national effort had ever been -made to convert the Jews. To be sure, some endeavours had been made from -time to time to effect this great object--in the days of Isaac of York -the gridiron and forceps had been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring -about the conversion of the Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent -agency of drawing-room meetings and a house-to-house collection had been -resorted to; but the results had been disappointing. Statistics were -forthcoming--nothing impresses the people of Great Britain more than a -long array of figures, Edmund Airey explained--to show that, whereas, on -any part of the West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for -one pound sterling 348 negroes could be converted--the rate was 0.01 -where rum was prohibited--yet for a subscription of five pounds, one -could only depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race--something less than half -an adult Hebrew--being converted. The Government orators were asking how -long so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue, -and so forth. - -Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days -Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment -to the Address, "That in the opinion of this House no programme of -legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a -protest against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia." - -If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to -a Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be -compelled to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice. - -She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of -the political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist -Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, "My sympathies are -certainly with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment." - -He laughed in his superior way. - -"That is so like a girl," said he. "You are carried away by your -sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any question." - -"I dare say you are right," said she, smiling. "Our conscience is not -susceptible of those political influences to which you referred just -now." - -"'They are dangerous guides--the feelings'," said he, "at least from a -standpoint of politics." - -"But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which -humanity may be viewed," said she. - -"There are," said he. "And I also join with you in saying, 'thank God!' -Do you fancy that I am here to-day--that I have been here so frequently -during the past two months, from a political motive, Beatrice?" - -"I cannot tell," she replied. "Have you not just said that the feelings -are dangerous guides?" - -"They lead one into danger," said he. "There can be no doubt about -that." - -"Have you ever allowed them to lead you?" she asked, with another smile. - -"Only once, and that is now," said he. "With you I have thrown away -every guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have believed -it possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all things -are possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think it -possible that you could marry me." - -She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was -not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond -him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A -full minute had passed before she said, "You should not have come to me -with that request, Mr. Airey. - -"Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other impulse -than that of my feelings?" - -"How can I tell?" she said, and now she was looking at him. "How can I -tell which you hold dearer--political advancement, or my love?" - -"How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?" he said -reproachfully--almost mournfully. "Why am I waiting anxiously for your -acceptance of my offer, if I do not hold your love more precious than -all other considerations in the world?" - -"Do you so hold it?" - -"Indeed I do." - -"Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with Siberia. -Vote for the Amendment of the Opposition." - -"What can you mean, Beatrice?" - -"I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me that -you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don't make -this the price of my love, remember. I don't make any compact to marry -you if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you will -have proved to me that your words are true--that you hold something -higher than political expediency." - -She looked at him. - -He looked at her. - -There was a long pause. - -"You are unreasonable. I cannot do it," he said. - -"Good-bye," said she. - -He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not -take it. - -"You really mean me to vote against my party?" said he. - -"What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party -considerations?" said she. - -"It would mean self-effacement politically," said he. "Oh, you do not -appreciate the gravity of the thing." - -He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room. - -She remained silent where he had left her. - -"I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this," he -continued, from the fireplace. "You do not understand the consequences -of my voting against my party." - -"Perhaps I do not," said she. "But I have given you to understand the -consequences of not doing so." - -"Then we must part," said he, approaching her. "Good-bye," said she, -once more. - -He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then -he dropped it. - -"Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?" said he. "Do you really mean to -put me to this test?" - -"I never was more in earnest in my life," said she. "Think over the -matter--let me entreat of you to think over it," he said, earnestly. - -"And you will think over it also?" - -"Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to be -carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you." - -"Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman," said she, very meekly. - -She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away. - -And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of -her femininity. - -And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives. - -"Papa," said Beatrice, from the door of the historian's study. "Papa, -Mr. Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry him." - -"That's right, my dear," said the great historian. "Marry him, or anyone -else you please, only run away and play with your dolls now. I'm very -busy." - -This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely -the answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such -a _mnage_ as that which prevailed under his roof. - - - - -CHAPTER LVII.--ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - -|THE next day Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their -home in Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed -its doors, and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen's Speech was read, -and a member of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia. -The Debate on the Address began. - -On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian's -house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting -Lady Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the -debate--the Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night--he -drove in great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was -still in Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following -day. - -He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram, -gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office. - -The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail, -Netherford Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following -words, "_I will do it. Edmund_." - -He did it. - -He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls -of the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the -unhappy wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a -Siberian exile, and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious -grounds (ironical cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment. - -He went into the lobby with the Opposition. - -It was an Irish member who yelled out "Judas!" - -The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a -"scene" in the House. - -Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst -of an African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons -express themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had -been present upon the occasion of a "scene" in the House of Commons. -He would, from a commanding position in the Strangers' Gallery, have -learned all that he had set his heart upon acquiring--and more. - -It was while the "scene" was being enacted that Edmund Airey had put -into his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his club. - -"_Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m_.," were the words that -the hall-porter had written on the back of the form. - -The next day he drove to the historian's, and inquired if Miss Avon had -returned. - -She was in the drawing-room, the butler said. - -With triumph--a sort of triumph--in his heart, and on his face, he -ascended the staircase. - -He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely -there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were -more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she -had on a travelling dress. - -"Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?" he -cried, exultantly. - -"Done what?" she inquired. "I have seen no newspaper to-day." - -"What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last night -for the Amendment?" he cried. - -"I heard nothing," she replied. - -"I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, but -it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could -not be sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday, -Beatrice." - -"Stop," she said. "I was married to Harold Wynne an hour ago." - -He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair. - -"You have made a fool of me," he said. - -"No," she said. "I could not do that. If I had got your telegram in time -last evening I would have replied to it, telling you that, whatever step -you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. Harold Wynne, you -see, came to me again. I had promised to marry him when we were together -at that seal-hunt, but--well, something came between us." - -"And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!" - -"If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey? -Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you -entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a -more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to -make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing -with sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of -yours, Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the -terms of your compact--or is it a contract?--with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I -know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you." - -He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her -little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted -with the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred -to Mrs. Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed -him. - -He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives. - -"Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination," said he, -rising. "You have ruined my career." - -She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had -never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled -him--that was how he put it--to take. She had not even had the interest -to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she had -not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were -plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That -was his one comforting thought. - -She laughed. - -"Oh, no, Mr. Airey," said she. "Your career is not ruined. Clever men -are not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever man--so clever as -to be able to make me clever, if that were possible." - -"You have crushed me," he said. "Good-bye." - -"If I wished to crush you I should have married you," said she. "No -woman can crush a man unless she is married to him. Good-bye." - -The butler opened the door. "Is my husband in yet?" she asked of the -man. - -"His lordship has not yet returned, my lady," said the butler, who had -once lived in the best families--far removed from literature--and who -was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect. - -"Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I'm afraid," she -said, turning to Mr. Airey. - -"I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay." - -"I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now. -Good-bye, Mr. Airey." - -He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven's house. It was -the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the -message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits, -pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of -office. - -Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that -apartment. She understood its lights. - -He found that she had read the newspapers. - -She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand. - -"What on earth did you mean by voting--" she began. - -"You may well ask," said he. "I was a fool. I was made a fool of by that -girl. She made me vote against my party." - -"And she refuses to marry you now?" - -"She married Harold Wynne an hour ago." - -Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of -news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa. - -"Yes," resumed Edmund. "She is ill-treated by one man, but she marries -him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn't that like a woman? She has -ruined my career." - -Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very -unmusical laugh--a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about -some of its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears -which that paroxysm of laughter had caused. - -"You are a fool, indeed!" said she. "You are a fool if you cannot see -that your career is just beginning. People are talking of you to-day -as the Conscientious One--the One Man with a Conscience. Isn't the -reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in England?" - -"Helen," he cried, "will you marry me? With our combined money we can -make ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?" - -"I will," she said. "I will marry you with pleasure--now. I will marry -anyone--now." - -"Give me your hand, Helen," he cried. "We understand one another--that -is enough to start with. And as for that other--oh, she is nothing but a -woman after all!" - -He never spoke truer words. - -But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly. - -Did she? - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Gray Eye or So, Complete, by -Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO, COMPLETE *** - -***** This file should be named 51947-8.txt or 51947-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/4/51947/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Gray Eye or So, Complete - In Three Volumes--Volume I, II and III: Complete - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51947] -Last Updated: November 15, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO, COMPLETE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A GRAY EYE OR SO - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore - </h2> - <h4> - Author of “I Forbid The Banns,” “Dalreen,” “Sojourners - Together,” “Highways And High Seas,” Etc. - </h4> - <h3> - Complete: Volume I, II, and III - </h3> - <h3> - Sixth Edition - </h3> - <h4> - London: Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row - </h4> - <h3> - 1893 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007a.jpg" alt="0007a " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007a.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007b.jpg" alt="0007b " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007b.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007c.jpg" alt="0007c " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007c.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 1</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I.—ON CERTAIN ABSTRACTIONS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II.—ON A GREAT HOPE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III.—ON HONESTY AND THE WORKING - MAN. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV.—ON FABLES. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V.—ON A PERILOUS CAUSEWAY. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF AN OCEAN. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A FULL - MOON. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII.—ON THE ZIG-ZAG TRACK. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX.—ON THE HELPLESSNESS OF WOMAN. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X.—ON SCIENCE AND ART. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI.—ON HEAVEN AND THE LORD - CHANCELLOR. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII.—ON THE MYSTERY OF MAN. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII.—ON THE ART OF COLOURING. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV.—ON AN IRISH DANCE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV.—ON THE SHRIEK. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI.—ON THE VALUE OF A BAD - CHARACTER. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII.—ON PROVIDENCE AS A - MATCH-MAKER. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII.—ON THE PROFESSIONAL - MORALIST. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX.—ON MODERN SOCIETY. </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HB_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 2</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0001"> CHAPTER XX.—ON AN OAK SETTEE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0002"> CHAPTER XXI.—ON THE ELEMENTS OF PARTY - POLITICS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0003"> CHAPTER XXII.—ON THE WISDOM OF THE - MATRONS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0004"> CHAPTER XXIII.—ON THE ATLANTIC. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0005"> CHAPTER XXIV.—ON THE CHANCE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0006"> CHAPTER XXV.—ON THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE - REPROBATE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0007"> CHAPTER XXVI.—ON FRANKNESS AND FRIENDSHIP. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0008"> CHAPTER XXVII.—ON CIRCUMVENTING A STAG. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0009"> CHAPTER XXVIII.—ON ENJOYING A RESPITE. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0010"> CHAPTER XXIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF READY - MONEY. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0011"> CHAPTER XXX.—ON THE LEGITIMATE IN ART. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0012"> CHAPTER XXXI.—ON A BLACK SHEEP. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0013"> CHAPTER XXXII.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND SUPPER. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0014"> CHAPTER XXXIII.—ON BLESSING OR DOOM. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0015"> CHAPTER XXXIV.—ON THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0016"> CHAPTER XXXV.—ON THE HOME. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0017"> CHAPTER XXXVI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN - OF THE WORLD. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0018"> CHAPTER XXXVII.—ON THE DEFECTIVE LINK. - </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HC_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 3</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0001"> CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE - WORLD. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0002"> CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0003"> CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0004"> CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A - CRISIS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0005"> CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0006"> CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0007"> CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A - SYSTEM. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0008"> CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0009"> CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0010"> CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0011"> CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL - INCIDENT. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0012"> CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF - CONFESSION. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0013"> CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0014"> CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND - OTHERS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0015"> CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND - FATE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0016"> CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0017"> CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A - POWER. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0018"> CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE - BROWN. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0019"> CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0020"> CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - <i>A GRAY EYE OR SO</i> - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I.—ON CERTAIN ABSTRACTIONS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> WAS talking about - woman in the abstract,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - The other, whose name was Edmund—his worst enemies had never - abbreviated it—smiled, lifted his eyes unto the hills as if in - search of something, frowned as if he failed to find it, smiled a cat’s-paw - of a smile—a momentary crinkle in the region of the eyes—twice - his lips parted as if he were about to speak; then he gave a laugh—the - laugh of a man who finds that for which he has been searching. - </p> - <p> - “Woman in the abstract?” said he. “Woman in the - abstract? My dear Harold, there is no such thing as woman in the abstract. - When you talk about Woman enthusiastically, you are talking about the - woman you love; when you talk about Woman cynically, you are talking about - the woman who won’t love you.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe your honours never heard tell of Larry O’Leary?” - said the Third—for there was a Third, and his name was Brian; his - duty was to row the boat, and this duty he interpreted by making now and - again an elaborate pretence of rowing, which deceived no one. - </p> - <p> - “That sounds well,” said Harold; “but do you want it to - be applied? Do you want a test case of the operation of your epigram—if - it is an epigram?” - </p> - <p> - “A test case?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I have heard you talk cynically about woman upon occasions. - Does that mean that you have been unloved by many?” - </p> - <p> - Again the man called Edmund looked inquiringly up the purple slope of the - hill. - </p> - <p> - “You’re a wonderful clever gentleman,” said Brian, as if - communing with himself, “a wonderful gentleman entirely! Isn’t - he after casting his eyes at the very spot where old Larry kept his still?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Edmund; “I have never spoken cynically of - women. To do so would be to speak against my convictions. I have great - hope of Woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; our mothers and sisters are women,” said Harold. “That - makes us hopeful of women. Now we are back in the wholesome regions of the - abstract once more, so that we have talked in a circle and are precisely - where we started, only that I have heard for the first time that you are - hopeful of Woman.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s enough for one day,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “Quite,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “You must know that in the old days the Excise police looked after - the potheen—the Royal Irish does it now,” said the Third. - “Well, as I say, in the old days there was a reward of five pounds - given by the Excisemen for the discovery of a private still. Now Larry had - been a regular hero at transforming the innocent smiling pratie into the - drink that’s the curse of the country, God bless it! But he was too - wary a lad for the police, and he rolled keg after keg down the side of - Slieve Gorm. At last the worm of his still got worn out—they do wear - out after a dozen years or so of stiff work—and people noticed that - Larry was wearing out too, just through thinking of where he’d get - the three pound ten to buy the new machinery. They tried to cheer him up, - and the decent boys was so anxious to give him heart that there wasn’t - such a thing as a sober man to be found in all the country side. But - though the brave fellows did what they could for him, it was no use. He - never got within three pound five of the three pound ten that he needed. - But just as things was at their worst, they mended. Larry was his old self - again, and the word went round that the boys might get sober by degrees. - </p> - <p> - “Now what did our friend Larry do, if you please, but take his old - worn-out still and hide it among the heather of the hill fornenst us—Slieve - Glas is its name—and then he goes the same night to the Excise - officer, in the queer secret way. - </p> - <p> - “‘I’m in a bad way for money, or it’s not me that - would be after turning informer,’ says he, when he had told the - officer that he knew where the still was concealed. - </p> - <p> - “‘That’s the worst of you all,’ says the officer. - ‘You’ll not inform on principle, but only because you’re - in need of money.’ - </p> - <p> - “‘More’s the pity, sir,’ says Larry. - </p> - <p> - “‘Where’s the still?’ says the officer. - </p> - <p> - “‘If I bring you to it,’ says Larry, ‘it must be - kept a dead secret, for the owner is the best friend I have in the world.’ - </p> - <p> - “‘You’re a nice chap to inform on your best friend,’ - says the officer. - </p> - <p> - “‘I’ll never be able to look at him straight in the face - after, and that’s the truth,’ says Larry. - </p> - <p> - “Well, your honours, didn’t Larry lead the officer and a - couple of the Excisemen up the hill in the dark of the early morning, and - sure enough they came upon the old still, hid among the heather. It was - captured, and Larry got the five pound reward, and was able to buy a - brand-new still with the money, besides having thirty shillings to the - good in his pocket. After that, was it any wonder that he became one of - the greatest informers in the country? By the Powers, he made a neat thing - out of the business of leading the officers to his own stills and - pocketing the reward. He was thirty shillings to the good every time. Ah, - Larry was a boy!” - </p> - <p> - “So I judge,” said the man called Edmund, with an unaffected - laugh—he had studied the art of being unaffected. “But you - see, it was not of the Man but of the Woman we were talking.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s why I thought that the change would be good for your - honours,” remarked Brian. “When gentlemen that I’ve out - in this boat with me, begin to talk together in a way that has got no - sense in it at all, I know that they’re talking about a woman, and I - tell them the story of Larry O’Leary.” - </p> - <p> - Neither the man called Edmund, nor the man called Harold, talked any more - that day upon Woman as a topic. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II.—ON A GREAT HOPE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> THINK you - remarked that you had great hope of Woman,” said Harold, the next - day. The boat had drifted once again into the centre of the same scene, - and there seemed to be a likelihood of at least two of the boat’s - company drifting back to the topic of the previous afternoon. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you certainly admitted that you had great hope of Woman.” - </p> - <p> - “And so I have. Woman felt, long ago; she is beginning to feel - again.” - </p> - <p> - “You don’t think that feeling is being educated out of her? I - certainly have occasional suspicions that this process is going on. Why, - just think of the Stafford girl. She can tell you at a moment’s - notice the exact difference between an atheist, an infidel, an agnostic, a - freethinker, and the Honest Doubter.” - </p> - <p> - “She has been reading modern fiction—that’s all. No, I - don’t think that what is called education makes much difference to a - woman. After all, what does this thing called education mean? It simply - means that a girl can read all the objectionable passages of the ancient - poets without the need of a translation. I have hope of Woman because she - is frequently so intensely feminine.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe you never heard tell of how the Widdy MacDermott’s - cabin came to be a ruin,” said the Third. - </p> - <p> - “Feeling and femininity will, shall I say, transform woman into our - ideal?” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Transform is too strong a word,” said Edmund. “And as - for our ideal, well, every woman is the ideal of some man for a time.” - </p> - <p> - “And that truth shows not only how lowly is the ideal of some men, - but also how unwise it is to attempt to speak of woman in the abstract. I - begin to think that what you said yesterday had a grain of truth in it, - though it was an epigram.” - </p> - <p> - “The Widdy MacDermott—oh, the Widdy Mac-Dermott,” said - the Third, as though repeating the burden of a ballad. “They made a - pome about her in Irish, that was near as full of nonsense as if it had - been in the English. You see when Tim, her husband, went to glory he left - the cow behind him, taking thought for the need of his widdy, though she - hadn’t been a widdy when he was acquainted with her. Well, your - honours, the byre was a trifle too near the edge of the bog hole, so that - when one end fell out, there wasn’t much of the mud walls that - stood. Then one blessed morning the childer came running into the cabin to - tell their mother that the cow was sitting among the ruins of its home.” - </p> - <p> - “A Marius of the farmyard,” remarked Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “Likely enough, sir. Anyhow, there she sat as melancholy as if she - was a Christian. Of course, as the winter was well for’ard it wouldn’t - do to risk her life by leaving her to wander about the bogs, so they drove - her into the cabin—it was a tight fit for her, passing through the - door—she could just get in and nothing to spare; but when she was - inside it was warm and comfortable that the same cow made the cabin, and - the childer were wondering at the end of a month how they could have been - such fools as to shiver through the winter while the cow was outside. - </p> - <p> - “In another month some fine spring days came, and the cabin was a - bit close and stuffy with the cow inside, and the widdy herself turned the - animal’s head to the door and went to drive her out for exercise and - ventilation. But the way the beast had been fed and petted told upon her, - and by the Powers, if she didn’t stick fast in the doorway. - </p> - <p> - “They leathered her in the cabin and they coaxed her from outside, - but it was all of no use. The craythur stood jammed in the door, while the - childer crawled in and out of the cabin among her hind legs—the fore - legs was half a cow’s length outside. That was the situation in the - middle of the day, and all the neighbours was standing round giving - advice, and calling in to the widdy herself—who, of course, was a - prisoner in the cabin—not to lose heart. - </p> - <p> - “‘It’s not heart I’m afeard of losing—it’s - the cow,’ says she. - </p> - <p> - “Well, your honours, the evening was coming on, but no change in the - situation of affairs took place, and the people of the country-side was - getting used to the appearance of the half cow projecting beyond the door - of the cabin, and to think that maybe, after all, it was nothing outside - the ordinary course of events, when Barney M’Bratney, who does the - carpentering at the Castle, came up the road. - </p> - <p> - “He took in the situation with the glance of the perfessional man, - and says he, ‘By the Powers, its a case of the cow or the cabin. - Which would ye rather be after losing, Widdy?’ - </p> - <p> - “‘The cabin by all means,’ says she. - </p> - <p> - “‘You’re right, my good woman,’ says he. ‘Come - outside with you.’ - </p> - <p> - “Well, your honours, the kindly neighbours hauled the widdy outside - over the back of the cow, and then with a crowbar Barney attacked the - walls on both sides of the door. In ten minutes the cow was free, but the - cabin was a wreck. - </p> - <p> - “Of course his lardship built it up again stronger than it ever was, - but as he wouldn’t make the door wide enough to accommodate the cow—he - offered to build a byre for her, but that wasn’t the same—he - has never been so respected as he was before in the neighbourhood of - Ballyboreen.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s all very well as a story,” said Edmund; “but - you see we were talking on the subject of the advantages of the higher - education of woman.” - </p> - <p> - “True for you, sir,” said Brian. “And if the Widdy - MacDermott had been born with eddication would she have let her childer to - sleep with the cow?” - </p> - <p> - “Harold,” said Edmund, “there are many side lights upon - the general question of the advantages of culture in women.” - </p> - <p> - “And the story of the Widdy MacDermott is one of them?” said - Harold. - </p> - <p> - “When I notice that gentlemen that come out in the boat with me - begin to talk on contentious topics, I tell them the story of how the - Widdy MacDermott’s cabin was wrecked,” said Brian. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III.—ON HONESTY AND THE WORKING MAN. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>ON’T you - think,” remarked Edmund, the next day, as the boat drifted under the - great cliffs, and Brian was discharging with great ability his normal duty - of resting on his oars. “Don’t you think that you should come - to business without further delay?” - </p> - <p> - “Come to business?” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Two days ago you lured me out in this coracle to make a - communication to me that I judged would have some bearing upon your future - course of life. You began talking of Woman with a touch of fervour in your - voice. You assured me that you were referring only to woman in the - abstract, and when I convinced you—I trust I convinced you—that - woman in the abstract has no existence, you got frightened—as - frightened as a child would be, if the thing that it has always regarded - as a doll were to wink suddenly, suggesting that it had an individuality, - if not a distinction of its own—that it should no longer be included - among the vague generalities of rags and bran. Yesterday you began rather - more boldly. The effects of education upon the development of woman, the - probability that feeling would survive an intimate acquaintance with Plato - in the original. Why not take another onward step today? In short, who is - she?” - </p> - <p> - Harold laughed—perhaps uneasily. - </p> - <p> - “I’m not without ambition,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “I know that. What form does your ambition take? A colonial - judgeship, after ten years of idleness at the bar? A success in literature - that shall compensate you for the favourable criticisms of double that - period? The ownership of the Derby winner? An American heiress, moving in - the best society in Monte Carlo? A co-respondency in brackets with a - Countess? All these are the legitimate aspirations of the modern man.” - </p> - <p> - “Co-respondency as a career has, no doubt, much to recommend it to - some tastes,” said Harold. “It appears to me, however, that it - would be easy for an indiscreet advocate to over-estimate its practical - value.” - </p> - <p> - “You haven’t been thinking about it?” - </p> - <p> - “You see, I haven’t yet met the countess.” - </p> - <p> - “What, then, in heaven’s name do you hope for?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I would say Parliament, if I could be sure that that came - within the rather narrow restrictions which you assigned to my reply. You - said ‘in heaven’s name.’” - </p> - <p> - “Parliament! Parliament! Great Powers! is it so bad as that with - you?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t say that it is. I may be able to get over this - ambition as I’ve got over others—the stroke oar in the Eight, - for instance, the soul of Sarasate, the heart of Miss Polly Floss of the - Music Halls. Up to the present, however, I have shown no sign of parting - with the surviving ambition of many ambitions.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t say that you’re a fool,” said the man - called Edmund. He did not speak until the long pause, filled up by the - great moan of the Atlantic in the distance and the hollow fitful plunge of - the waters upon the rocks of the Irish shore, had become awkwardly long. - “I can’t say that you’re a fool.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s very good of you, old chap.” - </p> - <p> - “No; I can’t conscientiously say that you’re a fool.” - </p> - <p> - “Again? This is becoming cloying. If I don’t mistake, you - yourself do a little in the line I suggest.” - </p> - <p> - “What would be wisdom—comparative wisdom—on my part, - might be idiotcy—” - </p> - <p> - “Comparative idiotcy?” - </p> - <p> - “Sheer idiotcy, on yours. I have several thousands a year, and I can - almost—not quite—but I affirm, almost, afford to talk honestly - to the Working man. No candidate for Parliament can quite afford to be - honest to the Working man.” - </p> - <p> - “And the Working man returns the compliment, only he works it off on - the general public,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - The other man smiled pityingly upon him—the smile of the professor - of anatomy upon the student who identifies a thigh bone—the smile - which the <i>savant</i> allows himself when brought in contact with a - discerner of the obvious. - </p> - <p> - “No woman is quite frank in her prayers—no politician is quite - honest with the Working man.” - </p> - <p> - “Well. I am prepared to be not quite honest with him too.” - </p> - <p> - “You may believe yourself equal even to that; but it’s not so - easy as it sounds. There is an art in not being quite honest. However, - that’s a detail.” - </p> - <p> - “I humbly venture so to judge it.” - </p> - <p> - “The main thing is to get returned.” - </p> - <p> - “The main thing is, as you say, to get the money.” - </p> - <p> - “The money?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I should have said the woman.” - </p> - <p> - “The woman? the money? Ah, that brings us round again in the same - circle that we traversed yesterday, and the day before. I begin to - perceive.” - </p> - <p> - “I had hope that you would—in time.” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t wonder if we heard the Banshee after dark,” - said the Third. - </p> - <p> - “You are facing things boldly, my dear Harold,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the use of doing anything else?” inquired - Harold. “You know how I am situated.” - </p> - <p> - “I know your father.” - </p> - <p> - “That is enough. He writes to me that he finds it impossible to - continue my allowance on its present scale. His expenses are daily - increasing, he says. I believe him.” - </p> - <p> - “Too many people believe in him,” said Edmund. “I have - never been among them.” - </p> - <p> - “But you can easily believe that his expenses are daily increasing.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, I am easily credulous on that point. Does he go the length - of assigning any reason for the increase?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s perfectly preposterous—he has no notion of the - responsibilities of fatherhood—of the propriety of its limitations - so far as an exchange of confidences is concerned. Why, if it were the - other way—if I were to write to tell him that I was in love, I would - feel a trifle awkward—I would think it almost indecent to quote - poetry—Swinburne—something about crimson mouths.” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say; but your father—” - </p> - <p> - “He writes to tell me that he is in love.” - </p> - <p> - “In love?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, with some—well, some woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Some woman? I wonder if I know her husband.” There was a - considerable pause. - </p> - <p> - Brian pointed a ridiculous, hooked forefinger toward a hollow that from - beneath resembled a cave, half-way up the precipitous wall of cliffs. - </p> - <p> - “That’s where she comes on certain nights of the year. She - stands at the entrance to that cave, and cries for her lover as she cried - that night when she came only to find his dead body,” said Brian, - neutralizing the suggested tragedy in his narrative by keeping exhibited - that comical crook in his index finger. “Ay, your honours, it’s - a quare story of pity.” Both his auditors looked first at his face, - then at the crook in his finger, and laughed. They declined to believe in - the pity of it. - </p> - <p> - “It is preposterous,” said Harold. “He writes to me that - he never quite knew before what it was to love. He knows it now, he says, - and as it’s more expensive than he ever imagined it could be, he’s - reluctantly compelled to cut down my allowance. Then it is that he begins - to talk of the crimson mouth—I fancy it’s followed by - something about the passion of the fervid South—so like my father, - but like no other man in the world. He adds that perhaps one day I may - also know ‘what’tis to love.’” - </p> - <p> - “At present, however, he insists on your looking at that form of - happiness through another man’s eyes? Your father loves, and you are - to learn—approximately—what it costs, and pay the expenses.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s the situation of the present hour. What am I to do?” - </p> - <p> - “Marry Helen Craven.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s brutally frank, at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - “You see, you’re not a working man with a vote. I can afford - to be frank with you. Of course, that question which you have asked me is - the one that was on your mind two days ago, when you began to talk about - what you called ‘woman in the abstract.’” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say it was. We have had two stories from Brian in the - meantime.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Harold, your case is far from being unique. Some of its - elements may present new features, but, taken as a whole, it is - commonplace. You have ambition, but you have also a father.” - </p> - <p> - “So far I am in line with the commonplace.” - </p> - <p> - “You cannot hope to realize your aims without money, and the only - way by which a man can acquire a large amount of money suddenly, is by a - deal on the Stock Exchange or at Monte Carlo, or by matrimony. The last is - the safest.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s no doubt about that. But—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know what’s in your mind. I’ve read the scene - between Captain Absolute and his father in ‘The Rivals’—I - read countless fictions up to the point where the writers artlessly - introduce the same scene, then I throw away the books. With the examples - we have all had of the success of the <i>mariage de convenance</i> and of - the failure of the <i>mariage d’amour</i> it is absurd to find fault - with the Johnsonian dictum about marriages made by the Lord Chancellor.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose not,” said Harold. “Only I don’t quite - see why, if Dr. Johnson didn’t believe that marriages were made in - heaven, there was any necessity for him to run off to the other extreme.” - </p> - <p> - “He merely said, I fancy, that a marriage arranged by the Lord - Chancellor was as likely to turn out happily as one that was—well, - made in heaven, if you insist on the phrase. Heaven, as a match-maker, has - much to learn.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it’s settled,” said Harold, with an affectation of - cynicism that amused his friend and puzzled Brian, who had ears. “I’ll - have to sacrifice one ambition in order to secure the other.” - </p> - <p> - “I think that you’re right,” said Edmund. “You’re - not in love just now—so much is certain.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing could be more certain,” acquiesced Harold, with a - laugh. “And now I suppose it is equally certain that I never shall - be.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing of the sort. That cynicism which delights to suggest that - marriage is fatal to love, is as false as it is pointless. Let any man - keep his eyes open and he will see that marriage is the surest guarantee - that exists of the permanence of love.” - </p> - <p> - “Just as an I O U is a guarantee—it’s a legal form. The - money can be legally demanded.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a trifle obscure in your parallel,” remarked Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “I merely suggested that the marriage ceremony is an I O U for the - debt which is love. Oh, this sort of beating about a question and making - it the subject of phrases can lead nowhere. Never mind. I believe that, on - the whole, the grain of advice which I have acquired out of your bushel of - talk, is good, and is destined to bear good fruit. I’ll have my - career in the world, that my father may learn ‘what’tis to - love.’ My mind is made up. Come, Brian, to the shore!” - </p> - <p> - “Not till I tell your honour the story of the lovely young Princess - Fither,” said the boatman, assuming a sentimental expression that - was extremely comical. - </p> - <p> - “Brian, Prince of Storytellers, let it be brief,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “It’s to his honour I’m telling this story, not to your - honour, Mr. Airey,” said Brian. “You’ve a way of - wrinkling up your eyes, I notice, when you speak that word ‘love,’ - and if you don’t put your tongue in your cheek when anyone else - comes across that word accidental-like, you put your tongue in your cheek - when you’re alone, and when you think over what has been said.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, you’re a student of men as well as an observer of - nature, O Prince,” laughed Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “No, I’ve only eyes and ears,” said Brian, in a - deprecating tone. - </p> - <p> - “And a certain skill in narrative,” said Harold. “What - about the beauteous Princess Fither? What dynasty did she belong to?” - </p> - <p> - “She belonged to Cashelderg,” replied Brian. “A few - stones of the ruin may still be seen, if you’ve any imagination, on - the brink of the cliff that’s called Carrigorm—you can just - perceive its shape above the cove where his lordship’s boathouse is - built.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I see the cliff—just where a castle might at one time - have been built. And that’s the dynasty that she belonged to?” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “The same, sir. And on our side you may still see—always - supposing that you have the imagination—” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, nothing imaginary can be seen without the aid of the - imagination.” - </p> - <p> - “You may see the ruins of what might have been Cashel-na-Mara, where - the Macnamara held his court—Mac na Mara means Son of the Waves, you - must know.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a matter of notoriety,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “The Macnamaras and the Casheldergs were the deadliest of enemies, - and hardly a day passed for years—maybe centuries—without some - one of the clan getting the better of the other. Maybe that was how the - surplus population was kept down in these parts. Anyhow there was no talk, - so far as I’ve heard, of congested districts in them days. Well, - sir, it so happened that the Prince of the Macnamaras was a fine, - handsome, and brave young fellow, and the Princess Fither of Cashelderg - was the most beautiful of Irish women, and that’s saying a good - deal. As luck would have it, the young people came together. Her boat was - lost in a fog one night and drifting upon the sharp rocks beyond the - headland. The cries of the poor girl were heard on both sides of the Lough—the - blessed Lough where we’re now floating—but no one was brave - enough to put out to the rescue of the Princess—no one, did I say? - Who is it that makes a quick leap off the cliffs into the rolling waters - beneath? He fights his way, strong swimmer that he is! through the surge, - and, unseen by any eye by reason of the fog, he reaches the Princess’s - boat. Her cries cease. And a keen arises along the cliffs of Carrigorm, - for her friends think that she has been swallowed up in the cruel waves. - The keen goes on, but it’s sudden changed into a shout of joy; for a - noble young figure appears as if by magic on the cliff head, and places - the precious burden of her lovely daughter in the arms of her weeping - mother, and then vanishes.” - </p> - <p> - “And so the feud was healed, and if they didn’t live happy, we - may,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all you know about the spirit of an ancient Irish - family quarrel,” said Brian pityingly. “No, sir. The brave - deed of the young Prince only made the quarrel the bitterer. But the young - people had fallen in love with each other, and they met in secret in that - cave that you see there just above us—the Banshee’s Cave, it’s - called to this day. The lovely Princess put off in her boat night after - night, and climbed the cliff face—there was no path in them days—to - where her lover was waiting for her in the cave. But at last some wretch - unworthy of the name of a man got to learn the secret and told it to the - Princess’s father. With half-a-dozen of the clan he lay in wait for - the young Prince in the cave, and they stabbed him in twelve places with - their daggers. And even while they were doing the murder, the song of the - Princess was heard, telling her lover that she was coming. She climbed the - face of the cliff and with a laugh ran into the trysting-place. She - stumbled over the body of her lover. Her father stole out of the darkness - of the cave and grasped her by the wrist. Then there rang out over the - waters the cry, which still sounds on some nights from a cave—the - cry of the girl when she learned the truth—the cry of the girl as, - with a superhuman effort, she released herself from her father’s - iron grasp, and sprang from the head of the cliff you see there above, - into the depths of the waters where we’re now floating.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause before Edmund remarked, “Your story of the - Montague-Macnamaras and the Capulet-Casheldergs is a sad one, Brian. And - you have heard the cry of the young Princess with your own ears, I dare - say?” - </p> - <p> - “That I have, your honour. And it’s the story of the young - Princess Fither and her lover that I tell to gentlemen that put their - tongues in their cheeks when they’re alone, and thinking of the way - the less knowing ones talk of love and the heart of a woman.” - </p> - <p> - Both Edmund and Harold began to think that perhaps the Irish boatman was a - shrewder and a more careful listener than they had given him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV.—ON FABLES. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">V</span>ERY amusing indeed - was Edmund’s parody of the boatman’s wildly-romantic story. - The travesty was composed for the benefit of Miss Craven, and the time of - its communication was between the courses of the very excellent dinner - which Lord Innisfail had provided for his numerous guests at his - picturesque Castle overlooking Lough Suangorm—that magnificent fjord - on the West Coast of Ireland. Lord Innisfail was a true Irishman. When he - was away from Ireland he was ever longing to be back in it, and when he - was in Ireland he was ever trying to get away from it. The result of his - patriotism was a residence of a month in Connaught in the autumn, and the - rest of the year in Connaught Square or Monte Carlo. He was accustomed to - declare—in England—that Ireland and the Irish were - magnificent. If this was his conviction, his self-abnegation, displayed by - carefully avoiding both, except during a month every year, was all the - greater. - </p> - <p> - And yet no one ever gave him credit for possessing the virtue of - self-abnegation. - </p> - <p> - He declared—in England—that the Irish race was the finest on - the face of the earth, and he invariably filled his Castle with - Englishmen. - </p> - <p> - He was idolized by his Irish tenantry, and they occasionally left a few - birds for his guests to shoot on his moors during the latter days of - August. - </p> - <p> - Lord Innisfail was a man of about fifty years of age. His wife was forty - and looked twenty-five: their daughter was eighteen and looked - twenty-four. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey, who was trying to amuse Miss Craven by burlesquing the - romance of the Princess Fither, was the representative in Parlament of an - English constituency. His father had been in business—some people - said on the Stock Exchange, which would be just the opposite. He had, - however, died leaving his son a considerable fortune extremely well - invested—a fact which tended strongly against the Stock Exchange - theory. His son showed no desire to go on the turf or to live within reach - to the European gaming-table. If there was any truth in the Stock Exchange - theory, this fact tended to weaken the doctrine of heredity. - </p> - <p> - He had never blustered on the subject of his independence of thought or - action. He had attached himself unobtrusively to the Government party on - entering Parlament, and he had never occasioned the Whips a moment’s - anxiety during the three years that had elapsed since the date of his - return. He was always found in the Government Lobby in a division, and he - was thus regarded by the Ministers as an extremely conscientious man. This - is only another way of saying that he was regarded by the Opposition as an - extremely unscrupulous man. - </p> - <p> - His speeches were brief, but each of them contained a phrase which told - against the Opposition. He was wise enough to refrain from introducing - into any speech so doubtful an auxiliary as argument, in his attempts to - convince the Opposition that they were in the wrong. He had the good sense - to perceive early in his career that argument goes for nothing in the - House of Commons, but that trusted Governments have been turned out of - office by a phrase. This power of perception induced him to cultivate the - art of phrase-making. His dexterity in this direction had now and again - made the Opposition feel uncomfortable; and as making the Opposition feel - uncomfortable embodies the whole science of successful party-government in - England, it was generally assumed that, if the Opposition could only be - kept out of power after the General Election, Edmund Airey would be - rewarded by an Under-Secretaryship. - </p> - <p> - He was a year or two under forty, tall, slender, and so - distinguished-looking that some people—they were not his friends—were - accustomed to say that it was impossible that he could ever attain to - political distinction. - </p> - <p> - He assured Miss Craven that, sitting in the stern sheets of the boat, idly - rocking on the smooth swell that rolled through the Lough from the - Atlantic, was by far the most profitable way of spending two hours of the - afternoon. Miss Craven doubted if this was a fact. “Where did the - profit come in except to the boatman?” she inquired. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Airey, who knew that Miss Craven was anxious to know if Harold had - been of the profitable boating-party, had no idea of allowing his powers - of travesty to be concealed by the account, for which the young woman was - longing, of Harold and the topics upon which he had conversed. He assured - her that it was eminently profitable for anyone interested in comparative - mythology, to be made acquainted with the Irish equivalent to the Mantuan - fable. - </p> - <p> - “Fable!” almost shrieked Miss Craven. “Mantuan fable! Do - you mean to suggest that there never was a Romeo and Juliet?” - </p> - <p> - “On the contrary, I mean to say that there have been several,” - said Mr. Airey. “They exist in all languages. I have come - unexpectedly upon them in India, then in Japan, afterwards they turned up, - with some delicate Maori variations, in New Zealand when I was there. I - might have been prepared for them at such a place as this You know how the - modern melodramas are made, Miss Craven?” - </p> - <p> - “I have read somewhere, but I forget. And you sat alone in the boat - smoking, while the boatman droned out his stories?” remarked the - young woman, refusing a cold <i>entrée</i>. - </p> - <p> - “I will tell you how the melodramas are made,” said Mr. Airey, - refusing to be led up to Harold as a topic. “The artist paints - several effective pictures of scenery and then one of the collaborateurs—the - man who can’t write, for want of the grammar, but who knows how far - to go with the public—invents the situation to work in with the - scenery. Last of all, the man who has grammar—some grammar—fills - in the details of the story.” - </p> - <p> - “Really! How interesting! And that’s how Shakespeare wrote - ‘Romeo and Juliet’? What a fund of knowledge you have, Mr. - Airey!” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Airey, by the method of his disclaimer, laid claim to a much larger - fund than any that Miss Craven had attributed to him. - </p> - <p> - “I only meant to suggest that traditional romance is evolved on the - same lines,” said he, when his deprecatory head-shakes had ceased. - “Given the scenic effects of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ the - romance on the lines of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ will be - forthcoming, if you only wait long enough. When you pay a visit to any - romantic glen with a torrent—an amateurish copy of an unknown - Salvator Rosa—ask for the ‘Lover’s Leap’ and it - will be shown to you.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll try to remember.” - </p> - <p> - “Given, as scenic details, the ruin of a Castle on one side of the - Lough, the ruin of a Castle on the other, and the names of the hereditary - enemies, the story comes naturally—quite as naturally—not to - say overmuch about it—as the story of the melodrama follows the - sketch of the scenic effects in the theatre. The transition from Montague - to Macnamara—from Capulet to Cashelderg is easy, and there you are.” - </p> - <p> - “And here we are,” laughed Miss Craven. “How delightful - it is to be able to work out a legend in that way, is it not, Mr. Durdan?” - and she turned to a man sitting at her left. - </p> - <p> - “It’s quite delightful, I’m sure,” said Mr. - Durdan. “But Airey is only adapting the creed of his party to - matters of everyday life. What people say about his party is that they - make a phrase first and then look out for a policy to hang upon it. - Government by phrase is what the country is compelled to submit to.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Durdan was a prominent member of the Opposition. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V.—ON A PERILOUS CAUSEWAY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ISS CRAVEN laughed - and watched Mr. Airey searching for a reply beneath the frill of a - Neapolitan ice. She did not mean that he should find one. Her aim was that - he should talk about Harold Wynne. The dinner had reached its pianissimo - passages, so to speak. It was dwindling away into the <i>marrons glacés</i> - and <i>fondants</i> stage, so she had not much time left to her to find - out if it was indeed with his friend Edmund Airey that Harold had - disappeared every afternoon. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey knew what her aim was. He was a clever man, and he - endeavoured to frustrate it. Ten minutes afterwards he was amazed to find - that he had told her all that she wanted to know, and something over, for - he had told her that Harold was at present greatly interested in the - question of the advisability of a man’s entering public life by the - perilous causeway—the phrase was Edmund Airey’s—of - matrimony. - </p> - <p> - As he chose a cigar for himself—for there was a choice even among - Lord Innisfail’s cigars—he was actually amazed to find that - the girl’s purpose had been too strong for his resolution. He - actually felt as if he had betrayed his friend to the enemy—he - actually put the matter in this way in his moment of self-reproach. - </p> - <p> - Before his cigar was well alight, however, he had become more reasonable - in his censorship of his own weakness. An enemy? Why, the young woman was - the best friend that Harold Wynne could possibly have. She was young—that - is, young enough—she was clever—had she not got the better of - Edmund Airey?—and, best of all, she was an heiress. - </p> - <p> - “The perilous causeway of matrimony”—that was the phrase - which had come suddenly into his mind, and, in order to introduce it, he - had sent the girl away feeling that she was cleverer than he was. - </p> - <p> - “The perilous causeway of matrimony,” he repeated. “With - a handrail of ten thousand a year—there is safety in that.” - </p> - <p> - He looked down the long dining-hall, glistening with silver, to where - Harold stood facing the great window, the square of which framed a dim - picture of a mountain slope, purple with heather, that had snared the last - light of the sunken sun. The sea horizon cut upon the slope not far from - its summit, and in that infinity of Western distance there was a dash of - drifting crimson. - </p> - <p> - Harold Wynne stood watching that picture of the mountain with the Atlantic - beyond, and Edmund watched him. - </p> - <p> - There was a good deal of conversation flying about the room. The smokers - of cigarettes talked on a topic which they would probably have called Art. - The smokers of pipes explained in a circumstantial way, that carried - suspicion with it to the ears of all listeners, their splendid failures to - secure certain big fish during the day. The smokers of cigars talked of - the Horse and the House—mostly of the Horse. There was a rather - florid judge present—he had talked himself crimson to the - appreciative woman who had sat beside him at dinner, on the subject of the - previous racing-season, and now he was talking himself purple on the - subject of the future season. He had been at Castle Innisfail for three - days, and he had steadily refused to entertain the idea of talking on any - other subject than the Horse from the standpoint of a possible backer. - </p> - <p> - This was the judge, who, during the hearing of a celebrated case a few - months before—a case that had involved a reference to an event known - as the City and Suburban, inquired if that was the name of a Railway - Company. Hearing that it was a race, he asked if it was a horse race or a - dog race. - </p> - <p> - Harold remained on his feet in front of the window, and Edmund remained - watching him until the streak of crimson had dwindled to a flaming Rahab - thread. The servants entered the room with coffee, and brought out many - subtle gleams from the old oak by lighting the candles in the silver - sconces. - </p> - <p> - Every time that the door was opened, the sound of a human voice (female) - trying, but with indifferent success, to scale the heights of a song that - had been saleable by reason of its suggestions of passion—drawing-room - passion—saleable passion—fought its way through the tobacco - smoke of the dining-hall. Hearing it fitfully, such men as might have felt - inclined to leave half-smoked cigars for the sake of the purer atmosphere - of the drawingroom, became resigned to their immediate surroundings. - </p> - <p> - A whisper had gone round the table while dinner was in progress, that Miss - Stafford had promised—some people said threatened—to recite - something in the course of the evening. Miss Stafford was a - highly-educated young woman. She spoke French, German, Italian and - Spanish. This is only another way of saying that she could be - uninteresting in four languages. In addition to the ordinary - disqualifications of such young women, she recited a little—mostly - poems about early childhood, involving a lisp and a pinafore. She wished - to do duty as an object lesson of the possibility of combining with an - exhaustive knowledge of mathematical formulæ, the strongest instincts of - femininity. Mathematics and motherhood were not necessarily opposed to one - another, her teachers had assured the world, through the medium of - magazine articles. Formulæ and femininity went hand in hand, they - endeavoured to prove, through the medium of Miss Stafford’s - recitations; so she acquired the imaginary lisp of early childhood, and - tore a pinafore to shreds in the course of fifteen stanzas. - </p> - <p> - It was generally understood among men that one of these recitations amply - repaid a listener for a careful avoidance of the apartment where it took - place. - </p> - <p> - The threat that had been whispered round the dinner-table formed an excuse - for long tarrying in front of the coffee cups and Bénédictine. - </p> - <p> - “Boys,” at length said Lord Innisfail, endeavouring to put on - an effective Irish brogue—he thought it was only due to Ireland to - put on a month’s brogue. “Boys, we’ll face it like men. - Shall it be said in the days to come that we ran away from a lisp and a - pinafore?” Then suddenly remembering that Miss Stafford was his - guest, he became grave. “Her father was my friend,” he said. - “He rode straight. What’s the matter with the girl? If she - does know all about the binomial-theorem and German philosophy, has she - not some redeeming qualities? You needn’t tell me that there’s - not some good in a young woman who commits to memory such stuff as that—that - what’s its name—the little boy that’s run over by a - ‘bus or something or other and that lisps in consequence about his - pap-pa. No, you needn’t argue with me. It’s extremely kind of - her to offer to recite, and I will stand up for her, confound her! And if - anyone wants to come round with the Judge and me to the stables while she’s - reciting, now’s the time. Will you take another glass of claret, - Wynne?” - </p> - <p> - “No, thank you,” said Harold. “I’m off to the - drawing-room.” - </p> - <p> - He followed the men who were straggling into the great square hall where a - billiard table occupied an insignificant space. The skeleton of an ancient - Irish elk formed a rather more conspicuous object in the hall, and was - occasionally found handy for the disposal of hats, rugs, and overcoats. - </p> - <p> - “She is greatly interested in the Romeo and Juliet story,” - remarked Edmund, strolling up to him. - </p> - <p> - “She—who?” asked Harold. - </p> - <p> - “The girl—the necessary girl. The—let us say, - alternative. The—the handrail.” - </p> - <p> - “The handrail?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Oh, I forgot: you were not within hearing. There was something - said about the perilous causeway of matrimony.” - </p> - <p> - “And that suggested the handrail idea to you? No better idea ever - occurred even to you, O man of many ideas, and of still more numerous - phrases.” - </p> - <p> - “She is responsive—she is also clever—she is uncommonly - clever—she got the better of me.” - </p> - <p> - “Say no more about her cleverness.” - </p> - <p> - “I will say no more about it. A man cannot go a better way about - checking an incipient passion for a young woman than by insisting on her - cleverness. We do not take to the clever ones. Our ideal does not include - a power of repartee.” - </p> - <p> - “Incipient passion!” - </p> - <p> - There was a suspicion of bitterness in Harold’s voice, as he - repeated the words of his friend. - </p> - <p> - “Incipient passion! I think we had better go into the drawing-room.” - </p> - <p> - They went into the drawing-room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF AN OCEAN. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ISS CRAVEN was - sitting on a distant sofa listening, or pretending to listen, which is - precisely the same thing, with great earnestness to the discourse of Mr. - Durdan, who, besides being an active politician, had a theory upon the - question of what Ibsen meant by his “Master Builder.” - </p> - <p> - Harold said a few words to Miss Innisfail, who was trying to damp her - mother’s hope of getting up a dance in the hall, but Lady Innisfail - declined to be suppressed even by her daughter, and had received promises - of support for her enterprise in influential quarters. Finding that her - mother was likely to succeed, the girl hastened away to entreat one of her - friends to play a “piece” on the pianoforte. - </p> - <p> - She knew that she might safely depend upon the person to whom she applied - for this favour, to put a stop to her mother’s negotiations. The - lady performed in the old style. Under her hands the one instrument - discharged the office of several. The volume of sound suggested that - produced by the steam orchestra of a switchback railway. - </p> - <p> - Harold glanced across the room and perceived that, while the performer was - tearing notes by the handful and flinging them about the place—up in - the air, against the walls—while her hands were worrying the bass - notes one moment like rival terrier puppies over a bone, and at other - times tickling the treble rather too roughly to be good fun—Miss - Craven’s companion had not abandoned the hope of making himself - audible if not intelligible. He had clearly accepted the challenge thrown - down by the performer. - </p> - <p> - Harold perceived that a man behind him had furtively unlatched one of the - windows leading to the terrace, and was escaping by that means, and not - alone. From outside came the hearty laughter of the judge telling an - open-air story to his host. People looked anxiously toward the window. - Harold shook his head as though suggesting that that sort of interruption - must be put a stop to at once, and that he was the man to do it. - </p> - <p> - He went resolutely out through the window. - </p> - <p> - “‘Which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the - court,’” said Edmund, in the ear of Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - He spoke too soon. The judge’s laugh rolled along like the breaking - of a tidal wave. It was plain that Harold had not gone to remonstrate with - the judge. - </p> - <p> - He had not. He had merely strolled round the terrace to the entrance hall. - Here he picked up one of the many caps which were hanging there, and - putting it on his head, walked idly away from the castle, hearing only the - floating eulogy uttered by the judge of a certain well-known jockey who - was, he said, the kindliest and most honourable soul that had ever pulled - the favourite. - </p> - <p> - A longing had come to him to hurry as far as he could from the Castle and - its company—they were hateful to him just at that instant. The - shocking performance of the woman at the pianoforte, the chatter of his - fellow-guests, the delicate way in which his friend Edmund Airey made the - most indelicate allusions, the <i>nisi prius</i> jocularity of the judge—he - turned away from all with a feeling of repulsion. - </p> - <p> - And yet Lord Innisfail’s cook was beyond reproach as an artist. - </p> - <p> - Harold Wynne had accepted the invitation of Lady Innisfail in cold blood. - She had asked him to go to Castle Innisfail for a few weeks in August, - adding, “Helen Craven has promised to be among our party. You like - her, don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “Immensely,” he had replied. - </p> - <p> - “I knew it,” she had cried, with an enthusiasm that would have - shocked her daughter. “I don’t want a discordant note at our - gathering. If you look coldly on Helen Craven I shall wish that I hadn’t - asked you; but if you look on her in—well, in the other way, we - shall all be happy.” - </p> - <p> - He knew exactly what Lady Innisfail meant to convey. It had been hinted to - him before that, as he was presumably desirous of marrying a girl with a - considerable amount of money, he could not do better than ask Miss Craven - to be his wife. He had then laughed and assured Lady Innisfail that if - their happiness depended upon the way he looked upon Miss Craven, it would - be his aim to look upon her in any way that Lady Innisfail might suggest. - </p> - <p> - Well, he had come to Castle Innisfail, and for a week he had given himself - up to the vastness of the Western Cliffs—of the Atlantic waves—of - the billowy mountains—of the mysterious sunsets. It was impossible - to escape from the overwhelming influence of the Atlantic in the region of - Castle Innisfail. Its sound seemed to go out to all the ends of the earth. - At the Castle there was no speech or language where its voice was not - heard. It was a sort of background of sound that had to be arranged for by - anyone desirous of expressing any thought or emotion in that region. Even - the judge had to take it into consideration upon occasions. He never took - into consideration anything less important than an ocean. - </p> - <p> - For a week the influence of the Atlantic had overwhelmed Harold. He had - given himself up to it. He had looked at Miss Craven neither coldly nor in - the other way—whatever it was—to which Lady Innisfail had - referred as desirable to be adopted by him. Miss Craven had simply not - been in his thoughts. Face to face with the Infinite one hesitates to give - up one’s attention to a question of an income that may be indicated - by five figures only. - </p> - <p> - But at the end of a week, he received a letter from his father, who was - Lord Fotheringay, and this letter rang many changes upon the - five-figure-income question. The question was more than all the Infinities - to Lord Fotheringay, and he suggested as much in writing to his son. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Craven is all that is desirable,” the letter had said. - “Of course she is not an American; but one cannot expect everything - in this imperfect world. Her money is, I understand, well invested—not - in land, thank heaven! She is, in fact, a CERTAINTY, and certainties are - becoming rarer every day.” - </p> - <p> - Here the letter went on to refer to some abstract questions of the opera - in Italy—it was to the opera in Italy that Lord Fotheringay w as, - for the time being, attached. The progress made by one of its ornaments—gifted - with a singularly flexible soprano—interested him greatly, and - Harold had invariably found that in proportion to the interest taken by - his father in the exponents of certain arts—singing, dancing, and - the drama—his own allowance was reduced. He knew that his father was - not a rich man, for a peer. His income was only a trifle over twelve - thousand a year; but he also knew that only for his father’s - weaknesses, this sum should be sufficient for him to live on with some - degree of comfort. The weaknesses, however, were there, and they had to be - calculated on. Harold calculated on them; and after doing the sum in - simple subtraction with the sound of the infinite ocean around him, he had - asked his friend Edmund Airey to pass a few hours in the boat with him. - Edmund had complied for three consecutive afternoons, with the result - that, with three ridiculous stories from the Irish boatman, Harold had - acquired a certain amount of sound advice from the friend who was in his - confidence. - </p> - <p> - He had made up his mind that, if Miss Craven would marry him, he would - endeavour to make her the wife of a distinguished man. - </p> - <p> - That included everything, did it not? - </p> - <p> - He felt that he might realize the brilliant future predicted for him by - his friends when he was the leader of the party of the hour at Oxford. The - theory of the party was—like everything that comes from Oxford—eminently - practical. The Regeneration of Humanity by means of Natural Scenery was - its foundation. Its advocates proved to their own satisfaction that, in - every question of morality and the still more important question of - artistic feeling, heredity was not the dominant influence, but natural - scenery. - </p> - <p> - By the party Harold was regarded as the long-looked-for Man—what the - world wanted was a Man, they declared, and he was destined to be the Man. - </p> - <p> - He had travelled a good deal on leaving the University, and in a year he - had forgotten that he had ever pretended that he held any theory. A theory - he had come to believe to be the paper fortress of the Immature. But the - Man—that was a different thing. He hoped that he might yet prove - himself to be a man, so that, after all, his friends—they had also - ceased to theorize—might not have predicted in vain. - </p> - <p> - Like many young men without experience, he believed that Parliament was a - great power. If anyone had told him that the art of gerrymandering is - greater than the art of governing, he would not have known what his - informant meant. - </p> - <p> - His aspirations took the direction of a seat in the House of Commons. In - spite of the fact of his being the son of Lord Fotheringay, he believed - that he might make his mark in that Assembly. The well-known love of the - Voter for social purity—not necessarily in Beer—and his - intolerance of idleness—excepting, of course, when it is paid for by - an employer—had, he knew, to be counted on. Lord Fotheringay was - not, he felt, the ideal of the Working man, but he hoped he might be able - to convince the Working man—the Voter—that Lord Fotheringay’s - most noted characteristics had not descended to his son. - </p> - <p> - From his concern on this point it will be readily understood how striking - a figure was the Voter, in his estimation. - </p> - <p> - It is not so easy to understand how, with that ideal Voter—that - stern unbending moralist—before his eyes, he should feel that there - was a great need for him to be possessed of money before offering himself - to any constituency. The fact remained, however, that everyone to whom he - had confided his Parliamentary aspirations, had assured him at the outset - that money had to be secured before a constituency could be reckoned on. - His friend Edmund Airey had still further impressed upon him this fact; - and now he had made up his mind that his aspirations should not be - discouraged through the lack of money. - </p> - <p> - He would ask Helen Craven that very night if she would have the goodness - to marry him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A FULL MOON. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HY the fact of his - having made up his mind to ask Miss Craven who, without being an American, - still possessed many qualities which are generally accepted as tending to - married happiness, should cause him to feel a great longing to leave - Castle Innisfail, its occupants, and its occupations behind him for - evermore, it is difficult to explain on any rational grounds. That feeling - was, however, upon him, and he strode away across the billowy moorland in - the direction of the cliffs of the fjord known as Lough Suangorm. - </p> - <p> - The moon was at its full. It had arisen some little way up the sky and was - showering its red gold down the slopes of the two cone-shaped mountains - that guard the pass of Lamdhu; the deep glen was flooded with moonlight—Harold - could perceive in its hollows such objects as were scarcely visible on the - ordinary gray days of the West of Ireland. Then he walked until he was on - the brink of the great cliffs overhanging the lough. From the high point - on which he stood he could follow all the curves of the lough out to the - headlands at its entrance seven miles away. Beyond those headlands the - great expanse of sea was glittering splendidly in the moonlight, though - the moon had not risen high enough to touch the restless waters at the - base of the cl iffs on which he stood. The waters were black as they - struggled within their narrow limits and were strangled in the channel. - Only a white thread of surf marked the breaking place of the waves upon - the cliffs. - </p> - <p> - He went down the little track, made among the rocks of the steep slope, - until he reached the natural cavern that bore the name of the Banshee’s - Cave. - </p> - <p> - It was scarcely half-way up the face of the cliff. From that hollow in the - rocks the descent to the waters of the lough was sheer; but the cave was - easily accessible by a zig-zag path leading up from a small ledge of rocks - which, being protected by a reef that started up abruptly half a dozen - yards out in the narrow channel, served as a landing place for the fishing - boats, of which there were several owned in the tiny village of Carrigorm. - </p> - <p> - He stood at the entrance to the cavern, thinking, not upon the scene - which, according to the boatman’s story, had been enacted at the - place several hundreds—perhaps thousands (the chronology of Irish - legends is vague)—of years before, but upon his own prospects. - </p> - <p> - “It is done,” he said, looking the opposite cliffs straight in - the face, as though they were Voters—(candidates usually look at the - Voters straight in the face the first time they address them). “It - is done; I cast it to the winds—to the seas, that are as indifferent - to man’s affairs as the winds. I must be content to live without it. - The career—that is enough!” - </p> - <p> - What it was that he meant to cast to the indifference of the seas and the - winds was nothing more than a sentiment—a vague feeling that he - could not previously get rid of—a feeling that man’s life - without woman’s love was something incomplete and unsatisfactory. - </p> - <p> - He had had his theory on this subject as well as on others long ago—he - had gone the length of embodying it in sonnets. - </p> - <p> - Was it now to go the way of the other impracticable theories? - </p> - <p> - He had cherished it for long. If it had not been dear to him he would not - have subjected himself to the restriction of the sonnet in writing about - it. He would have adopted the commonplace and facile stanza. But a sonnet - is a shrine. - </p> - <p> - He had felt that whatever might happen to him, however disappointed he - might become with the world and the things of the world, that great and - splendid love was before him, and he felt that to realize it would be to - forget all disappointments—to forget all the pangs which the heart - of man knows when its hour of disillusion comes. - </p> - <p> - Love was the reward of the struggle—the deep, sweet draught that - refreshes the heart of the toiler, he felt. In whatever direction illusion - may lie, love was not in that direction. - </p> - <p> - That had been his firm belief all his life, and now he was standing at the - entrance to the cavern—the cavern that was associated with a story - of love stronger than death—and he had just assured himself that he - had flung to the seas and the winds all his hopes of that love which had - been in his dreams. - </p> - <p> - “It is gone—it is gone!” he cried, looking down at that - narrow part of the lough where the boat had been tumbling during the - afternoon. - </p> - <p> - What had that adviser of his said? He remembered something of his words—something - about marriage being a guarantee of love. - </p> - <p> - Harold laughed grimly as he recalled the words. He knew better. The love - that he had looked for was not such as was referred to by his friend Mr. - Airey. It was—— - </p> - <p> - But what on earth was the good of trying to recall what it was? The - diamonds that Queen Guinevere flung into the river, made just the same - splash as common stones would have done under the same circumstances: and - the love which he had cherished was, when cast to the winds, no more - worthy of being thought precious than the many other ideas which he had - happily rid himself of in the course of his walk through the world. - </p> - <p> - This was how he repressed the thought of his conversation with his friend; - and after a while the recollections that he wished to suppress yielded to - his methods. - </p> - <p> - Once more the influences of the place—the spectacle of the infinite - mountains, the voice of the infinite sea—asserted themselves as they - had done during the first week of his arrival at the Castle. The story of - the legendary Prince and Princess came back to him as though it were the - embodiment of the influences of the region of romance in the midst of - which he was standing. - </p> - <p> - What had Brian the boatman said? The beautiful girl had crossed the narrow - channel of the lough night after night and had climbed the face of the - cliffs to her lover at their dizzy trysting-place—the place where he - was now standing. - </p> - <p> - Even while he thought upon the details, as carefully narrated by the - boatman, the moon rose high enough to send her rays sweeping over the full - length of the lough. For a quarter of an hour a single thin crag of the - Slieve Gorm mountains had stood between the moon and the narrowing of the - lough. The orb rose over the last thin peak of the crag. The lough through - all its sinuous length flashed beneath his eyes like a Malayan crease, and - in the waters just below the cliffs which a moment before had been black, - he saw a small boat being rowed by a white figure. - </p> - <p> - “That is the lovely Princess of the story,” said he. “She - is in white—of course they are all in white, these princesses. It’s - marvellous what a glint of moonlight can do. It throws a glamour over the - essentially commonplace, the same way that—well, that that fancy - known as love does upon occasions, otherwise the plain features of a woman - would perish from the earth and not be perpetuated. The lumpy daughter of - the village who exists simply to show what an artist was Jean François - Millet, appears down there to float through the moonlight like the - restless spirit of a princess. Is she coming to meet the spirit of her - lover at their old trysting-place? Ah, no, she is probably about to convey - a pannikin of worms for bait to one of the fishing boats.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII.—ON THE ZIG-ZAG TRACK. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD WYNNE was in - one of those moods which struggle for expression through the medium of - bitter phrases. He felt that he did well to be cynical. Had he not - outlived his belief in love as a necessity of life? - </p> - <p> - He watched with some degree of interest the progress of the tiny boat - rowed by the white figure. He had tried to bring himself to believe that - the figure was that of a rough fisher-girl—the fisher-girls are not - rough, however, on that part of the coast, and he knew it, only his mood - tended to roughness. He tried to make himself believe that a coarse jest - shrieked through the moonlight to reach the ears of an appreciatively - coarse fisherman, would not be inconsistent with the appearance of that - white figure. He felt quite equal to the act of looking beneath the glory - and the glamour of the moonlight and of seeing there only the commonplace. - He was, he believed, in a mood to revel in the disillusion of a man. - </p> - <p> - And yet he watched the progress of the boat through the glittering waters, - without removing his eyes from it. - </p> - <p> - The white figure in the boat was so white as to seem the centre of the - light that flashed along the ripples and silvered the faces of the cliffs—so - much was apparent to him in spite of his mood. As the boat approached the - landing-place at the ledge of rock a hundred feet below him, he also - perceived that the rower handled her oars in a scientific way unknown to - the fisher-girls; and the next thing that he noticed was that she wore a - straw hat and a blouse of a pattern that the fisher-girls were powerless - to imitate, though the skill was easily available to the Mary Anns and the - Matilda Janes who steer (indifferently) perambulators through the London - parks. He was so interested in what he saw, that he had not sufficient - presence of mind to resume his cynical mutterings, or to inquire if it was - possible that the fashion of the year as regards sailor hats and blouses, - was a repetition of that of the period of the Princess Fither. - </p> - <p> - He was more than interested—he was puzzled—as the boat was - skilfully run alongside the narrow landing ledge at the foot of the - cliffs, and when the girl—the figure was clearly that of a girl—landed—-she - wore yachting shoes—carrying with her the boat’s painter, - which she made fast in a business-like way to one of the iron rings that - had been sunk in the face of the cliff for the mooring of the fishing - boats, he was more puzzled still. In another moment the girl was toiling - up the little zig-zag track that led to the summit of the cliffs. - </p> - <p> - The track passed within a yard or two of the entrance to the cavern. He - thought it advisable to step hack out of the moonlight, so that the girl - should not see him. She was doubtless, he thought, on her way to the - summit of the cliffs, and she would probably be startled if he were to - appear suddenly before her eyes. He took a step or two back into the - friendly shadow of the cavern, and waited to hear her footsteps on the - track above him. - </p> - <p> - He waited in vain. She did not take that zigzag track that led to the - cliffs above the cave. He heard her jump—it was almost a feat—from - the track by which she had ascended, on to a flat rock not a yard from the - entrance to the cavern. He shrunk still further back into the darkness, - and then there came before the entrance the most entrancing figure of a - girl that he had ever seen. - </p> - <p> - She stood there delightfully out of breath, with the moonlight bringing - out every gracious curve in her shape. So he had seen the limelight reveal - the graces of a breathless <i>danseuse</i>, when taking her “call.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Prince,” said the girl, with many a gasp. “You - have treated me very badly. It’s a pull—undeniably a pull—up - those rocks, and for the third time I have kept my tryst with you, only to - be disappointed.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed, and putting a shapely foot—she was by no means careful - to conceal her stocking above the ankle—upon a stone, she quietly - and in a matter-of-fact way, tied the lace of her yachting shoe. - </p> - <p> - The stooping was not good for her—he felt that, together with a few - other matters incidental to her situation. He waited for the long breath - he knew she would draw on straightening herself. - </p> - <p> - It came. He hoped that her other shoe needed tying; but it did not. - </p> - <p> - He watched her as she stood there with her back to him. She was sending - her eyes out to the Western headlands. - </p> - <p> - “No, my Prince; on the whole I’m not disappointed,” she - said. “That picture repays me for my toil by sea and land. What a - picture! But what would it be to be here with—with—love!” - </p> - <p> - That was all she said. - </p> - <p> - He thought it was quite enough. - </p> - <p> - She stood there like a statue of white marble set among the black rocks. - She was absolutely motionless for some minutes; and then the sigh that - fluttered from her lips was, he knew, a different expression altogether - from that which had come from her when she had straightened herself on - fastening her shoe. - </p> - <p> - His father was a connoisseur in sighs; Harold did not profess to have the - same amount of knowledge on the subject, but still he knew something. He - could distinguish roughly on some points incidental to the sigh as a - medium of expression. - </p> - <p> - After that little gasp which was not quite a gasp, she was again silent; - then she whispered, but by no means gently, the one word “Idiot!” - and in another second she had sent her voice into the still night in a - wild musical cry—such a cry as anyone gifted with that imaginative - power which Brian had declared to be so necessary for archæological - research, might attribute to the Banshee—the White Lady of Irish - legends. - </p> - <p> - She repeated the cry an octave higher and then she executed what is - technically known as a “scale” but ended with that same weird - cry of the Banshee. - </p> - <p> - Once again she was breathless. Her blouse was turbulent just below her - throat. - </p> - <p> - “If Brian does not cross himself until he feels more fatigue than he - would after a pretence at rowing, I’ll never play Banshee again,” - said the girl. “<i>Ta, ta, mon Prince; a rivederci</i>.” - </p> - <p> - He watched her poise herself for the leap from the rock where she was - standing, to the track—her grace was exquisite—it suggested - that of the lithe antelope. The leap took her beyond his sight, and he did - not venture immediately to a point whence he could regain possession of - her with his eyes. But when he heard the sound of her voice singing a - snatch of song—it was actually “<i>L’amour est un oiseau - rebelle</i>”—the Habanera from “Carmen”—he - judged that she had reached the second angle of the zig-zag downward, and - he took a step into the moonlight. - </p> - <p> - There she went, lilting the song and keeping time with her feet, until she - reached the ledge where the boat was moored. She unfastened the painter, - hauled the boat close, and he heard the sound of the plunge of the bows as - she jumped on one of the beams, the force of her jump sending the boat far - from shore. - </p> - <p> - She sat for some minutes on the beam amidship, listlessly allowing the - boat to drift away from the rocks, then she put out her hands for the - oars. Her right hand grasped one, but there was none for the left to - grasp. Harold perceived that one of the oars had disappeared. - </p> - <p> - There was the boat twenty yards from the rock drifting away beyond the - control of the girl. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX.—ON THE HELPLESSNESS OF WOMAN. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE girl had shown - so much adroitness in the management of the little craft previously, he - felt—with deep regret—that she would be quite equal to her - present emergency. He was mistaken. She had reached the end of her - resources in navigation when she had run the boat alongside the landing - place. He saw—with great satisfaction—that with only one oar - she was helpless. - </p> - <p> - What should he do? - </p> - <p> - That was what he asked himself when he saw her dip her remaining oar into - the water and paddle a few strokes, making the boat describe an awkward - circle and bringing it perilously close to a jagged point of the reef that - did duty as a natural breakwater for the mooring place of the boats. He - came to the conclusion that if he allowed her to continue that sort of - paddling, she would run the boat on the reef, and he would be morally - responsible for the disaster and its consequences, whatever they might be. - He had never felt more conscientious than at that moment. - </p> - <p> - He ran down the track to the landing ledge, but before he had reached the - latter, the girl had ceased her efforts and was staring at him, her hands - still resting on the oar. - </p> - <p> - He had an uneasy feeling that he was scarcely so picturesquely breathless - as she had been, and this consciousness did not tend to make him fluent as - he stood upon the rocky shelf not a foot above the ridges of the silver - ripples. - </p> - <p> - He found himself staring at her, just as she was staring at him. - </p> - <p> - Quite a minute had passed before he found words to ask her if he could be - of any help to her. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know,” she replied, in a tone very different - from that in which she had spoken at the entrance to the cavern. “I - don’t really know. One of the oars must have gone overboard while - the boat was moored. I scarcely know what I am to do.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid you’re in a bad way!” said he, shaking - his head. The change in the girl’s tone was very amusing to him. She - had become quite demure; but previously, demureness had been in the - background. “Yes, I’m afraid your case is a very bad one.” - </p> - <p> - “So bad as that?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Well, perhaps not quite, but still bad enough,” said he. - “What do you want to do?” - </p> - <p> - “To get home as soon as possible,” she replied, without the - pause of a second. - </p> - <p> - Her tone was expressive. It conveyed to him the notion that she had just - asked if he thought that she was an idiot. What could she want to do if - not to go home? - </p> - <p> - “In that case,” said he, “I should advise you to take - the oar to the sculling place in the centre of the stern. The boat is a - stout one and will scull well.” - </p> - <p> - “But I don’t know how to scull,” said she, in a tone of - real distress; “and I don’t think I can begin to learn just - now.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s something in that,” said he. “If I were - only aboard I could teach you in a short time.” - </p> - <p> - “But—” - </p> - <p> - She had begun her reply without the delay of a second, but she did not get - beyond the one word. He felt that she did not need to do so: it was a - sentence by itself. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said he, “as you say, I’m not aboard. Shall - I get aboard?” - </p> - <p> - “How could you?” she inquired, brightening up. - </p> - <p> - “I can swim,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - She laughed. - </p> - <p> - “The situation is not so desperate as that,” she cried. - </p> - <p> - He also laughed. - </p> - <p> - They both laughed together. - </p> - <p> - She stopped suddenly and looked up the cliffs to the Banshee’s Cave. - </p> - <p> - Was she wondering if he had been within hearing when she had been—and - not in silence—at the entrance to the cave? - </p> - <p> - He felt that he had never seen so beautiful a girl. Even making a liberal - allowance for that glamour of the moonlight, which he had tried to assure - himself was as deceptive as the glamour of love, she was, he felt, the - most beautiful girl he had ever seen. - </p> - <p> - He crushed down every suggestion that came to him as to the best way of - helping her out of her difficulty. It was his opportunity. - </p> - <p> - Then she turned her eyes from the cliff and looked at him again. - </p> - <p> - There was something imploring in her look. - </p> - <p> - “Keep up your heart,” said he. “Whose boat is that, may - I ask?” - </p> - <p> - “It belongs to a man named Brian—Brian something or other—perhaps - O’Donal.” - </p> - <p> - “In that case I think it almost certain that you will find a fishing - line in the locker astern—a fishing line and a tin bailer—the - line will help you out of the difficulty.” - </p> - <p> - Before he had quite done speaking she was in the stern sheets, groping - with one hand in the little locker. - </p> - <p> - She brought out, first, a small jar of whiskey, secondly, a small pannikin - that served a man’s purpose when he wished to drink the whiskey in - unusually small quantities, and was also handy in bailing out the boat, - and, thirdly, a fishing line-wound about a square frame. - </p> - <p> - She held up the last-named so that Harold might see it. - </p> - <p> - “I thought it would be there,” said he. “Now if you can - only cast one end of that line ashore, I will catch it and the boat will - be alongside the landing-place in a few minutes. Can you throw?” - </p> - <p> - She was silent. She examined the hooks on the whale-bone cross-cast. - </p> - <p> - He laughed again, for he perceived that she was reluctant to boast of the - possession of a skill which was denied to all womankind. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll explain to you what you must do,” he said. “Cut - away the cast of hooks.” - </p> - <p> - “But I have no knife.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I’ll throw mine into the bottom of your boat. Look out.” - </p> - <p> - Being a man, he was able to make the knife alight within reasonable - distance of the spot at which he aimed. He saw her face brighten as she - picked up the implement and, opening it, quickly cut away the cast of - hooks. - </p> - <p> - “Now make fast the leaden sinker to the end of the fishing line, - unwind it all from the frame, and then whirl the weight round and sling it - ashore—anywhere ashore.” - </p> - <p> - She followed his instructions implicitly, and the leaden weight fled - through the air, with the sound of a shell from a mortar. - </p> - <p> - “Well thrown!” he cried, as it soared above his head; and it - was well thrown—so well that it carried overboard every inch of the - line and the frame to which it was attached. - </p> - <p> - “How stupid of me!” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Of me, you mean,” said he. “I should have told you to - make it fast. However, no harm is done. I’ll recover the weight and - send it back to you.” - </p> - <p> - He had no trouble in effecting his purpose. He threw the weight as gently - as possible into the bow of the boat, she picked it up, and the line was - in her hands as he took in the slack and hauled the boat alongside the - shelf of rock. - </p> - <p> - It cannot have escaped notice that the system of hauling which he adopted - had the result of bringing their hands together. They scarcely touched, - however. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said she, with profound coldness, when the boat - was alongside. - </p> - <p> - “Your case was not so desperate, after all,” he remarked, with - just a trifle less frigidity in his tone, though he now knew that she was - the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had talked of the glamour of - moonlight. How could he have been so ridiculous? - </p> - <p> - “No, my case was not so very desperate,” she said. “Thank - you so much.” - </p> - <p> - Did she mean to suggest that he should now walk away? - </p> - <p> - “I can’t go, you know, until I am satisfied that your <i>contretemps</i> - is at an end,” said he. “My name is Wynne—Harold Wynne. - I am a guest of Lord Innisfail’s. I dare say you know him.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” she replied. “I know nobody.” - </p> - <p> - “Nobody?” - </p> - <p> - “Nobody here. Of course I daily hear something about Lord Innisfail - and his guests.” - </p> - <p> - “You know Brian—he is somebody—the historian of the - region. Did you ever hear the story of the Banshee?” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him, but he flattered himself that his face told her nothing - of what she seemed anxious to know. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, after a pause. “I do believe that I - heard the story of the Banshee—a princess, was she not—a sort - of princess—an Irish princess?” - </p> - <p> - “Strictly Irish. It is said that the cry of the White Lady is - sometimes heard even on these nights among the cliffs down which the - Princess flung herself.” - </p> - <p> - “Really?” said she, turning her eyes to the sea. “How - strange!” - </p> - <p> - “Strange? well—perhaps. But Brian declares that he has heard - the cry with his own ears. I have a friend who says, very coarsely, that - if lies were landed property Brian would be the largest holder of real - estate in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Your friend does not understand Brian.” There was more than a - trace of indignation in her voice. “Brian has imagination—so - have all the people about here. I must get home as soon as possible. I - thank you very much for your trouble. Goodnight.” - </p> - <p> - “I have had no trouble. Good-night.” - </p> - <p> - He took off his cap, and moved away—to the extent of a single step. - She was still standing in the boat. - </p> - <p> - “By the way,” he said, as if the thought had just occurred to - him; “do you intend going overland?” - </p> - <p> - The glamour of the moonlight failed to conceal the troubled look that came - to her eyes. He regained the step that he had taken away from her, and - remarked, “If you will be good enough to allow me, I will scull you - with the one oar to any part of the coast that you may wish to reach. It - would be a pleasure to me. I have nothing whatever to do. As a matter of - fact, I don’t see that you have any choice in the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “I have not,” she said gravely. “I was a fool—such - a fool! But—the story of the Princess—” - </p> - <p> - “Pray don’t make any confession to me,” said he. “If - I had not heard the story of the Princess, should I be here either?” - </p> - <p> - “My name,” said she, “is Beatrice Avon. My father’s - name you may have heard—most people have heard his name, though I’m - afraid that not so many have read his books.” - </p> - <p> - “But I have met your father,” said he. “If he is Julius - Anthony Avon, I met him some years ago. He breakfasted with my tutor at - Oxford. I have read all his hooks.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come into the boat,” she cried with a laugh. “I - feel that we have been introduced.” - </p> - <p> - “And so we have,” said he, stepping upon the gunwale so as to - push off the boat. “Now, where is your best landing place?” - </p> - <p> - She pointed out to him a white cottage at the entrance to a glen on the - opposite coast of the lough, just below the ruins—they could be seen - by the imaginative eye—of the Castle of Carrigorm. The cottage was - glistening in the moonlight. - </p> - <p> - “That is where we have been living—my father and I—for - the past month,” said she. “He is engaged on a new work—a - History of Irish Patriotism, and he has begun by compiling a biographical - dictionary of Irish Informers. He is making capital progress with it. He - has already got to the end of the seventh volume and he has very nearly - reached the letter C—oh, yes, he is making rapid progress.” - </p> - <p> - “But why is he at this place? Is he working up the Irish legends as - well?” - </p> - <p> - “It seems that the French landed here some time or other, and that - was the beginning of a new era of rebellions. My father is dealing with - the period, and means to have his topography strictly accurate.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Harold, “if he carefully avoids everything - that he is told in Ireland his book may tend to accuracy.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X.—ON SCIENCE AND ART. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> BOAT being urged - onwards—not very rapidly—by a single oar resting in a hollow - in the centre of the stern, and worked from side to side by a man in - evening dress, is not a sight of daily occurrence. This may have suggested - itself to the girl who was seated on the midship beam; but if she was - inclined to laugh, she succeeded in controlling her impulses. - </p> - <p> - He found that he was more adroit at the science of marine propulsion than - he had fancied he was. The boat was making quite too rapid progress for - his desires, across the lough. - </p> - <p> - He asked the girl if she did not think it well that she should become - acquainted with at least the scientific principle which formed the basis - of the marine propeller. It was extremely unlikely that such an emergency - as that which had lately arisen should ever again make a demand upon her - resources, but if such were ever to present itself, it might be well for - her to be armed to overcome it. - </p> - <p> - Yes, she said, it was extremely unlikely that she should ever again be so - foolish, and she hoped that her father would not be uneasy at her failure - to return at the hour at which she had told him to expect her. - </p> - <p> - He stopped rocking the oar from side to side in order to assure her that - she could not possibly be delayed more than a quarter of an hour through - the loss of the oar. - </p> - <p> - She said that she was very glad, and that she really thought that the boat - was making more rapid progress with his one oar than it had done in the - opposite direction with her two oars. - </p> - <p> - He began to perceive that his opportunities of making her acquainted with - the science of the screw propeller were dwindling. He faced the oar - boldly, however, and he felt that he had at least succeeded in showing her - how effective was the application of a scientific law to the achievement - of his end—assuming that that end was the driving of the boat - through the waters. - </p> - <p> - He was not a fool. He knew very well that there is nothing which so - appeals to the interest of a woman as seeing a man do something that she - cannot do. - </p> - <p> - When, after five minutes’ work, he turned his head to steer the - boat, he found that she was watching him. - </p> - <p> - She had previously been watching the white glistening cottage, with the - light in one window only. - </p> - <p> - The result of his observation was extremely satisfactory to him. He - resumed his toil without a word. - </p> - <p> - And this was how it happened that the boat made so excellent a passage - across the lough. - </p> - <p> - It was not until the keel grated upon the sand that the girl spoke. She - made a splendid leap from the bows, and, turning, asked him if he would - care to pay a visit to her father. - </p> - <p> - He replied that he feared that he might jeopardize the biography of some - interesting informer whose name might occur at the close of the letter B. - He hoped that he would be allowed to borrow the boat for his return to the - cliffs, and to row it back the next day to where it was at the moment he - was speaking. - </p> - <p> - His earnest sculling of the boat had not made all thought for the morrow - impracticable. He had been reflecting through the silence, how he might - make the chance of meeting once more this girl whose face he had seen for - the first time half an hour before. - </p> - <p> - She had already given him an absurd amount of trouble, she said. The boat - was one that she had borrowed from Brian, and Brian could easily row it - across next morning. - </p> - <p> - But he happened to know that Brian was to be in attendance on Mr. Durdan - all the next day. Mr. Durdan had come to the West solely for the purpose - of studying the Irish question on the spot. He had, consequently, spent - all his time, deep-sea fishing. - </p> - <p> - “So you perceive that there’s nothing for it but for me to - bring back the boat, Miss Avon,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “You do it so well,” she said, with a tone of enthusiasm in - her voice. “I never admired anything so much—your sculling, I - mean. And perhaps I may learn something about—was it the scientific - principle that you were kind enough to offer to teach me?” - </p> - <p> - “The scientific principle,” said he, with an uneasy feeling - that the girl had seen through his artifice to prolong the crossing of the - lough. “Yes, you certainly should know all about the scientific - principle.” - </p> - <p> - “I feel so, indeed. Good-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-night,” said he, preparing to push the boat off the sand - where it had grounded. “Goodnight. By the way, it was only when we - were out with Brian in the afternoon that he told us the story of the - Princess and her lover. He added that the cry of the White Lady would - probably be heard when night came.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you may hear it yet,” said she. “Goodnight.” - </p> - <p> - She had run up the sandy beach, before he had pushed off the boat, and she - never looked round. - </p> - <p> - He stood with one foot on the gunwale of the boat in act to push into deep - water, thinking that perhaps she might at the last moment look round. - </p> - <p> - She did not. - </p> - <p> - He caught another glimpse of her beyond the furze that crowned a ridge of - rocks. But she had her face steadfastly set toward the white cottage. - </p> - <p> - He threw all his weight upon the oar which he was using as a pole, and out - the boat shot into the deep water. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens!” said Edmund Airey. “Where have you been - for the past couple of hours?” - </p> - <p> - “Where?” repeated Miss Craven in a tone of voice that should - only be assumed when the eyes, of the speaker are sparkling. But Miss - Craven’s eyes were not sparkling. Their strong point was not in that - direction. “I’m afraid you must give an account of yourself, - Mr. Wynne,” she continued. She was standing by the side of Edmund - Airey, within the embrace of the mighty antlers of the ancient elk in the - hall. The sound of dance music was in the air, and Miss Craven’s - face was flushed. - </p> - <p> - “To give an account of myself would be to place myself on a level of - dulness with the autobiographers whose reminiscences we yawn over.” - </p> - <p> - “Then give us a chance of yawning,” cried Miss Craven. - </p> - <p> - “You do not need one,” said he. “Have you not been for - some time by the side of a Member of Parliament?” - </p> - <p> - “He has been over the cliffs,” suggested the Member of - Parliament. He was looking at Harold’s shoes, which bore tokens of - having been ill-treated beyond the usual ill-treatment of shoes with bows - of ribbon above the toes. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Harold. “Over the cliffs.” - </p> - <p> - “At the Banshee’s Cave, I’m certain,” said Miss - Craven. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, at the Banshee’s Cave.” - </p> - <p> - “How lovely! And you saw the White Lady?” she continued. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I saw the White Lady.” - </p> - <p> - “And you heard her cry at the entrance to the cave?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I heard her cry at the entrance to the cave.” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense!” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Utter nonsense!” said he. “I must ask Lady Innisfail to - dance.” - </p> - <p> - He crossed the hall to where Lady Innisfail was seated. She was fanning - herself and making sparkling replies to the inanities of Mr. Durdan, who - stood beside her. She had been engaged in every dance, Harold knew, from - the extra gravity of her daughter. - </p> - <p> - “What does he mean?” Miss Craven asked of Edmund Airey in a - low—almost an anxious, tone. - </p> - <p> - “Mean? Why, to dance with Lady Innisfail. He is a man of - determination.” - </p> - <p> - “What does he mean by that nonsense about the Banshee’s Cave?” - </p> - <p> - “Is it nonsense?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course it is. Does anyone suppose that the legend of the White - Lady is anything but nonsense? Didn’t you ridicule it at dinner?” - </p> - <p> - “At dinner; oh, yes: but then you must remember that no one is - altogether discreet at dinner. That cold <i>entrée</i>—the Russian - salad—” - </p> - <p> - “A good many people are discreet neither at dinner nor after it.” - </p> - <p> - “Our friend Harold, for instance? Oh, I have every confidence in - him. I know his mood. I have experienced it myself. I, too, have stood in - a sculpturesque attitude and attire, on a rock overhanging a deep sea, and - I have been at the point of dressing again without taking the plunge that - I meant to take.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean that he—that he—oh, I don’t know what - you mean.” - </p> - <p> - “I mean that if he had been so fortunate as to come upon you - suddenly at the Banshee’s Cave or wherever he was to-night, he would - have—well, he would have taken the plunge.” - </p> - <p> - He saw the girl’s face become slightly roseate in spite of the fact - of her being the most self-controlled person whom he had ever met. He - perceived that she appreciated his meaning to a shade. - </p> - <p> - He liked that. A man who is gifted with the power of expressing his ideas - in various shades, likes to feel that his power is appreciated. He knew - that there are some people who fancy that every question is susceptible of - being answered by yea or nay. He hated such people. - </p> - <p> - “The plunge?” said Miss Craven, with an ingenuousness that - confirmed his high estimate of her powers of appreciation. “The - plunge? But the Banshee’s Cave is a hundred feet above the water.” - </p> - <p> - “But men have taken headers—” - </p> - <p> - “They have,” said she, “and therefore we should finish - our waltz.” - </p> - <p> - They did finish their waltz. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI.—ON HEAVEN AND THE LORD CHANCELLOR. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>R. DURDAN was - explaining something—he usually was explaining something. When he - had been a member of the late Government his process of explaining - something was generally regarded as a fine effort at mystification. In - private his explanations were sometimes intelligible. As Harold entered - the room where a straggling breakfast was proceeding—everything - except dinner had a tendency to be straggling at Castle Innisfail—Mr. - Dur dan was explaining how Brian had been bewildered. - </p> - <p> - It was a profitable theme, especially for a man who fondly believed that - he had the power of reproducing what he imagined to be the Irish brogue of - the boatman. - </p> - <p> - Harold gathered that Mr. Durdan had already had a couple of hours of - deep-sea fishing in the boat with Brian—the servants were all the - morning carrying into the dining-room plates of fish of his catching - (audibly sneered at by the fly-fishers, who considered their supreme - failures superior to the hugest successes of the deep-sea fishers). - </p> - <p> - But the fishing was not to the point. What Mr. Durdan believed to be very - much to the point were the “begorras,” the “acushlas,” - the “arrahs” which he tried to make his auditors believe the - boatman had uttered in telling him how he had been awakened early in the - night by hearing the cry of the Banshee. - </p> - <p> - Every phrase supposed to have been employed by the boatman was reproduced - by the narrator; and his auditors glanced meaningly at one another. It - would have required a great deal of convincing to make them fancy for a - moment that the language of Brian consisted of an imaginary Irish - exclamation preceding a purely Cockney—occasionally Yorkshire—idiom. - But the narrator continued his story, and seemed convinced that his voice - was an exact reproduction of Brian’s brogue. - </p> - <p> - Harold thought that he would try a little of something that was not fish—he - scarcely minded what he had, provided it was not fish, he told the - servant. And as there was apparently some little-difficulty in procuring - such a comestible, Harold drank some coffee and listened to Mr. Durdan’s - story—he recommenced it for everyone who entered the breakfast-room. - </p> - <p> - Yes, Brian had distinctly heard the cry of the Banshee, he said; but a - greater marvel had happened, for he found one of his boats that had been - made fast on the opposite shore of the lough in the early part of the - night, moored at the landing-ledge at the base of the cliffs beneath the - Banshee’s Cave. By the aid of many a gratuitous “begorra,” - Mr. Durdan indicated the condition of perplexity in which the boatman had - been all the time he was baiting the lines. He explained that the man had - attributed to “herself”—meaning, of course, the White - Lady—the removal of the boat from the one side of the lough to the - other. It was plain that the ghost of the Princess was a good oarswoman, - too, for a single paddle only was found in the boat. It was so like a - ghost, he had confided to Mr. Durdan, to make a cruise in a way that was - contrary—the accent on the second syllable—to nature. - </p> - <p> - “He has put another oar aboard and is now rowing the boat back to - its original quarters,” said Mr. Durdan, in conclusion. “But - he declares that, be the Powers!”—here the narrator assumed - once more the hybrid brogue—“if the boat was meddled with by - ‘herself’ again he would call the priest to bless the craft, - and where would ‘herself’ be then?” - </p> - <p> - “Where indeed?” said Lord Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - Harold said nothing. He was aware that Edmund was looking at him intently. - Did he suspect anything, Harold wondered. - </p> - <p> - He gave no indication of being more interested in the story than anyone - present, and no one present seemed struck with it—no one, except - perhaps, Miss Craven, who had entered the room late, and was thus - fortunate enough to obtain the general drift of what Mr. Durdan was - talking about, without having her attention diverted by his loving - repetition of the phrases of local colour. - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven heard the story, laughed, glanced at her plate, and remarked - with some slyness that Mr. Durdan was clearly making strides in his - acquaintance with the Irish question. She then glanced—confidentially—at - Edmund Airey, and finally—rather less confidentially—at - Harold. - </p> - <p> - He was eating of that which was not fish, and giving a good deal of - attention to it. - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven thought he was giving quite too much attention to it. She - suspected that he knew more about the boat incident than he cared to - express, or why should he be giving so much attention to his plate? - </p> - <p> - As for Harold himself, he was feeling that it would be something of a - gratification to him if a fatal accident were to happen to Brian. - </p> - <p> - He inwardly called him a meddlesome fool. Why should he take it upon him - to row the boat across the lough, when he, Harold, had been looking - forward during the sleepless hours of the night, to that exercise? When he - had awakened from an early morning slumber, it was with the joyous feeling - that nothing could deprive him of that row across the lough. - </p> - <p> - And yet he had been deprived of it, therefore he felt some regret that, - the morning being a calm one, Brian’s chances of disaster when - crossing the lough were insignificant. - </p> - <p> - All the time that the judge was explaining in that lucid style which was - the envy of his brethren on the Bench, how impossible it would be for the - Son of Porcupine to purge himself of the contempt which was heaped upon - him owing to his unseemly behaviour at a recent race meeting—the - case of the son of so excellent a father as Porcupine turning out badly - was jeopardizing the future of Evolution as a doctrine—Harold was - trying to devise some plan that should make him independent of the - interference of the boatman. He did not insist on the plan being - legitimate or even reasonable; all that he felt was that he must cross the - lough. - </p> - <p> - He thought of the girl whom he had seen in that atmosphere of moonlight; - and somehow he came to think of her as responsible for her exquisite - surroundings. There was nothing commonplace about her—that was what - he felt most strongly as he noticed the excellent appetites of the young - women around him. Even Miss Stafford, who hoped to be accepted as an - Intellect embodied in a mere film of flesh—she went to the extreme - length of cultivating a Brow—tickled her trout with the point of her - fork much less tenderly than the fisherman who told her the story—with - an impromptu bravura passage or two—of its capture, had done. - </p> - <p> - But the girl whom he had seen in the moonlight—whom he was yearning - to see in the sunlight—was as refined as a star. “As refined - as a star,” he actually murmured, when he found himself with an - unlighted cigar between his fingers on that part of the terrace which - afforded a fine view of the lough—the narrow part as well—his - eyes were directed to the narrow part. “As refined as a star—a—” - </p> - <p> - He turned himself round with a jerk. “A star?” - </p> - <p> - His father’s letter was still in his pocket. It contained in the - course of its operatic clauses some references to a Star—a Star, - who, alas! was not refined—who, on the contrary, was expensive. - </p> - <p> - He struck a match very viciously and lit his cigar. - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven had just appeared on the terrace. - </p> - <p> - He dropped his still flaming match on the hard gravel walk and put his - foot upon it. - </p> - <p> - “A star!” - </p> - <p> - He was very vicious. - </p> - <p> - “She is not a particularly good talker, but she is a most - fascinating listener,” said Edmund Airey, who strolled up. - </p> - <p> - “I have noticed so much—when you have been the talker,” - said Harold. “It is only to the brilliant talker that the - fascinating listener appeals. By the way, how does ‘fascinated - listener’ sound as a phrase? Haven’t I read somewhere that the - speeches of an eminent politician were modelled on the principle of - catching birds by night? You flash a lamp upon them and they may be - captured by the score. The speeches were compared to the lantern and the - public to the birds.” - </p> - <p> - “Gulls,” said Edmund. “My dear Harold, I did not come - out here to exchange opinions with you on the vexed question of - vote-catching or gulls—it will be time enough to do so when you have - found a constituency.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite. And meantime I am to think of Miss Craven as a fascinating - listener? That’s what you have come to impress upon me.” - </p> - <p> - “I mean that you should give yourself a fair chance of becoming - acquainted with her powers as a listener—I mean that you should talk - to her on an interesting topic.” - </p> - <p> - “Would to heaven that I had your capacity of being interesting on - all topics.” - </p> - <p> - “The dullest man on earth when talking to a woman on love as a - topic, is infinitely more interesting to her than the most brilliant man - when talking to her on any other topic.” - </p> - <p> - “You suggest a perilous way to the dull man of becoming momentarily - interesting.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course I know the phrase which, in spite of being the - composition of a French philosopher, is not altogether devoid of truth—yes, - ‘<i>Qui parle d’amour fait l’amour’’</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Only that love is born, not made.” - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! have you learned that—that, with your father’s - letter next your heart?” - </p> - <p> - Harold laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Do you fancy that I have forgotten your conversation in the boat - yesterday?” said he. “Heaven on one side and the Lord - Chancellor on the other.” - </p> - <p> - “And you have come to the conclusion that you are on the side of - heaven? You are in a perilous way.” - </p> - <p> - “Your logic is a trifle shaky, friend. Besides, you have no right to - assume that I am on the side of heaven.” - </p> - <p> - “There is a suggestion of indignation in your voice that gives me - hope that you are not in so evil a case as I may have suspected. Do you - think that another afternoon in the boat—” - </p> - <p> - “Would make me on the side of the Lord Chancellor? I doubt it. But - that is not equivalent to saying that I doubt the excellence of your - advice.” - </p> - <p> - “Yesterday afternoon I flattered myself that I had given you such - advice as commended itself to you, and yet now you tell me that love is - born, not made. The man who believes that is past being advised. It is, I - say, the end of wisdom. What has happened since yesterday afternoon?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing has happened to shake my confidence in the soundness of - your advice,” said Harold, but not until a pause had occurred—a - pause of sufficient duration to tell his observant friend that something - had happened. - </p> - <p> - “If nothing has happened—Miss Craven is going to sketch the - Round Tower at noon,” said Edmund—the Round Tower was some - distance through the romantic Pass of Lamdhu. - </p> - <p> - “The Round Tower will not suffer; Miss Craven is not one of the - landscape libellers,” remarked Harold. - </p> - <p> - Just then Miss Innisfail hurried up with a face lined with anxiety. - </p> - <p> - Miss Innisfail was the sort of girl who always, says, “It is I.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Mr. Airey,” she cried, “I have come to entreat of - you to do your best to dissuade mamma from her wild notion—the - wildest she has ever had. You may have some restraining influence upon - her. She is trying to get up an Irish jig in the hall after dinner—she - has set her heart on it.” - </p> - <p> - “I can promise you that if Lady Innisfail asks me to be one of the - performers I shall decline,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she has set her heart on bringing native dancers for the - purpose,” cried the girl. - </p> - <p> - “That sounds serious,” said Edmund. “Native dances are - usually very terrible visitations. I saw one at Samoa.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew it—yes, I suspected as much,” murmured the girl, - shaking her head. “Oh, we must put a stop to it. You will help me, - Mr. Airey?” - </p> - <p> - “I am always on the side of law and order,” said Mr. Airey. - “A mother is a great responsibility, Miss Innisfail.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Innisfail smiled sadly, shook her head again, and fled to find - another supporter against the latest frivolity of her mother. - </p> - <p> - When Edmund turned about from watching her, he saw that his friend Harold - Wynne had gone off with some of the yachtsmen—for every day a - yachting party as well as deep-sea-fishing, and salmon-fishing parties—shooting - parties and even archæological parties were in the habit of setting-out - from Castle Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - Was it possible that Harold intended spending the day aboard the cutter, - Edmund asked himself. - </p> - <p> - Harold’s mood of the previous evening had been quite intelligible to - him—he had confessed to Miss Craven that he understood and even - sympathized with him. He was the man who was putting off the plunge as - long as possible, he felt. - </p> - <p> - But he knew that that attitude, if prolonged, not only becomes ridiculous, - but positively verges on the indecent. It is one thing to pause for a - minute on the brink of the deep water, and quite another to remain - shivering on the rock for half a day. - </p> - <p> - Harold Wynne wanted money in order to realize a legitimate ambition. But - it so happened that he could not obtain that money unless by marrying Miss - Craven—that was the situation of the moment. But instead of asking - Miss Craven if she would have the goodness to marry him, he was wandering - about the coast in an aimless way. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail was the most finished artist in matchmaking that Edmund had - ever met. So finished an artist was she that no one had ever ventured to - suggest that she was a match-maker. As a matter of fact, her reputation - lay in just the opposite direction. She was generally looked upon as a - marrer of matches. This was how she had achieved some of her most - brilliant successes. She was herself so fascinating that she attracted the - nicest men to her side; but, somehow, instead of making love to her as - they meant to do, they found themselves making love to the nice girls with - whom she surrounded herself. When running upon the love-making track with - her, she switched them on, so to speak, to the nice eligible girls, and - they became engaged before they quite knew what had happened. - </p> - <p> - This was her art, Edmund knew, and he appreciated it as it deserved. - </p> - <p> - She appreciated him as he deserved, he also acknowledged; for she had - never tried to switch him on to any of her girls. By never making love to - her he had proved himself to be no fit subject for the exercise of her - art. - </p> - <p> - If a man truly loves a woman he will marry anyone whom she asks him to - marry. - </p> - <p> - This, he knew, was the precept that Lady Innisfail inculcated upon the - young men—they were mostly very young men—who assured her that - they adored her. It rarely failed to bring them to their senses, she had - admitted to Edmund in the course of a confidential lapse. - </p> - <p> - By bringing them to their senses she meant inducing them to ask the right - girls to marry them. - </p> - <p> - Edmund felt that it was rather a pity that his friend Harold had never - adored Lady Innisfail. Harold had always liked her too well to make love - to her. This was rather a pity, Edmund felt. It practically disarmed Lady - Innisfail, otherwise she would have taken care that he made - straightforward love to Miss Craven. - </p> - <p> - As for Harold, he strolled off with the yachtsmen, giving them to - understand that he intended sailing with them. The cutter was at her - moorings in the lough about a mile from the Castle, and there was a narrow - natural dock between the cliffs into which the dingey ran to carry the - party out to the yacht. - </p> - <p> - It was at this point that Harold separated himself from the yachtsmen—not - without some mutterings on their part and the delivery of a few reproaches - with a fresh maritime flavour about them. - </p> - <p> - “What was he up to at all?” they asked of one another. - </p> - <p> - He could scarcely have told these earnest inquirers what he was up to. But - his mood would have been quite intelligible to them had they known that he - had, within the past half hour made up his mind to let nothing interfere - with his asking Helen Craven if she would be good enough to marry him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII.—ON THE MYSTERY OF MAN. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E meant to ask her - at night. He had felt convinced, on returning after his adventure in his - dinner dress, that nothing could induce him to think of Miss Craven as a - possible wife. While sitting at breakfast, he had felt even more confident - on this point; and yet now his mind was made up to ask her to marry him. - </p> - <p> - It must be admitted that his mood was a singular one, especially as, with - his mind full of his resolution to ask Miss Craven to marry him, he was - wandering around the rugged coastway, wondering by what means he could - bring himself by the side of the girl with whom he had crossed the lough - on the previous night. - </p> - <p> - His mood will be intelligible to such persons as have had friends who - occasionally have found it necessary to their well-being to become - teetotallers. It is well known that the fascination of the prospect of - teetotalism is so great for such persons that the very thought of it - compels them to rush off in the opposite direction. They indulge in an - outburst of imbibing that makes even their best friends stand aghast, and - then they ‘take the pledge’ with the cheerfulness of a child. - </p> - <p> - Harold Wynne felt inclined to allow his feelings an outburst, previous to - entering upon a condition in which he meant his feelings to be kept in - subjection. - </p> - <p> - To engage himself to marry Miss Craven was, he believed, equivalent to - taking the pledge of the teetotaller so far as his feelings were - concerned. - </p> - <p> - Meantime, however, he remained unpledged and with an unbounded sense of - freedom. - </p> - <p> - And this was why he laughed loud and long when he saw in the course of his - stroll around the cliffs, a small oar jammed in a crevice of the rocks a - hundred feet below where he was walking. - </p> - <p> - He laughed again when he had gone—not so cautiously as he might have - done—down to the crevice and released the oar. - </p> - <p> - It was, he knew, the one that had gone adrift from the boat the previous - night. - </p> - <p> - He climbed the cliff to the Banshee’s Cave and deposited the piece - of timber in the recesses of that place. Then he lay down on the coarse - herbage at the summit of the cliff until it was time to drift to the - Castle for lunch. Life at the Castle involved a good deal of drifting. The - guests drifted out in many directions after breakfast and occasionally - drifted back to lunch, after which they drifted about until the dinner - hour. - </p> - <p> - While taking lunch he was in such good spirits as made Lady Innisfail - almost hopeless of him. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey had told her the previous night that Harold intended asking - Miss Craven to marry him. Now, however, perceiving how excellent were his - spirits, she looked reproachfully across the table at Edmund. - </p> - <p> - She was mutely asking him—and he knew it—how it was possible - to reconcile Harold’s good spirits with his resolution to ask Helen - Craven to marry him? She knew—and so did Edmund—that high - spirits and the Resolution are rarely found in association. - </p> - <p> - An hour after lunch the girl with the Brow entreated Harold’s - critical opinion on the subject of a gesture in the delivery of a certain - poem, and the discussion of the whole question occupied another hour. The - afternoon was thus pretty far advanced before he found himself seated - alone in the boat which had been at the disposal of himself and Edmund - during the two previous afternoons. The oar that he had picked up was - lying at his feet along the timbers of the boat. - </p> - <p> - The sun was within an hour of setting when Brian appeared at the Castle - bearing a letter for Lady Innisfail. It had been entrusted to him for - delivery to her ladyship by Mr. Wynne, he said. Where was Mr. Wynne? That - Brian would not take upon him to say; only he was at the opposite side of - the lough. Maybe he was with Father Conn, who was the best of good - company, or it wasn’t a bit unlikely that it was the District - Inspector of the Constabulary he was with. Anyhow it was sure that the - gentleman had took a great fancy to the queer places along the coast, for - hadn’t he been to the thrubble to give a look in at the Banshee’s - Cave, the previous night, just because he was sthruck with admiration of - the story of the Princess that he, Brian, had told him and Mr. Airey in - the boat? - </p> - <p> - The letter that Lady Innisfail received and glanced at while drinking tea - on one of the garden seats outside the Castle, begged her ladyship to - pardon the writer’s not appearing at dinner that night, the fact - being that he had unexpectedly found an old friend who had taken - possession of him. - </p> - <p> - “It was very nice of him to write, wasn’t it, my dear?” - Lady Innisfail remarked to her friend Miss Craven, who was filtering a - novel by a popular French author for the benefit of Lady Innisfail. - “It was very nice of him to write. Of course that about the friend - is rubbish. The charm of this neighbourhood is that no old friend ever - turns up.” - </p> - <p> - “You don’t think that—that—perhaps—” - suggested Miss Craven with the infinite delicacy of one who has been - employed in the filtration of Paul Bourget. - </p> - <p> - “Not at all—not at all,” said Lady Innisfail, shaking - her head. “If it was his father it would be quite another matter.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” - </p> - <p> - “Lord Fotheringay is too great a responsibility even for me, and I - don’t as a rule shirk such things,” said Lady Innisfail. - “But Harold is—well, I’ll let you into a secret, though - it is against myself: he has never made love even to me.” - </p> - <p> - “That is inexcusable,” remarked Miss Craven, with a little - movement of the eyebrows. She did not altogether appreciate Lady Innisfail’s - systems. She had not a sufficient knowledge of dynamics and the - transference of energy to be able to understand the beauty of the “switch” - principle. “But if he is not with a friend—or—or—the - other—” - </p> - <p> - “The enemy—our enemy?” - </p> - <p> - “Where can he be—where can he have been?” - </p> - <p> - “Heaven knows! There are some things that are too wonderful for me. - I fancied long ago that I knew Man. My dear Helen, I was a fool. Man is a - mystery. What could that boy mean by going to the Banshee’s Cave - last night, when he might have been dancing with me—or you?” - </p> - <p> - “Romance?” - </p> - <p> - “Romance and rubbish mean the same thing to such men as Harold - Wynne, Helen—you should know so much,” said Lady Innisfail. - “That is, of course, romance in the abstract. The flutter of a human - white frock would produce more impression on a man than a whole army of - Banshees.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet the boatman said that Mr. Wynne had spent some time last - night at the Cave,” said Miss Craven. “Was there a white dress - in the question, do you fancy?” - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail turned her large and luminous eyes upon her companion. So - she was accustomed to turn those orbs upon such young men as declared that - they adored her. The movement was supposed to be indicative of infinite - surprise, with abundant sympathy, and a trace of pity. - </p> - <p> - Helen Craven met the luminous gaze with a smile, that broadened as she - murmured, “Dearest Lilian, we are quite alone. It is extremely - unlikely that your expression can be noticed by any of the men. It is - practically wasted.” - </p> - <p> - “It is the natural and reasonable expression of the surprise I feel - at the wisdom of the—the—” - </p> - <p> - “Serpent?” - </p> - <p> - “Not quite. Let us say, the young matron, lurking beneath the - harmlessness of the—the—let us say the <i>ingenue</i>. A white - dress! Pray go on with ‘<i>Un Cour de Femme’.</i>” - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven picked up the novel which had been on the ground, flattened - out in a position of oriental prostration and humility before the wisdom - of the women. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII.—ON THE ART OF COLOURING. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE people of the - village of Ballycruiskeen showed themselves quite ready to enter into the - plans of their pastor in the profitable enterprise of making entertainment - for Lady Innisfail and her guests. The good pastor had both enterprise and - imagination. Lady Innisfail had told him confidentially that day that she - wished to impress her English visitors with the local colour of the region - round about. Local colour was a phrase that she was as fond of as if she - had been an art critic; but it so happened that the pastor had never heard - the phrase before; he promptly assured her, however, that he sympathized - most heartily with her ladyship’s aspirations in this direction. - Yes, it was absolutely necessary that they should be impressed with the - local colour, and if, with this impression, there came an appreciation of - the requirements of the chapel in the way of a new roof, it would please - him greatly. - </p> - <p> - The roof would certainly be put on before the winter, even if the work had - to be carried out at the expense of his Lordship, Lady Innisfail said with - enthusiasm; and if Father Constantine could only get up a wake or a dance - or some other festivity for the visitors, just to show them how - picturesque and sincere were the Irish race in the West, she would take - care that the work on the roof was begun without delay. - </p> - <p> - Father Constantine—he hardly knew himself by that name, having - invariably been called Father Conn by his flock—began to have a - comprehensive knowledge of what was meant by the phrase “local - colour.” Did her ladyship insist on a wake, he inquired. - </p> - <p> - Her ladyship said she had no foolish prejudices in the matter. She was - quite willing to leave the whole question of the entertainment in the - hands of his reverence. He knew the people best and he would be able to - say in what direction their abilities could be exhibited to the greatest - advantage. She had always had an idea, she confessed, that it was at a - wake they shone; but, of course, if Father Constantine thought differently - she would make no objection, but she would dearly like a wake. - </p> - <p> - The priest did not even smile for more than a minute; but he could not - keep that twinkle out of his eyes even if the chapel walls in addition to - the roof depended on his self-control. - </p> - <p> - He assured her ladyship that she was perfectly right in her ideas. He - agreed with her that the wake was the one festivity that was calculated to - bring into prominence the varied talents of his flock. But the unfortunate - thing about it was its variableness. A wake was something that could not - be arranged for beforehand—at least not without involving a certain - liability to criminal prosecution. The elements of a wake were simple - enough, to be sure, but simple and all as they were, they were not always - forthcoming. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail thought this very provoking. Of course, expense was no - consideration—she hoped that the pastor understood so much. She - hoped he understood that if he could arrange for a wake that night she - would bear the expense. - </p> - <p> - The priest shook his head. - </p> - <p> - Well, then, if a wake was absolutely out of the question—she didn’t - see why it should be, but, of course, he knew best—why should he not - get up an eviction? She thought that on the whole the guests had latterly - heard more about Irish evictions than Irish wakes. There was plenty of - local colour in an eviction, and so far as she could gather from the - pictures she had seen in the illustrated papers, it was extremely - picturesque—yes, when the girls were barefooted, and when there was - active resistance. Hadn’t she heard something about boiling water? - </p> - <p> - The twinkle had left the priest’s eyes as she prattled away. He had - an impulse to tell her that it was the class to which her ladyship - belonged and not that to which he belonged, who had most practice in that - form of entertainment known as the eviction. But thinking of the chapel - roof, he restrained himself. After all, Lord Innisfail had never evicted a - family on his Irish estate. He had evicted several families on his English - property, however; but no one ever makes a fuss about English evictions. - If people fail to pay their rent in England they know that they must go. - They have not the imagination of the Irish. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll tell your ladyship what it is,” said Father Conn, - before she had quite come to the end of her prattle: “if the ladies - and gentlemen who have the honour to be your ladyship’s guests will - take the trouble to walk or drive round the coast to the Curragh of Lamdhu - after supper—I mean dinner—to-night, I’ll get up a - celebration of the Cruiskeen for you all.” - </p> - <p> - “How delightful!” exclaimed her ladyship. “And what - might a celebration of the Cruiskeen be?” - </p> - <p> - It was at this point that the imagination of the good father came to his - assistance. He explained, with a volubility that comes to the Celt only - when he is romancing, that the celebration of the Cruiskeen was a - prehistoric rite associated with the village of Ballycruiskeen. Cruiskeen - was, as perhaps her ladyship had heard, the Irish for a vessel known to - common people as a jug—it was, he explained, a useful vessel for - drinking out of—when it held a sufficient quantity. - </p> - <p> - Of course Lady Innisfail had heard of a jug—she had even heard of a - song called “The Cruiskeen Lawn”—did that mean some sort - of jug? - </p> - <p> - It meant the little full jug, his reverence assured her. Anyhow, the - celebration of the Cruiskeen of Ballycruiskeen had taken place for - hundreds—most likely thousands—of years at the Curragh of - Lamdhu—Lamdhu meaning the Black Hand—and it was perhaps the - most interesting of Irish customs. Was it more interesting than a wake? - Why, a wake couldn’t hold a candle to a Cruiskeen, and the display - of candles was, as probably her ladyship knew, a distinctive feature of a - wake. - </p> - <p> - Father Conn, finding how much imaginary archæology Lady Innisfail would - stand without a protest, then allowed his imagination to revel in the - details of harpers—who were much more genteel than fiddlers, he - thought, though his flock preferred the fiddle—of native dances and - of the recitals of genuine Irish poems—probably prehistoric. All - these were associated with a Cruiskeen, he declared, and a Cruiskeen her - ladyship and her ladyship’s guests should have that night, if there - was any public spirit left in Ballycruiskeen, and he rather thought that - there was a good deal still left, thank God! - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail was delighted. Local colour! Why, this entertainment was a - regular Winsor and Newton Cabinet. - </p> - <p> - It included everything that people in England were accustomed to associate - with the Irish, and this was just what the guests would relish. It was - infinitely more promising than the simple national dance for which she had - been trying to arrange. - </p> - <p> - She shook Father Conn heartily by the hand, but stared at him when he made - some remark about the chapel roof—she had already forgotten all - about the roof. - </p> - <p> - The priest had not. - </p> - <p> - “God forgive me for my romancing!” he murmured, when her - ladyship had departed and he stood wiping his forehead. “God forgive - me! If it wasn’t for the sake of the slate or two, the ne’er a - word but the blessed truth would have been forced from me. A Cruiskeen! - How was it that the notion seized me at all?” - </p> - <p> - He hurried off to an ingenious friend and confidential adviser of his, - whose name was O’Flaherty, and who did a little in the horse-dealing - line—a profession that tends to develop the ingenuity of those - associated with it either as buyers or sellers—and Mr. O’Flaherty, - after hearing Father Conn’s story, sat down on the side of one of - the ditches, which are such a distinctive feature of Ballycruiskeen and - the neighbourhood, and roared with laughter. - </p> - <p> - “Ye’ve done it this time, and no mistake, Father Conn,” - he cried, when he had partially recovered from his hilarity. “I - always said you’d do it some day, and ye’ve done it now. A - Cruiskeen! Mother of Moses! A Cruiskeen! Oh, but it’s yourself has - the quare head, Father Conn!” - </p> - <p> - “Give over your fun, and tell us what’s to be done—that’s - what you’re to do if there’s any good in you at all,” - said the priest. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, by my soul, ye’ll have to carry out the enterprise in - your own way, my brave Father Conn,” said Mr. O’Flaherty. - “A Cruiskeen! A——” - </p> - <p> - “Phinny O’Flaherty,” said the priest solemnly, “if - ye don’t want to have the curse of the Holy Church flung at that red - head of yours, ye’ll rise and put me on the way of getting up at - least a jig or two on the Curragh this night.” - </p> - <p> - After due consideration Mr. O’Flaherty came to the conclusion that - it would be unwise on his part to put in motion the terrible machinery of - the Papal Interdict—if the forces of the Vatican were to be - concentrated upon him he might never again be able to dispose of a “roarer” - as merely a “whistler” to someone whose suspicions were - susceptible of being lulled by a brogue. Mr. Phineas O’Flaherty - consequently assured Father Conn that he would help his reverence, even if - the act should jeopardize his prospects of future happiness in another - world. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV.—ON AN IRISH DANCE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ADY INNISFAIL’S - guests—especially those who had been wandering over the mountains - with guns all day—found her rather too indefatigable in her search - for new methods of entertaining them. The notion of an after-dinner stroll - of a few miles to the village of Ballycruiskeen for the sake of witnessing - an entertainment, the details of which Lady Innisfail was unable to do - more than suggest, and the attractions of which were rather more than - doubtful, was not largely relished at the Castle. - </p> - <p> - Lord Innisfail announced his intention of remaining where he had dined; - but he was one of the few men who could afford to brave Lady Innisfail’s - disdain and to decline to be chilled by her cold glances. The other men - who did not want to be entertained on the principles formulated by Lady - Innisfail, meanly kept out of her way after dinner. They hoped that they - might have a chance of declaring solemnly afterwards, that they had been - anxious to go, but had waited in vain for information as to the hour of - departure, the costume to be worn, and the password—if a password - were needed—to admit them to the historic rites of the Cruiskeen. - </p> - <p> - One of the women declined to go, on the ground that, so far as she could - gather, the rite was not evangelical. Her views were evangelical. - </p> - <p> - One of the men—he was an Orangeman from Ulster—boldly refused - to attend what was so plainly a device planned by the Jesuits for the - capture of the souls—he assumed that they had souls—of the - Innisfail family and their guests. - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven professed so ardently to be looking forward to the - entertainment, that Mr. Airey, with his accustomed observance of the - distribution of high lights in demeanour as well as in conversation. felt - certain that she meant to stay at the Castle. - </p> - <p> - His accuracy of observation was proved when the party were ready to set - out for Ballycruiskeen. MIss Craven’s maid earned that lady’s - affectionate regards to her hostess; she had been foolish enough to sit in - the sun during the afternoon with that fascinating novel, and as she - feared it would, her indiscretion had given her a headache accompanied by - dizziness. She would thus be unable to go with the general party to the - village, but if she possibly could, she would follow them in an hour—perhaps - less. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey smiled the smile of the prophet who lives to see his - prediction realized—most of the prophets died violent deaths before - they could have that gratification. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it was undoubtedly an indiscretion,” he murmured. - </p> - <p> - “Sitting in the sun?” said Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “Reading Paul Bourget,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Lady Innisfail. “Talking of - indiscretions, has anyone seen—ah, never mind.” - </p> - <p> - “It is quite possible that the old friend whom you say he wrote - about, may be a person of primitive habits—he may be inclined to - retire early,” said Mr. Airey. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail gave a little puzzled glance at him—the puzzled - expression vanished in a moment, however, before the ingenuousness of his - smile. - </p> - <p> - “What a fool I am becoming!” she whispered. “I really - never thought of that.” - </p> - <p> - “That was because you never turned your attention properly to the - mystery of the headache,” said he. - </p> - <p> - Then they set off in the early moonlight for their walk along the cliff - path that, in the course of a mile or so, trended downward and through the - Pass of Lamdhu, with its dark pines growing half-way up the slope on one - side. The lower branches of the trees stretched fantastic arms over the - heads of the party walking on the road through the Pass. In the moonlight - these fantastic arms seemed draped. The trees seemed attitudinizing to one - another in a strange pantomime of their own. - </p> - <p> - The village of Ballycruiskeen lay just beyond the romantic defile, so that - occasionally the inhabitants failed to hear the sound of the Atlantic - hoarsely roaring as it was being strangled in the narrow part of the - lough. They were therefore sometimes merry with a merriment impossible to - dwellers nearer the coast. - </p> - <p> - It did not appear to their visitors that this was one of their merry - nights. The natives were commanded by their good priest to be merry for - “the quality,” under penalties with which they were well - acquainted. But merriment under a penalty is no more successful than the - smile which is manufactured in a photographer’s studio. - </p> - <p> - Father Conn made the mistake of insisting on all the members of his flock - washing their faces. They had washed all the picturesqueness out of them, - Mr. Airey suggested. - </p> - <p> - The Curragh of Ballycruiskeen was a somewhat wild moorland that became - demoralized into a bog at one extremity. There was, however, a - sufficiently settled portion to form a dancing green, and at one side of - this patch the shocking incongruity of chairs—of a certain sort—and - even a sofa—it was somewhat less certain—met the eyes of the - visitors. - </p> - <p> - “Mind this, ye divils,” the priest was saying in an - affectionate way to the members of his flock, as the party from the Castle - approached. “Mind this, it’s dancing a new roof on the chapel - that ye are. Every step ye take means a slate, so it does.” - </p> - <p> - This was clearly the peroration of the pastor’s speech. - </p> - <p> - The speech of Mr. Phineas O’Flaherty, who was a sort of - unceremonious master of the ceremonies, had been previously delivered, - fortunately when the guests were out of hearing. - </p> - <p> - At first the entertainment seemed to be a very mournful one. It was too - like examination day at a village school to convey an idea of spontaneous - mirth. The “quality” sat severely on the incongruous chairs—no - one was brave enough to try the sofa—and some of the “quality” - used double eye-glasses with handles, for the better inspection of the - performers. This was chilling to the performers. - </p> - <p> - In spite of the efforts of Father Conn and his stage manager, Mr. O’Flaherty, - the members of the cast for the entertainment assumed a huddled appearance - that did themselves great injustice. They declined to group themselves - effectively, but suggested to Mr. Durdan—who was not silent on the - subject—one of the illustrations to Foxe’s Book of Martyrs—a - scene in which about a score of persons about to be martyred are shown to - be awaiting, with an aspect of cheerful resignation that deceived no one, - their “turn” at the hands of the executioner. - </p> - <p> - The merry Irish jig had a depressing effect at first. The priest was - well-meaning, but he had not the soul of an artist. When a man has devoted - all his spare moments for several years to the repression of unseemly - mirth, he is unwise to undertake, at a moment’s notice, the duties - of stimulating such mirth. Under the priest’s eye the jig was robbed - of its jiguity, so to speak. It was the jig of the dancing class. - </p> - <p> - Mr. O’Flaherty threatened to scandalize Father Conn by a few - exclamations about the display of fetlocks—the priest had so little - experience of the “quality” that he fancied a suggestion of - slang would be offensive to their ears. He did not know that the hero of - the “quality” in England is the costermonger, and that a few - years ago the hero was the cowboy. But Edmund Airey, perceiving with his - accustomed shrewdness, how matters stood, managed to draw the priest away - from the halfhearted exponents of the dance, and so questioned him on the - statistics of the parish—for Father Conn was as hospitable with his - statistics as he was with his whiskey punch upon occasions—that half - an hour had passed before they returned together to the scene of the - dance, the priest with a five-pound note of Mr. Airey’s pressed - against his heart. - </p> - <p> - “Murder alive! what’s this at all at all?” cried Father - Conn, becoming aware of the utterance of whoop after whoop by the dancers. - </p> - <p> - “It’s the jig they’re dancin’ at last, an’ - more power to thim!” cried Phineas O’Flaherty, clapping his - hands and giving an encouraging whoop or two. - </p> - <p> - He was right. The half dozen couples artistically dishevelled, and rapidly - losing the baleful recollections of having been recently tidied up to meet - the “quality”—rapidly losing every recollection of the - critical gaze of the “quality”—of the power of speech - possessed by the priest—of everything, clerical and lay, except the - strains of the fiddle which occupied an intermediate position between - things lay and clerical, being wholly demoniac—these half dozen - couples were dancing the jig with a breadth and feeling that suggested the - youth of the world and the reign of Bacchus. - </p> - <p> - Black hair flowing in heavy flakes over shoulders unevenly bare—shapely - arms flung over heads in an attitude of supreme self-abandonment—a - passionate advance, a fervent retreat, then an exchange of musical cries - like wild gasps for breath, and ever, ever, ever the demoniac music of the - fiddle, and ever, ever, ever the flashing and flying from the ground like - the feet of the winged Hermes—flashing and flashing with the - moonlight over all, and the fantastic arms of the hill-side pines - stretched out like the fringed arms of a grotesque Pierrot—this was - the scene to which the priest returned with Edmund Airey. - </p> - <p> - He threw up his hands and was about to rush upon the half-frenzied - dancers, when Edmund grasped him by the arm, and pointed mutely to the - attitude of the “quality.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail and her friends were no longer sitting frigidly on their - chairs—the double eye-glasses were dropped, and those who had held - them were actually joining in the whoops of the dancers. Her ladyship was - actually clapping her hands in the style of encouragement adopted by Mr. O’Flaherty. - </p> - <p> - The priest stood in the attitude in which he had been arrested by the - artful Edmund Airey. His eyes and his mouth were open, and his right hand - was pressed against the five-pound note that he had just received. There - was a good deal of slate-purchasing potentialities in a five-pound note. - If her ladyship and her guests were shocked—as the priest, never - having heard of the skirt dance and its popularity in the drawing-room—believed - they should be, they were not displaying their indignation in a usual way. - They were almost as excited as the performers. - </p> - <p> - Father Conn seated himself without a word of protest, in one of the chairs - vacated by the Castle party. He felt that if her ladyship liked that form - of entertainment, the chapel roof was safe. The amount of injury that - would be done to the Foul Fiend by the complete re-roofing of the chapel - should certainly be sufficient to counteract whatever sin might be - involved in the wild orgy that was being carried on beneath the light of - the moon. This was the consolation that the priest had as he heard whoop - after whoop coming from the dancers. - </p> - <p> - Six couples remained on the green dancing-space. The fiddler was a - wizened, deformed man with small gleaming eyes. He stood on a stool and - kept time with one foot. He increased the time of the dance so gradually - as to lead the dancers imperceptibly on until, without being aware of it, - they had reached a frenzied pitch that could not be maintained for many - minutes. But still the six couples continued wildly dancing, the moonlight - striking them aslant and sending six black quivering shadows far over the - ground. Suddenly a man dropped out of the line and lay gasping on the - grass. Then a girl flung herself with a cry into the arms of a woman who - was standing among the onlookers. Faster still and faster went the - grotesquely long arms of the dwarf fiddler—his shadow cast by the - moonlight was full of horrible suggestions—and every now and again a - falsetto whoop came from him, his teeth suddenly gleaming as his lips - parted in uttering the cry. - </p> - <p> - The two couples, who now remained facing one another, changing feet with a - rapidity that caused them to appear constantly off the ground, were - encouraged by the shouts and applause of their friends. The air was full - of cries, in which the spectators from the Castle joined. Faster still the - demoniac music went, every strident note being clearly heard above the - shouts. But when one of the two couples staggered wildly and fell with - outstretched arms upon the grass, the shriek of the fiddle sounded but - faintly above the cries. - </p> - <p> - The priest could restrain himself no longer. He sprang to his feet and - kicked the stool from under the fiddler, sending the misshapen man - sprawling in one direction and his instrument with an unearthly shriek in - another. - </p> - <p> - Silence followed that shriek. It lasted but a few seconds, however. The - figure of a man—a stranger—appeared running across the open - space between the village and the Curragh, where the dance was being held. - </p> - <p> - He held up his right hand in so significant a way, that the priest’s - foot was arrested in the act of implanting another kick upon the stool, - and the fiddler sat up on the ground and forgot to look for his instrument - through surprise at the apparition. - </p> - <p> - “It’s dancin’ at the brink of the grave, ye are,” - gasped the man, as he approached the group that had become suddenly - congested in anticipation of the priest’s wrath. - </p> - <p> - “Why, it’s only Brian the boatman, after all,” said Lady - Innisfail. “Great heavens! I had such a curious thought as he - appeared. Oh, that dancing! He did not seem to be a man.” - </p> - <p> - “This is no doubt part of the prehistoric rite,” said Mr. - Airey. - </p> - <p> - “How simply lovely!” cried Miss Stafford. - </p> - <p> - “In God’s name, man, tell us what you mean,” said the - priest. - </p> - <p> - “It’s herself,” gasped Brian. “It’s the one - that’s nameless. Her wail is heard over all the lough—I heard - it with my ears and hurried here for your reverence. Don’t we know - that she never cries except for a death?” - </p> - <p> - “He means the Banshee,” said Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “The people, I’ve heard, think it unlucky to utter her name.” - </p> - <p> - “So lovely! Just like savages!” said Miss Stafford. - </p> - <p> - “I dare say the whole thing is only part of the ceremony of the - Cruiskeen,” said Mr. Durdan. - </p> - <p> - “Brian O’Donal,” said the priest; “have you come - here to try and terrify the country side with your romancin’?” - </p> - <p> - “By the sacred Powers, your reverence, I heard the cry of her - myself, as I came by the bend of the lough. If it’s not the truth - that I’m after speaking, may I be the one that she’s come for.” - </p> - <p> - “Doesn’t he play the part splendidly?” said Lady - Innisfail. “I’d almost think that he was in earnest. Look how - the people are crossing themselves.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Stafford looked at them through her double eye-glasses with the long - handle. - </p> - <p> - “How lovely!” she murmured. “The Cruiskeen is the - Oberammergau of Connaught.” - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey laughed. - </p> - <p> - “God forgive us all for this night!” said the priest. “Sure, - didn’t I think that the good that would come of getting on the - chapel roof would cover the shame of this night! Go to your cabins, my - children. You were not to blame. It was me and me only. My Lady”—he - turned to the Innisfail party—“this entertainment is over. God - knows I meant it for the best.” - </p> - <p> - “But we haven’t yet heard the harper,” cried Lady - Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “And the native bards,” said Miss Stafford. “I should so - much like to hear a bard. I might even recite a native poem under his - tuition.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Stafford saw a great future for native Irish poetry in English - drawing-rooms. It might be the success of a season. - </p> - <p> - “The entertainment’s over,” said the priest. - </p> - <p> - “It’s that romancer Brian, that’s done it all,” - cried Phineas O’Flaherty. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. O’Flaherty, if it’s not the truth may I—oh, - didn’t I hear her voice, like the wail of a girl in distress?” - cried Brian. - </p> - <p> - “Like what?” said Mr. Airey. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you don’t believe anything—we all know that, sir,” - said Brian. - </p> - <p> - “A girl in distress—I believe in that, at any rate,” - said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “Now!” said Miss Stafford, “don’t you think that I - might recite something to these poor people?” She turned to Lady - Innisfail. “Poor people! They may never have heard a real recitation—‘The - Dove Cote,’ ‘Peter’s Blue Bell’—something - simple.” - </p> - <p> - There was a movement among her group. - </p> - <p> - “The sooner we get back to the Castle the better it will be for all - of us,” said Lady Innisfail. “Yes, Father Constantine, we - distinctly looked for a native bard, and we are greatly disappointed. Who - ever heard of a genuine Cruiskeen without a native bard? Why, the thing’s - absurd!” - </p> - <p> - “A Connaught Oberammergau without a native bard! <i>Oh, Padre mio—Padre - mio!</i>” said Miss Stafford, daintily shaking her double - eye-glasses at the priest. - </p> - <p> - “My lady,” said he, “you heard what the man said. How - would it be possible for us to continue this scene while that warning - voice is in the air?” - </p> - <p> - “If you give us a chance of hearing the warning voice, we’ll - forgive you everything, and say that the Cruiskeen is a great success,” - cried Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “If your ladyship takes the short way to the bend of the lough you - may still hear her,” said Brian. - </p> - <p> - “God forbid,” said the priest. - </p> - <p> - “Take us there, and if we hear her, I’ll give you half a - sovereign,” cried her ladyship, enthusiastically. - </p> - <p> - “If harm comes of it don’t blame me,” said Brian. - “Step out this way, my lady.” - </p> - <p> - “We may still be repaid for our trouble in coming so far,” - said one of the party. “If we do actually hear the Banshee, I, for - one, will feel more than satisfied.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Stafford, as she hurried away with the party led by Brian, wondered - if it might not be possible to find a market for a Banshee’s cry in - a London drawing-room. A new emotion was, she understood, eagerly awaited. - The serpentine dance and the costermonger’s lyre had waned. It was - extremely unlikely that they should survive another season. If she were to - be first in the field with the Banshee’s cry, introduced with a few - dainty steps of the jig incidental to a poem with a refrain of “Asthore” - or “Mavourneen,” she might yet make a name for herself. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV.—ON THE SHRIEK. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N a space of time - that was very brief, owing to the resolution with which Lady Innisfail - declined to accept the suggestion of short cuts by Brian, the whole party - found themselves standing breathless at the beginning of the line of - cliffs. A mist saturated with moonlight had drifted into the lough from - the Atlantic. It billowed below their eyes along the surface of the water, - and crawled along the seared faces of the cliffs, but no cold fingers of - the many-fingered mist clasped the higher ridges. The sound of the - crashing of the unseen waves about the bases of the cliffs filled the air, - but there was no other sound. - </p> - <p> - “Impostor!” said Edmund Airy, turning upon Brian. “You - heard no White Lady to-night. You have jeopardized our physical and your - spiritual health by your falsehood.” - </p> - <p> - “You shall get no half sovereign from me,” said Lady - Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “Is it me that’s accountable for her coming and going?” - cried Brian, with as much indignation as he could afford. Even an Irishman - cannot afford the luxury of being indignant with people who are in the - habit of paying him well, and an Irishman is ready to sacrifice much to - sentiment. “It’s glad we should all be this night not to hear - the voice of herself.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail looked at him. She could afford to be indignant, and she - meant to express her indignation; but when it came to the point she found - that it was too profound to be susceptible of expression. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come away,” she said, after looking severely at Brian for - nearly a minute. - </p> - <p> - “Dear Lady Innisfail,” said Mr. Durdan, “I know that you - feel indignant, fancying that we have been disappointed. Pray do not let - such an idea have weight with you for a moment.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, no,” said Miss Stafford, who liked speaking in public - quite as well as Mr. Durdan. “Oh, no, no; you have done your best, - dear Lady Innisfail. The dance was lovely; and though, of course, we - should have liked to hear a native bard or two, as well as the Banshee—” - </p> - <p> - “Yet bards and Banshees we know to be beyond human control,” - said Mr. Airey. - </p> - <p> - “We know that if it rested with you, we should hear the Banshee - every night,” said Mr. Durdan. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we all know your kindness of heart, dear Lady Innisfail,” - resumed Miss Stafford. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed you should hear it, and the bard as well,” cried Lady - Innisfail. “But as Mr. Airey says—and he knows all about bard - and Banshees and such like things Great heaven! We are not disappointed - after all, thank heaven!” - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail’s exclamation was uttered after there floated to the - cliffs where she and her friends were standing, from the rolling white - mist that lay below, the sound of a long wail. It was repeated, only - fainter, when she had uttered her thanksgiving, and it was followed by a - more robust shout. - </p> - <p> - “Isn’t it lovely?” whispered Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t like it,” said Miss Stafford, with a shudder. - “Let us go away—oh, let us go away at once.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Stafford liked simulated horrors only. The uncanny in verse was dear - to her; but when, for the first time, she was brought face to face with - what would have formed the subject of a thrilling romance with a - suggestion of the supernatural, she shuddered. - </p> - <p> - “Hush,” said Lady Innisfail; “if we remain quiet we may - hear it again.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want to hear it again,” cried Miss Stafford. - “Look at the man. He knows all about it. He is one of the natives.” - </p> - <p> - She pointed to Brian, who was on his knees on the rock muttering petitions - for the protection of all the party. - </p> - <p> - He knew, however, that his half sovereign was safe, whatever might happen. - Miss Stafford’s remark was reasonable. Brian should know all about - the Banshee and its potentialities of mischief. - </p> - <p> - “Get up, you fool!” said Edmund Airey, catching the native by - the shoulder. “Don’t you know as well as I do that a boat with - someone aboard is adrift in the mist?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I know that you don’t believe in anything.” said - Brian. - </p> - <p> - “I believe in your unlimited laziness and superstition,” said - Edmund. “I’m very sorry, my dear Lady Innisfail, to interfere - with your entertainment, but it’s perfectly clear to me that someone - is in distress at the foot of the cliffs.” - </p> - <p> - “How can you be so horrid—so commonplace?” said Lady - Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “He is one of the modern iconoclasts,” said another of the - group. “He would fling down our most cherished beliefs. He told me - that he considered Madame Blavatsky a swindler.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Mr. Airey,” said Miss Stafford, who was becoming less - timid as the wail from the sea had not been repeated. “Dear Mr. - Airey, let us entreat of you to leave us our Banshee whatever you may take - from us.” - </p> - <p> - “There are some things in heaven and earth that refuse to be - governed by a phrase,” sneered Mr. Durdan. - </p> - <p> - “Mules and the members of the Opposition are among them,” said - Edmund, preparing to descend the cliffs by the zig-zag track. - </p> - <p> - He had scarcely disappeared in the mist when there was a shriek from Miss - Stafford, and pointing down the track with a gesture, which for - expressiveness, she had never surpassed in the most powerful of her - recitations, she flung herself into Lady Innisfail’s arms. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens!” cried Lady Innisfail. “It is the White - Lady herself’!” - </p> - <p> - “We’re all lost, and the half sovereign’s nothing here - or there,” said Brian, in a tone of complete resignation. - </p> - <p> - Out of the mist there seemed to float a white figure of a girl. She stood - for some moments with the faint mist around her, and while the group on - the cliff watched her—some of them found it necessary to cling - together—another white figure floated through the mist to the side - of the first, and then came another figure—that of a man—only - he did not float. - </p> - <p> - “I wish you would not cling quite so close to me, my dear; I can’t - see anything of what’s going on,” said Lady Innisfail to Miss - Stafford, whose head was certainly an inconvenience to Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - With a sudden, determined movement she shifted the head from her bosom to - her shoulder, and the instant that this feat was accomplished she cried - out, “Helen Craven!” - </p> - <p> - “Helen Craven?” said Miss Stafford, recovering the use of her - head in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it’s Helen Craven or her ghost that’s standing - there,” said Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “And Harold Wynne is with her. Are you there, Wynne?” sang out - Mr. Durdan. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo?” came the voice of Harold from below. “Who is - there?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, we’re all here,” cried Edmund, emerging from the - mist at his side. “How on earth did you get here?—and Miss - Craven—and—he looked at the third figure—he had never - seen the third figure before. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it’s a long story,” laughed Harold. “Will you - give a hand to Miss Craven?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Airey said it would please him greatly to do so, and by his kindly aid - Miss Craven was, in the course of a few minutes, placed by the side of - Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - She took the place just vacated by Miss Stafford on Lady Innisfail’s - bosom, and was even more embarrassing to Lady Innisfail than the other had - been. Helen Craven was heavier, to start with. - </p> - <p> - But it was rather by reason of her earnest desire to see the strange face, - that Lady Innisfail found Helen’s head greatly in her way. - </p> - <p> - “Lady Innisfail, when Miss Craven is quite finished with you, I - shall present to you Miss Avon,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “I should be delighted,” said Lady Innisfail. “Dearest - Helen, can you not spare me for a moment?” - </p> - <p> - Helen raised her head. - </p> - <p> - It was then that everyone perceived how great was the devastation done by - the mist to the graceful little curled fringes of her forehead. Her hair - was lank, showing that she had as massive a brow as Miss Stafford’s, - if she wished to display it. - </p> - <p> - “It is a great pleasure to me to meet you, Miss Avon; I’m sure - that I have often heard of you from Mr. Wynne and—oh, yes, many - other people,” said Lady Innisfail. “But just now—well, - you can understand that we are all bewildered.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we are all bewildered,” said Miss Avon. “You see, - we heard the cry of the White Lady—” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Harold; “we heard it too. The White - Lady was Miss Craven. She was in one of the boats, and the mist coming on - so suddenly, she could not find her way back to the landing place. Luckily - we were able to take her boat in tow before it got knocked to pieces. I - hope Miss Craven did not over-exert herself.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope not,” said Lady Innisfail. “What on earth - induced you to go out in a boat alone, Helen—and suffering from so - severe a headache into the bargain?” - </p> - <p> - “I felt confident that the cool air would do me good,” said - Miss Craven. somewhat dolefully. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail looked at her in silence for some moments, then she - laughed. - </p> - <p> - No one else seemed to perceive any reason for laughter. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail then turned her eyes upon Miss Avon. The result of her - observation was precisely the same as the result of Harold’s first - sight of that face had been. Lady Innisfail felt that she had never seen - so beautiful a girl. - </p> - <p> - Then Lady Innisfail laughed again. - </p> - <p> - Finally she looked at Harold and laughed for the third time. The space of - a minute nearly was occupied by her observations and her laughter. - </p> - <p> - “I think that on the whole we should hasten on to the Castle,” - said she at length. “Miss Craven is pretty certain to be fatigued—we - are, at any rate. Of course you will come with us, Miss Avon.” - </p> - <p> - The group on the cliff ceased to be a group when she had spoken; but Miss - Avon did not move with the others. Harold also remained by her side. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know what I should do,” said Miss Avon. “The - boat is at the foot of the cliff.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be impossible for you to find your course so long as the - mist continues,” said Harold. “Miss Avon and her father—he - is an old friend of mine—we breakfasted together at my college—are - living in the White House—you may have heard its name—on the - opposite shore—only a mile by sea, but six by land,” he added, - turning to Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “Returning to-night is out of the question,” said Lady - Innisfail. “You must come with us to the Castle for to-night. I - shall explain all to your father to-morrow, if any explanation is needed.” - Miss Avon shook her head, and murmured a recognition of Lady Innisfail’s - kindness. - </p> - <p> - “There is Brian,” said Harold. “He will confront your - father in the morning with the whole story.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, with the whole story,” said Lady Innisfail, with an - amusing emphasis on the words. “I already owe Brian half a - sovereign.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Brian will carry the message all for love,” cried the - girl. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail did her best to imitate the captivating freshness of the - girl’s words. - </p> - <p> - “All for love—all for love!” she cried. - </p> - <p> - Harold smiled. He remembered having had brought under his notice a toy - nightingale that imitated the song of the nightingale so closely that the - Jew dealer, who wanted to sell the thing, declared that no one on earth - could tell the difference between the two. - </p> - <p> - The volubility of Brian in declaring that he would do anything out of love - for Miss Avon was amazing. He went down the cliff face to bring the boats - round to the regular moorings, promising to be at the Castle in half an - hour to receive Miss Avon’s letter to be put into her father’s - hand at his hour of rising. - </p> - <p> - By the time Miss Avon and Harold had walked to the Castle with Lady - Innisfail, they had acquainted her with a few of the incidents of the - evening—how they also had been caught by the mist while in their - boat, and had with considerable trouble succeeded in reaching the craft in - which Miss Craven was helplessly drifting. They had heard Miss Craven’s - cry for help, they said, and Harold had replied to it. But still they had - some trouble picking up her boat. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail heard all the story, and ventured to assert that all was - well that ended well. - </p> - <p> - “And this is the end,” she cried, as she pointed to the - shining hall seen through the open doors. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, this is the end of all—a pleasant end to the story,” - said the girl. - </p> - <p> - Harold followed them as they entered. - </p> - <p> - He wondered if this was the end of the story, or only the beginning. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI.—ON THE VALUE OF A BAD CHARACTER. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was said by some - people that the judge, during his vacation, had solved the problem set by - the philosopher to his horse. He had learned to live on a straw a day, - only there was something perpetually at the end of his straw—something - with a preposterous American name in a tumbler to match. - </p> - <p> - He had the tumbler and the straw on a small table by his side while he - watched, with great unsteadiness, the strokes of the billiard players. - </p> - <p> - From an hour after dinner he was in a condition of perpetual dozing. This - was his condition also from an hour after the opening of a case in court, - which required the closest attention to enable even the most delicately - appreciative mind to grasp even its simplest elements. - </p> - <p> - He had, he said, been the most widely awake of counsel for thirty years, - so that he rather thought he was entitled to a few years dozing as a - judge. - </p> - <p> - Other people—they were his admirers—said that his dozing - represented an alertness far beyond that of the most conscientiously - wakeful and watchful of the judicial establishment in England. - </p> - <p> - It is easy to resemble Homer—in nodding—and in this special - Homeric quality the judge excelled; but it was generally understood that - it would not be wise to count upon his nodding himself into a condition of - unobservance. He had already delivered judgment on the character of the - fine cannons of one of the players in the hall, and upon the hazards of - the other. He had declined to mark the game, however, and he had thereby - shown his knowledge of human nature. There had already been four disputes - as to the accuracy of the marking. (It was being done by a younger man). - </p> - <p> - “How can a man expect to make his favourite break after some hours - on a diabolical Irish jaunting car?” one of the players was asking, - as he bent over the table. - </p> - <p> - The words were uttered at the moment of Harold’s entrance, close - behind Lady Innisfail and Miss Avon. - </p> - <p> - Hearing the words he stood motionless before he had taken half-a-dozen - steps into the hall. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail also stopped at the same instant, and looked over her - shoulder at Harold. - </p> - <p> - Through the silence there came the little click of the billiard balls. - </p> - <p> - The speaker gave the instinctive twist of the practised billiard player - toward the pocket that he wished the ball to approach. Then he took a - breath and straightened himself in a way that would have made any close - observer aware of the fact that he was no longer a young man. - </p> - <p> - There was, however, more than a suggestion of juvenility in his manner of - greeting Lady Innisfail. He was as effusive as is consistent with the - modern spirit of indifference to the claims of hostesses and all other - persons. - </p> - <p> - He was not so effusive when he turned to Harold; but that was only to be - expected, because Harold was his son. - </p> - <p> - “No, my boy,” said Lord Fotheringay, “I didn’t - fancy that you would expect to see me here to-night—I feel surprised - to find myself here. It seems like a dream to me—a charming - dream-vista with Lady Innisfail at the end of the vista. Innisfail always - ruins his chances of winning a game by attempting a screw back into the - pocket. He leaves everything on. You’ll see what my game is now.” - </p> - <p> - He chalked his cue and bent over the table once more. - </p> - <p> - Harold watched him make the stroke. “You’ll see what my game - is,” said Lord Fotheringay, as he settled himself down to a long - break. - </p> - <p> - Harold questioned it greatly. His father’s games were rarely - transparent. - </p> - <p> - “What on earth can have brought him?—oh, he takes one’s - breath away,” whispered Lady Innisfail to Harold, with a pretty fair - imitation of a smile lingering about some parts of her face. - </p> - <p> - Harold shook his head. There was not even the imitation of a smile about - his face. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail gave a laugh, and turned quickly to Miss Avon. - </p> - <p> - “My husband will be delighted to meet you, my dear,” said she. - “He is certain to know your father.” - </p> - <p> - Harold watched Lord Innisfail shaking hands with Miss Avon at the side of - the billiard table, while his father bent down to make another stroke. - When the stroke was played he saw his father straighten himself and look - toward Miss Avon. - </p> - <p> - The look was a long one and an interested one. Then the girl disappeared - with Lady Innisfail, and the look that Lord Fotheringay cast at his son - was a short one, but it was quite as intelligible to that soft as the long - look at Miss Avon had been to him. - </p> - <p> - Harold went slowly and in a singularly contemplative mood to his bedroom, - whence he emerged in a space, wearing a smoking-jacket and carrying a pipe - and tobacco pouch. - </p> - <p> - The smoking-jackets that glowed through the hall towards the last hour of - the day at Castle Innisfail were a dream of beauty. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail had given orders to have a variety of sandwiches and other - delicacies brought to the hall for those of her guests who had attended - the festivities at Ballycruiskeen; and when Harold found his way - downstairs, he perceived in a moment that only a few of the feeble ones of - the house-party—the fishermen who had touches of rheumatism and the - young women who cherished their complexions—were absent from the - hall. - </p> - <p> - He also noticed that his father was seated by the side of Beatrice Avon - and that he was succeeding in making himself interesting to her. - </p> - <p> - He knew that his father generally succeeded in making himself interesting - to women. - </p> - <p> - In another part of the hall Lady Innisfail was succeeding in making - herself interesting to some of the men. She also was accustomed to meet - with success in this direction. She was describing to such as had - contrived to escape the walk to Ballycruiskeen, the inexhaustibly romantic - charm of the scene on the Curragh while the natives were dancing, and the - descriptions certainly were not deficient in colour. - </p> - <p> - The men listened to her with such an aspect of being enthralled, she felt - certain that they were full of regret that they had failed to witness the - dance. It so happened, however, that the result of her account of the - scene was to lead those of her audience who had remained at the Castle, to - congratulate themselves upon a lucky escape. - </p> - <p> - And all this time, Harold noticed that his father was making himself - interesting to Beatrice Avon. - </p> - <p> - The best way for any man to make himself interesting to a woman is to show - himself interested in her. He knew that his father was well aware of this - fact, and that he was getting Beatrice Avon to tell him all about herself. - </p> - <p> - But when Lady Innisfail reached the final situation in her dramatic - account of the dance, and hurried her listeners to the brink of the cliff—when - she reproduced in a soprano that was still vibratory, the cry that had - sounded through the mist—when she pointed to Miss Avon in telling of - the white figure that had emerged from the mist—(Lady Innisfail did - not think it necessary to allude to Helen Craven, who had gone to bed)—the - auditors’ interest was real and not simulated. They looked at the - white figure as Lady Innisfail pointed to her, and their interest was - genuine. - </p> - <p> - They could at least appreciate this element of the evening’s - entertainment, and as they glanced at Harold, who was eating a number of - sandwiches in a self-satisfied way, they thought that they might safely - assume that he was the luckiest of the <i>dramatis personae</i> of the - comedy—or was it a tragedy?—described by Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - And all this time Harold was noticing that his father, by increasing his - interest in Beatrice, was making himself additionally interesting to her. - </p> - <p> - But the judge had also—at the intervals between his Homeric nods—been - noticing the living things around him. He put aside his glass and its - straw—he had been toying with it all the evening, though the liquid - that mounted by capillary attraction up the tube was something noisome, - without a trace of alcohol—and seated himself on the other side of - the girl. - </p> - <p> - He assured her that he had known her father. Lord Fotheringay did not - believe him; but this was not to the point, and he knew it. What was to - the point was the fact that the judge understood the elements of the art - of interesting a girl almost as fully as Lord Fotheringay did, without - having quite made it the serious business of his life. The result was that - Miss Avon was soon telling the judge all about herself—this was what - the judge professed to be the most anxious to hear—and Lord - Fotheringay lit a cigar. - </p> - <p> - He felt somewhat bitterly on the subject of the judge’s intrusion. - But the feeling did not last for long. He reflected upon the circumstance - that Miss Avon could never have heard that he himself was a very wicked - man. - </p> - <p> - He knew that the interest that attaches to a man with a reputation for - being very wicked is such as need fear no rival. He felt that should his - power to interest a young woman ever be jeopardized, he could still fall - back upon his bad character and be certain to attract her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII.—ON PROVIDENCE AS A MATCH-MAKER. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>F course,” - said Lady Innisfail to Edmund Airey the next day. “Of course, if - Harold alone had rescued Helen from her danger last night, all would have - been well. You know as well as I do that when a man rescues a young woman - from a position of great danger, he can scarcely do less than ask her to - marry him.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” replied Edmund. “I really can’t see - how, if he has any dramatic appreciation whatever, he could avoid asking - her to marry him.” - </p> - <p> - “It is beyond a question,” said Lady Innisfail. “So that - if Harold had been alone in the boat all would have been well. The fact of - Miss Avon’s being also in the boat must, however, be faced. It - complicates matters exceedingly.” - </p> - <p> - Edmund shook his head gravely. - </p> - <p> - “I knew that you would see the force of it,” resumed Lady - Innisfail. “And then there is his father—his father must be - taken into account.” - </p> - <p> - “It might be as well, though I know that Lord Fotheringay’s - views are the same as yours.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure that they are; but why, then, does he come here to sit by - the side of the other girl and interest her as he did last evening?” - </p> - <p> - “Lord Fotheringay can never be otherwise than interesting, even to - people who do not know how entirely devoid of scruple he is.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course I know all that; but why should he come here and sit - beside so very pretty a girl as this Miss Avon?” - </p> - <p> - “There is no accounting for tastes, Lady Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “You are very stupid, Mr. Airey. What I mean is, why should Lord - Fotheringay behave in such a way as must force his son’s attention - to be turned in a direction that—that—in short, it should not - be turned in? Heaven knows that I want to do the best for Harold—I - like him so well that I could almost wish him to remain unmarried. But you - know as well as I do, that it is absolutely necessary for him to marry a - girl with a considerable amount of money.” - </p> - <p> - “That is as certain as anything can be. I gave him the best advice - in my power on this subject, and he announced his intention of asking Miss - Craven to marry him.” - </p> - <p> - “But instead of asking her he strolled round the coast to that - wretched cave, and there met, by accident, the other girl—oh, these - other girls are always appearing on the scene at the wrong moment.” - </p> - <p> - “The world would go on beautifully if it were not for the Other - Girl.” said Edmund. “If you think of it, there is not an event - in history that has not turned upon the opportune or inopportune - appearance of the Other Girl. Nothing worth speaking of has taken place, - unless by the agency of the Other Girl.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet Lord Fotheringay comes here and sits by the side of this - charming girl, and his son watches him making himself interesting to her - as, alas! he can do but too easily. Mr. Airey, I should not be surprised - if Harold were to ask Miss Avon to-day to marry him—I should not, - indeed.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I think you take too pessimistic a view of the matter - altogether, Lady Innisfail. Anyhow, I don’t see that we can do more - than we have already done. I think I should feel greatly inclined to let - Providence and Lord Fotheringay fight out the matter between them.” - </p> - <p> - “Like the archangel and the Other over the body of Moses?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, something like that.” - </p> - <p> - “No, Mr. Airey; I don’t believe in Providence as a - match-maker.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Airey gave a laugh. He wondered if it was possible that Harold had - mentioned to her that he, Edmund, had expressed the belief that Providence - as a match-maker had much to learn. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see how we can interfere,” said he. “I - like Harold Wynne greatly. He means to do something in the world, and I - believe he will do it. He affords a convincing example of the collapse of - heredity as a principle. I like him if only for that.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail looked at him in silence for a few moments. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, slowly. “Harold does seem to differ - greatly from his father. I wonder if it is the decree of Providence that - has kept him without money.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you suggest that the absence of money—?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no; I suggest nothing. If a man must be wicked he’ll be - wicked without money almost as readily as with it. Only I wonder, if - Harold had come in for the title and the property—such as it was—at - the same age as his father was when he inherited all, would he be so ready - as you say he is to do useful work on the side of the government of his - country?” - </p> - <p> - “That is a question for the philosophers,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - In this unsatisfactory way the conversation between Lady Innisfail and Mr. - Airey on the morning after Lord Fotheringay’s arrival at the Castle, - came to an end. No conversation that ends in referring the question under - consideration to the philosophers, can by any possibility be thought - satisfactory. But the conversation could not well be continued when Miss - Craven, by the side of Miss Avon, was seen to be approaching. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey turned his eyes upon the two girls, then they rested upon the - face of Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - As she came closer his glance rested upon the eyes of Beatrice. The result - of his observation was to convince him that he had never before seen such - beautiful eyes. - </p> - <p> - They were certainly gray; and they were as full of expression as gray eyes - can be. They were large, and to look into them seemed like looking into - the transparent depths of an unfathomed sea—into the transparent - heights of an inexhaustible heaven. - </p> - <p> - A glimpse of heaven suggests the bliss of the beatified. A glimpse of the - ocean suggests shipwreck. - </p> - <p> - He knew this perfectly well as he looked at her eyes; but only for an - instant did it occur to him that they conveyed some message to him. - </p> - <p> - Before he had time to think whether the message promised the bliss of the - dwellers in the highest heaven, or the disaster of those who go down into - the depths of the deepest sea, he was inquiring from Helen Craven if the - chill of which she had complained on the previous night, had developed - into a cold. - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven assured him that, so far from experiencing any ill effects - from her adventure, she had never felt better in all her life. - </p> - <p> - “But had it not been for Miss Avon’s hearing my cries of - despair, goodness knows where I should have been in another ten minutes,” - she added, putting her arm round Miss Avon’s waist, and looking, as - Edmund had done, into the mysterious depths of Miss Avon’s gray - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense!” said Miss Avon. “To tell you the plain - truth, I did not hear your cries. It was Mr. Wynne who said he heard the - White Lady wailing for her lover.” - </p> - <p> - “How could he translate the cry so accurately?” said Edmund. - “Do you suppose that he had heard the Banshee’s cry at the - same place?” - </p> - <p> - He kept his eyes upon Miss Avon’s face, and he saw in a moment that - she was wondering how much he knew of the movements of Harold Wynne during - the previous two nights. - </p> - <p> - Helen Craven looked at him also pretty narrowly. She was wondering if he - had told anyone that he had suggested to her the possibility of Harold’s - being in the neighbourhood of the Banshee’s Cave during the previous - evening. - </p> - <p> - Both girls laughed in another moment, and then Edmund Airey laughed also—in - a sort of way. Lady Innisfail was the last to join in the laugh. But what - she laughed at was the way in which Edmund had laughed. - </p> - <p> - And while this group of four were upon the northern terrace, Harold was - seated the side of his father on one of the chairs that faced the south. - Lord Fotheringay was partial to a southern aspect. His life might be said - to be a life of southern aspects. He meant that it should never be out of - the sun, not because some of the incidents that seemed to him to make life - worth preserving were such as could best stand the searching light of the - sun, but simply because his was the nature of the butterfly. He was a - butterfly of fifty-seven—a butterfly that found it necessary to - touch up with artificial powders the ravages of years upon the delicate, - downy bloom of youth—a butterfly whose wings had now and again been - singed by contact with a harmful flame—whose still shapely body was - now and again bent with rheumatism. Surely the rheumatic butterfly is the - most wretched of insects! - </p> - <p> - He had fluttered away from a fresh singeing, he was assuring his son. Yes, - he had scarcely strength left in his wings to carry him out of the sphere - of influence of the flame. He had, he said in a mournful tone, been very - badly treated. She had treated him very badly. The Italian nature was - essentially false—he might have known it—and when an Italian - nature is developed with a high soprano, very shrill in its upper - register, the result was—well, the result was that the flame had - singed the wings of the elderly insect who was Harold’s father. - </p> - <p> - “Talk of money!” he cried, with so sudden an expression of - emotion that a few caked scraps of sickly, roseate powder fluttered from - the crinkled lines of his forehead—Talk of money! It was not a - matter of hundreds—he was quite prepared for that—but when the - bill ran up to thousands—thousands—thousands—oh, the - whole affair was sickening. (Harold cordially agreed with him, though he - did not express himself to this effect). Was it not enough to shake one’s - confidence in woman—in human nature—in human art (operatic)—in - the world? - </p> - <p> - Yes, it was the Husband. - </p> - <p> - The Husband, Lord Fotheringay was disposed to regard in pretty much the - same light as Mr. Airey regarded the Other Girl. The Husband was not - exactly the obstacle, but the inconvenience. He had a habit of turning up, - and it appeared that in the latest of Lord Fotheringay’s experiences - his turning up had been more than usually inopportune. - </p> - <p> - “That is why I followed so close upon the heels of my letter to you,” - said the father. “The crash came in a moment—it was literally - a crash too, now that I think upon it, for that hot-blooded ruffian, her - husband, caught one corner of the table cloth—we were at supper—and - swept everything that was on the table into a corner of the room. Yes, the - bill is in my portmanteau. And she took his part. Heavens above! She - actually took his part. I was the scoundrel—<i>briccone!</i>—the - coarse Italian is still ringing in my ears. It was anything but a charming - duetto. He sang a basso—her upper register was terribly shrill—I - had never heard it more so. Artistically the scene was a failure; but I - had to run for all that. Humiliating, is it not, to be overcome by - something that would, if subjected to the recognized canons of criticism, - be pronounced a failure? And he swore that he would follow me and have my - life. Enough. You got my letter. Fortune is on your side, my boy. You - saved her life last night.” - </p> - <p> - “Whose life did I save?” asked the son. “Whose life? - Heavens above! Have you been saving more than one life?” - </p> - <p> - “Not more than one—a good deal less than one. Don’t let - us get into a sentimental strain, pater. You are the chartered—ah, - the chartered sentimentalist of the family. Don’t try and drag me - into your strain. I’m not old enough. A man cannot pose as a - sentimentalist nowadays until he is approaching sixty.” - </p> - <p> - “Really? Then I shall have to pause for a year or two still. Let us - put that question aside for a moment. Should I be exceeding my privileges - if I were to tell you that I am ruined?—Financially ruined, I mean, - of course; thank heaven, I am physically as strong as I was—ah, - three years ago.” - </p> - <p> - “You said something about my allowance, I think.” - </p> - <p> - “If I did not I failed in my duty as a father, and I don’t - often do that, my boy—thank God, I don’t often do that.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Harold. “If the whole duty of a father is - comprised in acquainting his son with the various reductions that he says - he finds it necessary to make in his allowance, you are the most exemplary - of fathers, pater.” - </p> - <p> - “There is a suspicion of sarcasm—or what is worse, epigram in - that phrase,” said the father. “Never mind, you cannot epigram - away the stern fact that I have now barely a sufficient income to keep - body and soul together. I wish you could.” - </p> - <p> - “So do I,” said Harold. “But yours is a <i>ménage à - trois</i>. It is not merely body and soul with your but body, soul, and - sentiment—it is the third element that is the expensive one.” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say you are right. Anyhow, I grieve for your position, my - boy. If it had pleased Heaven to make me a rich man, I would see that your - allowance was a handsome one.” - </p> - <p> - “But since it has pleased the other Power to make you a poor one—” - </p> - <p> - “You must marry Miss Craven—that’s the end of the whole - matter, and an end that most people would be disposed to regard as a very - happy one, too. She is a virtuous young woman, and what is better, she - dresses extremely well. What is best of all, she has several thousands a - year.” - </p> - <p> - There was a suggestion of the eighteenth century phraseology in Lord - Fotheringay’s speech, that made him seem at least a hundred years - old. Surely people did not turn up their eyes and talk of virtue since the - eighteenth century, Harold thought. The word had gone out. There was no - more need for it. The quality is taken for granted in the nineteenth - century. - </p> - <p> - “You are a trifle over-vehement,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Have I ever refused to ask Miss Craven to marry me?” - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever asked her—that’s the matter before us?” - </p> - <p> - “Never. But what does that mean? Why, simply that I have before me - instead of behind me a most interesting quarter of an hour—I suppose - a penniless man can ask a wealthy woman inside a quarter of an hour, to - marry him. The proposition doesn’t take longer in such a case than - an honourable one would.” - </p> - <p> - “You are speaking in a way that is not becoming in a son addressing - his father,” said Lord Fotheringay. “You almost make me - ashamed of you.” - </p> - <p> - “You have had no reason to be ashamed of me yet,” said Harold. - “So long as I refrain from doing what you command me to do, I give - you no cause to be ashamed of me.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a pretty thing for a son to say,” cried the father, - indignantly. - </p> - <p> - “For heaven’s sake don’t let us begin a family broil - under the windows of a house where we are guests,” said the son, - rising quickly from the chair. “We are on the border of a genuine - family bickering. For God’s sake let us stop in time.” - </p> - <p> - “I did not come here to bicker,” said the father. “Heavens - above! Am I not entitled to some show of gratitude at least for having - come more than a thousand miles—a hundred of them in an Irish train - and ten of them on an Irish jolting car—simply to see that you are - comfortably settled for life?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the son, “I suppose I should feel grateful - to you for coming so far to tell me that you are ruined and that I am a - partner in your ruin.” He had not seated himself, and now he turned - his back upon his father and walked round to the west side of the Castle - where some of the girls were strolling. They were waiting to see how the - day would develop—if they should put on oilskins and sou’westers - or gauzes and gossamer—the weather on the confines of the ocean - knows only the extremes of winter or summer. - </p> - <p> - The furthest of the watchers were, he perceived, Edmund Airey and Miss - Avon. He walked toward them, and pronounced in a somewhat irresponsible - way an opinion upon the weather. - </p> - <p> - Before the topic had been adequately discussed, Mr. Durdan and another man - came up to remind Mr. Airey that he had given them his word to be of their - party in the fishing boat, where they were accustomed to study the Irish - question for some hours daily. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Airey protested that his promise had been wholly a conditional one. It - had not been made on the assumption that the lough should be moaning like - a Wagnerian trombone, and it could not be denied that such notes were - being produced by the great rollers beneath the influence of a westerly - wind. - </p> - <p> - Harold gave a little shrug to suggest to Beatrice that the matter was not - one that concerned her or himself in the least, and that it might be as - well if Mr. Airey and his friends were left to discuss it by themselves. - </p> - <p> - The shrug scarcely suggested all that he meant it to suggest, but in the - course of a minute he was by the side of the girl a dozen yards away from - the three men. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you chanced to tell Mr. Airey of the queer way you and - I met,” she said in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “How could I have told any human being of that incident?” he - cried. “Why do you ask me such a question?” - </p> - <p> - “He knows all about it—so much is certain,” said she. - “Oh, yes, he gave me to understand so much—not with brutal - directness, of course.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I should say not—brutal directness is not in his line,” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “But the result is just the same as if he had been as direct as—as - a girl.” - </p> - <p> - “As a girl?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. He said something about Miss Craven’s voice having - suggested something supernatural to Brian, and then he asked me all at - once if there had been any mist on the previous evening when I had rowed - across the lough. Now I should like to know how he guessed that I had - crossed the lough on the previous night.” - </p> - <p> - “He is clever—diabolically clever,” said Harold after a - pause. “He was with Miss Craven in the hall—they had been - dancing—when I returned—I noticed the way he looked at me. Was - there anything in my face to tell him that—that I had met you?” - </p> - <p> - She looked at his face and laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Your face,” she said. “Your face—what could there - have been apparent on your face for Mr. Airey to read?” - </p> - <p> - “What—what?” his voice was low. He was now looking into - her gray eyes. “What was there upon my face? I cannot tell. Was it a - sense of doom? God knows. Now that I look upon your face—even now I - cannot tell whether I feel the peace of God which passes understanding, or - the doom of those who go down to the sea and are lost.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not like to hear you speak in that way,” said she. - “It would be better for me to die than to mean anything except what - is peaceful and comforting to all of God’s creatures.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be better for you to die,” said he. He took his eyes - away from hers. They stood side by side in silence for some moments, - before he turned suddenly to her and said in quite a different strain. - “I shall row you across the lough when you are ready. Will you go - after lunch?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think that I shall be going quite so soon,” - said she. “The fact is that Lady Innisfail was good enough to send - Brian with another letter to my father—a letter from herself, asking - my father to come to the Castle for a day or two, but, whether he comes or - not, to allow me to remain for some days.” - </p> - <p> - Again some moments passed before Harold spoke. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to promise to let me know where you go when you leave - Ireland,” said he. “I don’t want to lose sight of you. - The world is large. I wandered about in it for nearly thirty years before - meeting you.” - </p> - <p> - She was silent. It seemed as if she was considering whether or not his - last sentence should be regarded as a positive proof of the magnitude of - the world. - </p> - <p> - She appeared to come to the conclusion that it would be unwise to discuss - the question—after all, it was only a question of statistics. - </p> - <p> - “If you wish it,” said she, “I shall let you know our - next halting-place. I fancy that my poor father is less enthusiastic than - he was some years ago on the subject of Irish patriotism. At any rate, I - think that he has worked out all the battles fought in this region.” - </p> - <p> - “Only let me know where you go,” said he. “I do not want - to lose sight of you. What did you say just now—peace and comfort to - God’s creatures? No, I do not want to lose sight of you.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII.—ON THE PROFESSIONAL MORALIST. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE people—Edmund - Airey was one of them—who were accustomed to point to Harold Wynne - as an example of the insecurity of formulating any definite theory of - heredity, had no chance of being made aware of the nature of the - conversations in which he had taken part, or they might not have been - quite so ready to question the truth of that theory. - </p> - <p> - His father had made it plain to him, both by letter and word of mouth, - that the proper course for him to pursue was one that involved asking - Helen Craven to marry him—the adoption of any other course, even a - prosaic one, would practically mean ruin to him; and yet he had gone - straight from the side of his father, not to the side of Miss Craven, but - to the side of Miss Avon. And not only had he done this, but he had looked - into the gray eyes of Beatrice when he should have been gazing with ardour—or - simulated ardour—into the rather lustreless orbs of Helen. - </p> - <p> - To do precisely the thing which he ought not to have done was certainly a - trait which he had inherited from his father. - </p> - <p> - But he had not merely looked into the eyes of the one girl when he should - have been looking into those of the other girl, he had spoken into her - ears such words as would, if spoken into the ears of the other girl, have - made her happy. The chances were that the words which he had spoken would - lead to unhappiness. To speak such words had been his father’s - weakness all his life, so that it seemed that Harold had inherited this - weakness also. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps for a moment or two, after Edmund Airey had sauntered up, having - got the better of the argument with Mr. Durdan—he flattered himself - that he had invariably got the better of him in the House of Commons—Harold - felt that he was as rebellious against the excellent counsels of his - father as his father had ever been against the excellent precepts which - society has laid down for its own protection. He knew that the - circumstance of his father’s having never accepted the good advice - which had been offered to him as freely as advice, good and bad, is - usually offered to people who are almost certain not to follow it, did not - diminish from the wisdom of the course which his father had urged upon him - to pursue. He had acknowledged to Edmund Airey some days before, that the - substance of the advice was good, and had expressed his intention of - following it—nay, he felt even when he had walked straight from his - father’s side to indulge in that earnest look into the eyes of - Beatrice, that it was almost inevitable that he should take the advice of - his father; for however distasteful it may be, the advice of a father is - sometimes acted on by a son. But still the act of rebellion had been - pleasant to him—as pleasant to him as his father’s acts of the - same character had been to his father. - </p> - <p> - And all this time Helen Craven was making her usual elaborate preparations - for finishing her sketch of some local scene, and everyone knew that she - could not seek that scene unless accompanied by someone to carry her - umbrella and stool. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay perceived this in a moment from his seat facing the - south. He saw that Providence was on the side of art, so to speak—assuming - that a water-colour sketch of a natural landscape by an amateur is art, - and assuming that Providence meant simply an opportunity for his son to - ask Miss Craven to marry him. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay saw how Miss Craven lingered with her colour-box in one - hand and her stool in the other. What was she waiting for? He did not - venture to think that she was waiting for Harold to saunter up and take - possession of her apparatus, but he felt certain that if Harold were to - saunter up, Miss Craven’s eyes would brighten—so far as such - eyes as hers could brighten. His teeth met with a snap that threatened the - gold springs when he saw some other man stroll up and express the hope - that Miss Craven would permit him to carry her stool and umbrella, for her - sketching umbrella was brought from the hall by a servant. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay’s indignation against his son was great afterwards. - He made an excellent attempt to express to Edmund Airey what he felt on - the subject of Harold’s conduct, and Edmund shook his head most - sympathetically. - </p> - <p> - What was to be done, Lord Fotheringay inquired. What was to be done in - order to make Harold act in accordance with the dictates not merely of - prudence but of necessity as well? - </p> - <p> - Mr. Airey could not see that any positive action could be taken in order - to compel Harold to adopt the course which every sensible person would - admit was the right course—in fact the only course open to him under - the circumstances. He added that only two days ago Harold had admitted - that he meant to ask Miss Craven to marry him. - </p> - <p> - “Heavens above!” cried Lord Fotheringay. “He never - admitted so much to me. Then what has occurred to change him within a few - days?” - </p> - <p> - “In such a case as this it is as well not to ask <i>what</i> but <i>who</i>,” - remarked Edmund. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay looked at him eagerly. “Who—who—you don’t - mean another girl?” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I not mean another girl?” said Edmund. “You - may have some elementary acquaintance with woman, Lord Fotheringay.” - </p> - <p> - “I have—yes, elementary,” admitted Lord Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - “Then surely you must have perceived that a man’s attention is - turned away from one woman only by the appearance of another woman,” - said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “You mean that—by heavens, that notion occurred to me the - moment that I saw her. She is a lovely creature, Airey.” - </p> - <p> - “‘A gray eye or so!’ said Airey.” - </p> - <p> - “A gray eye or so!” cried Lord Fotheringay, who had not given - sufficient attention to the works of Shakespeare to recognize a quotation. - “A gray—Oh, you were always a cold-blooded fellow. Such eyes, - Airey, are so uncommon as—ah, the eyes are not to the point. They - only lend colour to your belief that she is the other girl. Yes, that - notion occurred to me the moment she entered the hall.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe that but for her inopportune appearance Harold would now - be engaged to Miss Craven,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “There’s not the shadow of a doubt about the matter,” - cried Lord Fotheringay—both men seemed to regard Miss Craven’s - acquiescence in the scheme which they had in their minds, as outside the - discussion altogether. “Now what on earth did Lady Innisfail mean by - asking a girl with such eyes to stay here? A girl with such eyes has no - business appearing among people like us who have to settle our mundane - affairs to the best advantage. Those eyes are a disturbing influence, - Airey. They should never be seen while matters are in an unsettled - condition. And Lady Innisfail professes to be Harold’s friend.” - </p> - <p> - “And so she is,” said Edmund. “But the delight that Lady - Innisfail finds in capturing a strange face—especially when that - face is beautiful—overcomes all other considerations with her. That - is why, although anxious—she was anxious yesterday, though that is - not saying she is anxious today—to hear of Harold’s proposing - to Miss Craven, yet she is much more anxious to see the effect produced by - the appearance of Miss Avon among her guests.” - </p> - <p> - “And this is a Christian country!” said Lord Fotheringay - solemnly, after a pause of considerable duration. - </p> - <p> - “Nominally,” said Mr. Airey, - </p> - <p> - “What is society coming to, Airey, when a woman occupying the - position of Lady Innisfail, does not hesitate to throw all considerations - of friendship to the winds solely for the sake of a momentary sensation?” - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay was now so solemn that his words and his method of - delivering them suggested the earnestness of an evangelist—zeal is - always expected from an evangelist, though unbecoming in an ordained - clergyman. He held one finger out and raised it and lowered it with the - inflections of his voice with the skill of a professional moralist. - </p> - <p> - He had scarcely spoken before Miss Avon, by the side of the judge and Miss - Innisfail, appeared on the terrace. - </p> - <p> - The judge—he said he had known her father—was beaming on her. - Professing to know her father he probably considered sufficient - justification for beaming on her. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay and his companion watched the girl in silence until she - and her companions had descended to the path leading to the cliffs. - </p> - <p> - “Airey,” said Lord Fotheringay at length. “Airey, that - boy of mine must be prevented from making a fool of himself—he must - be prevented from making a fool of that girl. I would not like to see such - a girl as that—I think you said you noticed her eyes—made a - fool of.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be very sad,” said Edmund. “But what means do - you propose to adopt to prevent the increase by two of the many fools - already in the world?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean to marry the girl myself,” cried Lord Fotheringay, - rising to his feet—not without some little difficulty, for - rheumatism had for years been his greatest enemy. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX.—ON MODERN SOCIETY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>DMUND AIREY had - the most perfect command of his features under all circumstances. While - the members of the Front Opposition Benches were endeavouring to sneer him - into their lobby, upon the occasion of a division on some question on - which it was rumoured he differed from the Government, he never moved a - muscle. The flaunts and gibes may have stung him, but he had never yet - given an indication of feeling the sting; so that if Lord Fotheringay - looked for any of those twitches about the corners of Mr. Airey’s - mouth, which the sudden announcement of his determination would possibly - have brought around the mouth of an ordinary man, he must have had little - experience of his companion’s powers. - </p> - <p> - But that Lord Fotheringay felt on the whole greatly flattered by the - impassiveness of Edmund Airey’s face after his announcement, Edmund - Airey did not for a moment doubt. When a man of fifty-seven gravely - announces his intention to another man of marrying a girl of, perhaps, - twenty, and with eyes of remarkable lustre, and when the man takes such an - announcement as the merest matter of course, the man who makes it has some - reason for feeling flattered. - </p> - <p> - The chances are, however, that he succeeds in proving to his own - satisfaction that he has no reason for feeling flattered; for the man of - fifty-seven who is fool enough to entertain the notion of marrying a girl - of twenty with lustrous eyes, is certainly fool enough to believe that the - announcement of his intention in this respect is in no way out of the - common. - </p> - <p> - Thus, when, after a glance concentrated upon the corners of Edmund Airey’s - mouth, Lord Fotheringay resumed his seat and began to give serious reasons - for taking the step that he had declared himself ready to take—reasons - beyond the mere natural desire to prevent Miss Avon from being made a fool - of—he gave no indication of feeling in the least flattered by the - impassiveness of the face of his companion. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he explained to Mr. Airey, he had been so badly treated by the world - that he had almost made up his mind to retire from the world—the - exact words in which he expressed that resolution were “to let the - world go to the devil in its own way.” - </p> - <p> - Now, as the belief was general that Lord Fotheringay’s presence in - the world had materially accelerated its speed in the direction which he - had indicated, the announcement of his intention to allow it to proceed - without his assistance was not absurd. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he had been badly treated by the world, he said. The world was very - wicked. He felt sad when he thought of the vast amount of wickedness there - was in the world, and the small amount of it that he had already enjoyed. - To be sure, it could not be said that he had quite lived the life of the - ideal anchorite: he admitted—and smacked his lips as he did so—that - he had now and again had a good time (Mr. Airey did not assume that the - word “good” was to be accepted in its Sunday-school sense) but - on the whole the result was disappointing. - </p> - <p> - “As saith the Preacher,” remarked Mr. Airey, when Lord - Fotheringay paused and shook his head so that another little scrap of - caked powder escaped from the depths of one of the wrinkles of his - forehead. - </p> - <p> - “The Preacher—what Preacher?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “The Preacher who cried <i>Vanitas Vanitatum</i>,” said - Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “He had gone on a tour with an Italian opera company,” said - Lord Fotheringay, “and he had fallen foul of the basso. Airey, my - boy, whatever you do, steer clear of a prima donna with a high soprano. It - means thousands—thousands, and a precipitate flight at the last. You - needn’t try a gift of paste—the finest productions of the - Ormuz Gem Company—‘a Tiara for Thirty Shillings’—you - know their advertisement—no, I’ve tried that. It was no use. - The real thing she would have—Heavens above! Two thousand pounds for - a trinket, and nothing to show for it, but a smashing of supper plates and - a hurried flight. Ah, Airey, is it any wonder that I should make up my - mind to live a quiet life with—I quite forget who was in my mind - when I commenced this interesting conversation?” - </p> - <p> - “It makes no difference,” said Mr. Airey. “The principle - is precisely the same. There is Miss Innisfail looking for someone, I must - go to her.” - </p> - <p> - “A desperately proper girl,” said Lord Fotheringay. “As - desperately proper as if she had once been desperately naughty. These - proper girls know a vast deal. She scarcely speaks to me. Yes, she must - know a lot.” - </p> - <p> - His remarks were lost upon Mr. Airey, for he had politely hurried to Miss - Innisfail and was asking her if he could be of any assistance to her. But - when Miss Innisfail replied that she was merely waiting for Brian, the - boatman, who should have returned long ago from the other side of the - lough, Mr. Airey did not return to Lord Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - He had had enough of Lord Fotheringay for one afternoon, and he hoped that - Lord Fotheringay would understand so much. He had long ago ceased to be - amusing. As an addition to the house-party at the Castle he was - unprofitable. He knew that Lady Innisfail was of this opinion, and he was - well aware also that Lady Innisfail had not given him more than a general - and very vague invitation to the Castle. He had simply come to the Castle - in order to avoid the possibly disagreeable consequences of buying some - thousands of pounds’ worth of diamonds—perhaps it would be - more correct to say, diamonds costing some thousands of pounds, leaving - worth out of the question—for a woman with a husband. - </p> - <p> - Airey knew that the philosophy of Lord Fotheringay was the philosophy of - the maker of omelettes. No one has yet solved the problem of how to make - omelettes without breaking eggs. Lord Fotheringay had broken a good many - eggs in his day, and occasionally the result was that his share of the - transaction was not the omelette but the broken shells. Occasionally, too, - Edmund Airey was well aware, Lord Fotheringay had suffered more - inconvenience than was involved in the mere fact of his being deprived of - the comestible. His latest adventure. Airey thought, might be included - among such experiences. He had fled to the brink of the ocean in order to - avoid the vengeance of the Husband. “Here the pursuer can pursue no - more,” was the line that was in Edmund Airey’s mind as he - listened to the fragmentary account of the latest <i>contretemps</i> of - the rheumatic butterfly. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he had had quite enough of Lord Fotheringay’s company. The - announcement of his intention to marry Miss Avon had not made him more - interesting in the eyes of Edmund Airey, though it might have done so in - other people’s eyes—for a man who makes himself supremely - ridiculous makes himself supremely interesting as well, in certain - circles. - </p> - <p> - The announcement made by Lord Fotheringay had caused him to seem - ridiculous, though of course Edmund had made no sign to this effect: had - he made any sign he would not have heard the particulars of Lord - Fotheringay’s latest fiasco, and he was desirous of learning those - particulars. Having become acquainted with them, however, he found that he - had had quite enough of his company. - </p> - <p> - But in the course of the afternoon Mr. Airey perceived that, though in his - eyes there was something ridiculous in the notion of Lord Fotheringay’s - expression of a determination to marry Beatrice Avon, the idea might not - seem quite so ridiculous to other people—Miss Avon’s father, - for instance. - </p> - <p> - In another moment he had come to the conclusion that the idea might not - seem altogether absurd to Miss Avon herself. - </p> - <p> - Young women of twenty—even when they have been endowed by heaven - with lustrous eyes (assuming that the lustre of a young woman’s eyes - is a gift from heaven, and not acquired to work the purposes of a very - different power)—have been known to entertain without repugnance the - idea of marrying impecunious peers of fifty-seven; and upon this - circumstance Edmund pondered. - </p> - <p> - Standing on the brink of a cliff at the base of which the great rollers - were crouching like huge white-maned lions, Mr. Airey reflected as he had - never previously done, upon the debased condition of modern society, in - which such incidents are of constant occurrence. But, however deplorable - such incidents are, he knew perfectly well that there never had existed a - society in the world where they had not been quite as frequent as they are - in modern society in England. - </p> - <p> - Yes, it was quite as likely as not that Lord Fotheringay would be able to - carry out the intention which he had announced to his confidant of the - moment. - </p> - <p> - But when Mr. Airey thought of the lustrous eyes of Beatrice Avon, - recalling the next moment the rheumatic movements of Lord Fotheringay and - the falling of the scrap of caked powder from his forehead, he felt - quixotic enough to be equal to the attempt to prevent the realization of - Lord Fotheringay’s intention. - </p> - <p> - It was then that the thought occurred to him—Why should not Harold, - who was clearly ready to fall in love with the liquid eyes of Beatrice - Avon, ask her to marry him instead of his father? - </p> - <p> - The result of his consideration of this question was to convince him that - such an occurrence as it suggested should be averted at all hazards. - </p> - <p> - Only the worst enemy that Harold Wynne could have—the worst enemy - that the girl could have—would like to see them married. - </p> - <p> - It would be different if the hot-blooded Italian husband were to pursue - the enemy of his household to the brink of the Atlantic cliffs and then - push him over the cliffs into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. But the - hot-blooded Italian was not yet in sight, and Edmund knew very well that - so long as Lord Fotheringay lived, Harold was dependent on him for his - daily bread. - </p> - <p> - If Harold were to marry Miss Avon, it would lie in his father’s - power to make him a pauper, or, worse, the professional director with the - honorary prefix of “Honourable” to his name, dear to the - company promoter. - </p> - <p> - On the death of Lord Fotheringay Harold would inherit whatever property - still remained out of the hands of the mortgagees; but Edmund was well - aware of the longevity of that species of butterfly which is susceptible - of rheumatic attacks; so that for, perhaps, fifteen years Harold might - remain dependent upon the good-will of his father for his daily bread. - </p> - <p> - It thus appeared to Mr. Airey that the problem of how to frustrate the - intentions of Lord Fotheringay, was not an easy one to solve. - </p> - <p> - He knew the world too well to entertain for a moment the possibility of - defeating Lord Fotheringay’s avowed purpose by informing either the - girl or her father of the evil reputation of Lord Fotheringay. The evil - deeds of a duke have occasionally permitted his wife to obtain a divorce; - but they have never prevented him from obtaining another wife. - </p> - <p> - All this Mr. Edmund Airey knew, having lived in the world and observed the - ways of its inhabitants for several years. - </p> - <h3> - END OF VOLUME I. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <p> - ==== - </p> - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A GRAY EYE OR SO - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore - </h2> - <h3> - In Three Volumes—Volume II - </h3> - <h4> - Sixth Edition - </h4> - <h4> - London, Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row - </h4> - <h3> - 1893 - </h3> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007b.jpg" alt="0007b " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007b.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HB_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 2</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0001"> CHAPTER XX.—ON AN OAK SETTEE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0002"> CHAPTER XXI.—ON THE ELEMENTS OF PARTY - POLITICS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0003"> CHAPTER XXII.—ON THE WISDOM OF THE - MATRONS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0004"> CHAPTER XXIII.—ON THE ATLANTIC. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0005"> CHAPTER XXIV.—ON THE CHANCE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0006"> CHAPTER XXV.—ON THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE - REPROBATE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0007"> CHAPTER XXVI.—ON FRANKNESS AND FRIENDSHIP. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0008"> CHAPTER XXVII.—ON CIRCUMVENTING A STAG. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0009"> CHAPTER XXVIII.—ON ENJOYING A RESPITE. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0010"> CHAPTER XXIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF READY - MONEY. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0011"> CHAPTER XXX.—ON THE LEGITIMATE IN ART. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0012"> CHAPTER XXXI.—ON A BLACK SHEEP. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0013"> CHAPTER XXXII.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND SUPPER. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0014"> CHAPTER XXXIII.—ON BLESSING OR DOOM. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0015"> CHAPTER XXXIV.—ON THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0016"> CHAPTER XXXV.—ON THE HOME. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0017"> CHAPTER XXXVI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN - OF THE WORLD. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HBCH0018"> CHAPTER XXXVII.—ON THE DEFECTIVE LINK. - </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HB_4_0001" id="link2HB_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A GRAY EYE OR SO. - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="link2HBCH0001" id="link2HBCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX.—ON AN OAK SETTEE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E was still - pondering over the many aspects of the question which, to his mind, needed - solution, when he returned to the Castle, to find Lord Fotheringay in a - chair by the side of a gaunt old man who, at one period of his life, had - probably been tall, but who was now stooped in a remarkable way. The - stranger seemed very old, so that beside him Lord Fotheringay looked - comparatively youthful. Of this fact no one was better aware than Lord - Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey had seen portraits of the new guest, and did not require to - be told that he was Julius Anthony Avon, the historian of certain periods. - </p> - <p> - The first thought that occurred to him when he saw the two men side by - side, was that Lord Fotheringay would not appear ridiculous merely as the - son-in-law of Mr. Avon. To the casual observer at any rate he might have - posed as the son of Mr. Avon. - </p> - <p> - He himself seemed to be under the impression that he might pass as Mr. - Avon’s grandson, for he was extremely sportive in his presence, - attitudinizing on his settee in a way that Edmund knew must have been - agonizing to his rheumatic joints. Edmund smiled. He felt that he was - watching the beginning of a comedy. - </p> - <p> - He learned that Mr. Avon had yielded to the persuasion of Lady Innisfail - and had consented to join his daughter at the Castle for a few days. He - was not fond of going into society; but it so happened that Castle - Innisfail had been the centre of an Irish conspiracy at the early part of - the century, and this fact made the acceptance by him of Lady Innisfail’s - invitation a matter of business. - </p> - <p> - Hearing the nature of the work at which he was engaged, Lord Fotheringay - had lost no time in expounding to him, in that airy style which he had at - his command, the various mistakes that had been made by several - generations of statesmen in dealing with the Irish question. The - fundamental error which they had all committed was taking the Irish and - their rebellions and conspiracies too seriously. - </p> - <p> - This theory he expounded to the man who was writing a biographical - dictionary of Irish informers, and was about to publish his seventh - volume, concluding the letter B. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Avon listened, gaunt and grim, while Lord Fotheringay gracefully waved - away statesman after statesman who had failed signally, by reason of - taking Ireland and the Irish seriously. - </p> - <p> - There was something grim also in Edmund Airey’s smile as he glanced - at this beginning of the comedy. - </p> - <p> - That night Miss Stafford added originality to the ordinary terrors of her - recital. She explained that hitherto she had merely interpreted the verses - of others: now, however, she would draw upon her store of original poems. - </p> - <p> - Of course, Edmund Airey was outside the drawingroom while this was going - on. So were many of his fellow-guests, including Helen Craven. Edmund - found her beside him in a secluded part of the hall. He was rather - startled by her sudden appearance. He forgot to greet her with one of the - clever things that he reserved for her and other appreciative young women—for - he still found a few, as any man with a large income may, if he only keeps - his eyes open. “What a fool you must think me,” were the words - with which Miss Craven greeted him, so soon as he became aware of her - presence. - </p> - <p> - Strange to say, he had a definite idea that she had said something clever—at - any rate something that impressed him more strongly than ever with the - idea that she was a clever girl. - </p> - <p> - And yet she had assumed that he must think her a fool. - </p> - <p> - “A fool?” said he, “To think you so would be to write - myself down one, Miss Craven.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr Airey,” said she, “I am a woman. Long ago I was a - girl. You will thus believe me when I tell you that I never was frank in - all my life. I want to begin now.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, now I know the drift of your remark,” said he. “A - fool. Yes, you made a good beginning: but supposing that I were to be - frank, where would you be then?” - </p> - <p> - “I want you to begin also, Mr Airey,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “To begin? Oh, I made my start years ago—when I entered - Parliament,” said he. “I was perfectly frank with the - Opposition when I pointed out their mistakes. I have never yet been frank - with a friend, however. That is why I still have a few left.” - </p> - <p> - “You must be frank with me now; if you won’t it doesn’t - matter: I’ll be so to you. I admit that I behaved like an idiot; but - you were responsible for it—yes, largely.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a capital beginning. Now tell me what you have done or left - undone—above all, tell me where my responsibility comes in.” - </p> - <p> - “You like Harold Wynne?” - </p> - <p> - “You suggest that a mere liking involves a certain responsibility?” - </p> - <p> - “I love him.” - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens!” - </p> - <p> - “Why should you be startled at the confession when you have been - aware of the fact for some time?” - </p> - <p> - “I never met a frank woman before. It is very terrible. Perhaps I - shall get used to it.” - </p> - <p> - “Why will you not drop that tone?” she said, almost piteously. - “Cannot you see how serious the thing is to me?” - </p> - <p> - “It is quite as serious to me,” he replied. “Men have - confided in me—mostly fools—a woman never. Pray do not - continue in that strain.” - </p> - <p> - “Then find words for me—be frank.” - </p> - <p> - “I will. You mean to say, Miss Craven, that I think you a fool - because, acting on the hint which I somewhat vaguely, but really in good - faith, dropped, you tried to impersonate the figure of the legend at that - ridiculous cave. Is not that what you would say if you had the courage to - be thoroughly frank?” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said she, in a still weaker voice. “It is - not so easy being frank all in a moment.” - </p> - <p> - “No, not if one has accustomed oneself to—let us say good - manners,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “When I started for the boats after you had all left for that - nonsense at the village, I felt certain that you were my friend as well as - Harold Wynne’s, and that you had good reason for believing that he - would be about the cave shortly after our hour of dining. I’m not - very romantic.” - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me,” said he. “You are not quite frank. If you - were you would say that, while secretly romantic, you follow the example - of most young women nowadays in ridiculing romance.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite right,” she said. “I admitted just now that I - found it difficult to be frank all in a moment. Anyhow I believed that if - I were to play the part of the Wraith of the Cave within sight of Harold - Wynne, he might—oh, how could I have been such a fool? But you—you, - I say, were largely responsible for it, Mr. Airey.” She was now - speaking not merely reproachfully but fiercely. “Why should you drop - those hints—they were much more than hints—about his being so - deeply impressed with the romance—about his having gone to the cave - on the previous evening, if you did not mean me to act upon them?” - </p> - <p> - “I did mean you to act upon them,” said he. “I meant - that you and he should come together last night, and I know that if you - had come together, he would have asked you to marry him. I meant all that, - because I like him and I like you too—yes, in spite of your - frankness.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said she, giving him her hand. “You forgive - me for being angry just now?” - </p> - <p> - “The woman who is angry with a man without cause pays him the - greatest compliment in her power,” he remarked. “Fate was - against us.” - </p> - <p> - “You think that she is so very—very pretty?” said Miss - Craven. - </p> - <p> - “She?—fate?—I’ll tell you what I think. I think - that Harold Wynne has met with the greatest misfortune of his life.” - </p> - <p> - “If you believe that, I know that I have met with the greatest of my - life.” - </p> - <p> - The corner of the hall was almost wholly in shadow. The settee upon which - Mr. Airey and Miss Craven were sitting, was cut off from the rest of the - place by the thigh hone of the great skeleton elk. Between the ribs of the - creature, however, some rays of light passed from one of the lamps; and, - as Mr. Airey looked sympathetically into the face of his companion, he saw - the gleam of a tear upon her cheek. - </p> - <p> - He was deeply impressed—so deeply that some moments had passed - before he found himself wondering what she would say next. For a moment he - forgot to be on his guard, though if anyone had described the details of a - similar scene to him, he would probably have smiled while remarking that - when the lamplight gleams upon a tear upon the cheek of a young woman of - large experience, is just when a man needs most to be on his guard, He - felt in another moment, however, that something was coming. - </p> - <p> - He waited for it in silence. - </p> - <p> - It seemed to him in that pause that he was seated by the side of someone - whom he had never met before. The girl who was beside him seemed to have - nothing in common with Helen Craven. So greatly does a young woman change - when she becomes frank. - </p> - <p> - This is why so many husbands declare—when they are also frank—that - the young women whom they marry are in every respect different from the - young women who promise to be their wives. - </p> - <p> - “What is going to happen?” Helen asked him in a steady voice. - </p> - <p> - “God knows,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “I saw them together just after they left you this morning,” - said she. “I was at one of the windows of the Castle, they were far - along the terrace; but I’m sure that he said something to her about - her eyes.” - </p> - <p> - “I should not be surprised if he did,” said Edmund. “Her - eyes invite comment.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe that in spite of her eyes she is much the same as any - other girl.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that to the point?” he asked. He was a trifle disappointed - in her last sentence. It seemed to show him that, whatever Beatrice might - be, Helen was much the same as other girls. - </p> - <p> - “It is very much to the point,” said she. “If she is - like other girls she will hesitate before marrying a penniless man.” - </p> - <p> - “I agree with you,” said he. “But if she is like other - girls she will not hesitate to love a penniless man.” - </p> - <p> - “Possibly—if, like me, she can afford to do so. But I happen - to know that she cannot afford it. This brings me up to what has been on - my mind all day. You are, I know, my friend; you are Harold Wynne’s - also. Now, if you want to enable him to gratify his reasonable ambition—if - you want to make him happy—to make me happy—you will prevent - him from ever asking Beatrice Avon to marry him.” - </p> - <p> - “And I am prepared to do so much for him—for you—for - her. But how can I do it?” - </p> - <p> - “You can take her away from him. You know how such things are done. - You know that if a distinguished man such as you are, with a large income - such as you possess, gives a girl to understand that he is, let us say, - greatly interested in her, she will soon cease to be interested in any - undistinguished and penniless son of a reprobate peer who may be before - her eyes.” - </p> - <p> - “I have seen such a social phenomenon,” said he. “Does - your proposition suggest that I should marry the young woman with ‘a - gray eye or so’?” - </p> - <p> - “You may marry her if you please—that’s entirely a - matter for yourself. I don’t see any need for you to go that length. - Have I not kept my promise to be frank?” - </p> - <p> - “You have,” said he. - </p> - <p> - She had risen from the settee. She laid her hand on one of his that rested - on a projection of the old oak carving, and in another instant she was - laughing in front of Norah Innisfail, who was rendered even more proper - than usual through having become acquainted with Miss Stafford’s - notions of originality in verse-making. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0002" id="link2HBCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI.—ON THE ELEMENTS OF PARTY POLITICS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>R. AIREY was - actually startled by the suggestion which Miss Craven had made with, on - the whole, considerable tact as well as inconceivable frankness. - </p> - <p> - He had been considering all the afternoon the possibility of carrying out - the idea which it seemed Helen Craven had on her mind as well; but it had - never occurred to him that his purpose might be achieved through the means - suggested by the young woman who had just gone from his side. - </p> - <p> - His first impression was that the proposal made to him was the cruellest - that had ever come from one girl in respect of another girl. He had never - previously had an idea that a girl could be so heartless as to make such a - suggestion as that which had come from Helen Craven; but in the course of - a short space of time, he found it expedient to revise his first judgment - on this matter. Helen Craven meant to marry Harold—so much could - scarcely be doubted—and her marrying him would be the best thing - that could happen to him. She was anxious to prevent his marrying Miss - Avon; and surely this was a laudable aim, considering that marrying Miss - Avon would be the worst thing that could happen to him—and to Miss - Avon as well. - </p> - <p> - It might possibly be regarded as cruel by some third censors for Miss - Craven to suggest that he, Edmund, after leading the other girl to believe - that he was desirous of marrying her—or at least to believe that she - might have a chance of marrying him—might stop short. To be sure, - Miss Craven had not, with all her frankness, said that her idea was that - he should refrain from asking the other girl to marry him, but only that - the question was one that concerned himself alone. - </p> - <p> - He thought over this point for some time, and the conclusion he came to - was that, after all, whether or not the cynical indifference of the - suggestion amounted to absolute cruelty, the question concerned himself - alone. Even if he were not to ask her to marry him after leading her to - suppose that he intended doing so, he would at any rate have prevented her - from the misery of marrying Harold; and that was something for which she - might be thankful to him. He would also have saved her from the - degradation of receiving a proposal of marriage from Lord Fotheringay; and - that was also something for which she might be thankful to him. - </p> - <p> - Being a strictly party politician, he regarded expediency as the greatest - of all considerations. He was not devoid of certain scruples now and - again; but he was capable of weighing the probable advantages of yielding - to these scruples against the certain advantages of—well, of - throwing them to the winds. - </p> - <p> - For some minutes after Helen Craven had left him he subjected his scruples - to the balancing process, and the result was that he found they were as - nothing compared with the expediency of proceeding as Helen had told him - that it was advisable for him to proceed. - </p> - <p> - He made up his mind that he would save the girl—that was how he put - it to himself—and he would take extremely good care that he saved - himself as well. Marriage would not suit him. Of this he was certain. - People around him were beginning to be certain of it also. The mothers in - Philistia had practically come to regard him as a <i>quantité négligeable</i>. - The young women did not trouble themselves about him, after a while. It - would not suit him to marry a young woman with lustrous eyes, he said to - himself as he left his settee; but it would suit him to defeat the - machinations of Lord Fotheringay, and to induce his friend Harold Wynne to - pursue a sensible course. - </p> - <p> - He found himself by the side of Beatrice Avon before five minutes had - passed, and he kept her thoroughly amused for close upon an hour—he - kept her altogether to himself also, though many chances of leaving his - side were afforded the girl by considerate youths, and by one smiling - person who had passed the first bloom of youth and had reached that which - is applied by the cautious hare’s foot in the hand of a valet. - </p> - <p> - Before the hour of brandy-and-sodas and resplendent smoking-jackets had - come, the fact of his having kept Beatrice Avon so long entertained had - attracted some attention. - </p> - <p> - It had attracted the attention of Miss Craven, who commented upon it with - a confidential smile at Harold. It attracted the attention of Harold’s - father, who commented upon it with a leer and a sneer. It attracted the - attention of Lady Innisfail, who commented upon it with a smile that - caused the dainty dimple in her chin to assume the shape of the dot in a - well-made note of interrogation. - </p> - <p> - It also attracted the attention of quite a number of other persons, but - they reserved their comments, which was a wise thing for them to do. - </p> - <p> - As she said good-night to him, she seemed, Edmund Airey thought, to be a - trifle fascinated as well as fascinating. He felt that he had had a - delightful hour—it was far more delightful than the half hour which - he had passed on the settee at the rear of the skeleton elk. - </p> - <p> - His feeling in this matter simply meant that it was far more agreeable to - him to see a young woman admiring his cleverness than it was to admire the - cleverness of another young woman. - </p> - <p> - He enjoyed his smoke by the side of the judge; for when a man is absorbed - in the thoughts of his own cleverness he can still get a considerable - amount of passive enjoyment out of the story of How the Odds fell from - Thirteen to Five to Six to Four against Porcupine for some prehistoric - Grand National. - </p> - <p> - Harold Wynne now and again glanced across the hall at the man who - professed to be his best friend. He could perceive without much trouble - that Edmund Airey was particularly well pleased with himself. - </p> - <p> - This meant, he thought, that Edmund had been particularly well pleased - with Beatrice Avon. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay was too deeply absorbed in giving point to a story, - founded upon personal experience, which he was telling to his host, to - give a moment’s attention to Edmund Airey, or to make an attempt to - interpret his aspect. - </p> - <p> - It was only when his valet was putting him carefully to bed—he - required very careful handling—that he recollected the effective way - in which Airey had snubbed him, when he had made an honest attempt to - reach Miss Avon conversationally. - </p> - <p> - He now found time to wonder what Airey meant by preventing the girl from - being entertained—Lord Fotheringay assumed, as a matter of course, - that the girl had not been entertained—all the evening. He had no - head, however, for considering such a question in all its aspects. He only - resolved that in future he would take precious good care that when there - was any snubbing in the air, he would be the dispenser of it, not the - recipient. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay was not a man of genius, but upon occasions he could be - quite as disagreeable as if he were. He had studied the art of - administering snubs, and though he had never quite succeeded in snubbing a - member of Parliament of the same standing as Mr. Airey, yet he felt quite - equal to the duty, should he find it necessary to make an effort in this - direction. - </p> - <p> - He was sleeping the sleep of the reprobate, long before his son had - succeeded in sleeping the sleep of the virtuous. Harold had more to think - about, as well as more capacity of thinking, than his father. He was - puzzled at the attitude of his friend and counsellor, Edmund Airey. What - on earth could he have meant by appropriating Beatrice Avon, Harold - wondered. He assumed that Airey had some object in doing what he had done. - He knew that his friend was not the man to do anything without having an - object in view. Previously he had been discreet to an extraordinary degree - in his attitude toward women. He had never even made love to those matrons - to whom it is discreet to make love. If he had ever done so Harold knew - that he would have heard of it; for there is no fascination in making love - to other men’s wives, unless it is well known in the world that you - are doing so. The school-boy does not smoke his cigarette in private. The - fascination of the sin lies in his committing it so that it gets talked - about. - </p> - <p> - Yes, Airey had ever been discreet, Harold knew, and he quite failed to - account for his lapse—assuming that it was indiscreet to appropriate - Beatrice Avon for an hour, and to keep her amused all that time. - </p> - <p> - Harold himself had his own ideas of what was discreet in regard to young - women, and he had acted up to them. He did not consider that, so far as - the majority of young women were concerned, he should be accredited with - much self-sacrifice for his discretion. - </p> - <p> - Had a great temperance movement been set on foot in Italy in the days of - Cæsar Borgia, the total abstainers would not have earned commendation for - their self-sacrifice. Harold Wynne had been discreet in regard to most - women simply because he was afraid of them. He was afraid that he might - some day be led to ask one of them to marry him—one of them whom he - would regard as worse than a Borgia poison ever after. - </p> - <p> - The caution that he had displayed in respect of Helen Craven showed how - discreet he had accustomed himself to be. - </p> - <p> - He reflected, however, that in respect of Beatrice Avon he had thrown - discretion to the winds From the moment that he had drawn her hands to his - by the fishing line, he had given himself up to her. He had been without - the power to resist. - </p> - <p> - Might it not, then, be the same with Edmund Airey? Might not Edmund, who - had invariably been so guarded as to be wholly free from reproach so far - as women were concerned, have found it impossible to maintain that - attitude in the presence of Beatrice? - </p> - <p> - And if this was so, what would be the result? - </p> - <p> - This was the thought which kept Harold Wynne awake and uncomfortable for - several hours during that night. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0003" id="link2HBCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII.—ON THE WISDOM OF THE MATRONS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ADY INNISFAIL made - a confession to one of her guests—a certain Mrs. Burgoyne—who - was always delighted to play the <i>rôle</i> of receiver of confessions. - The date at which Lady Innisfail’s confession was made was three - days after the arrival of Beatrice Avon at the Castle, and its subject was - her own over-eagerness to secure a strange face for the entertainment of - her guests. - </p> - <p> - “I thought that the romantic charm which would attach to that girl, - who seemed to float up to us out of the mist—leaving her wonderful - eyes out of the question altogether—would interest all my guests,” - said she. - </p> - <p> - “And so it did, if I may speak for the guests,” said Mrs. - Burgoyne. “Yes, we were all delighted for nearly an entire day.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad that my aims were not wholly frustrated,” said Lady - Innisfail. “But you see the condition we are all in at present.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot deny it,” replied Mrs. Burgoyne, with a sigh. - “My dear, a new face is almost as fascinating as a new religion.” - </p> - <p> - “More so to some people—generally men,” said Lady - Innisfail. “But who could have imagined that a young thing like that—she - has never been presented, she tells me—should turn us all topsy - turvy?” - </p> - <p> - “She has a good deal in her favour,” remarked Mrs. Burgoyne. - “She is fresh, her face is strange, she neither plays, sings, nor - recites, and she is a marvellously patient listener.” - </p> - <p> - “That last comes through being the daughter of a literary man,” - said Lady Innisfail. “The wives and daughters of poets and - historians and the like are compelled to be patient listeners. They are - allowed to do nothing else.” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say. Anyhow that girl has made the most of her time since - she came among us.” - </p> - <p> - “She has. The worst of it is that no one could call her a flirt.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose not. But what do you call a girl who is attractive to all - men, and who makes all the men grumpy, except the one she is talking to?” - </p> - <p> - “I call her a—a clever girl,” replied Lady Innisfail. - “Don’t we all aim at that sort of thing?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps we did—once,” said Mrs. Burgoyne, who was a - year or two younger than her hostess. “I should hope that our aims - are different now. We are too old, are we not?—you and I—for - any man to insult us by making love to us.” - </p> - <p> - “A woman is never too old to be insulted, thank God,” said - Lady Innisfail; and Mrs. Burgoyne’s laugh was not the laugh of a - matron who is shocked. - </p> - <p> - “All the same,” added Lady Innisfail, “our pleasant - party threatens to become a fiasco, simply because I was over-anxious to - annex a new face. I had set my heart upon bringing Harold Wynne and Helen - Craven together; but now they have become hopelessly good friends.” - </p> - <p> - “She is very kind to him.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that’s the worst of it; she is kind and he is - indifferent—he treats her as if she were his favourite sister.” - </p> - <p> - “Are matters so bad as that?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite. But when the other girl is listening to what another man is - saying to her, Harold Wynne’s face is a study. He is as clearly in - love with the other girl as anything can be. That, old reprobate—his - father—has his aims too—horrid old creature! Mr. Durdan has - ceased to study the Irish question with a deep-sea cast of hooks in his - hand: he spends some hours every morning devising plans for spending as - many minutes by the side of Beatrice. I do believe that my dear husband - would have fallen a victim too, if I did not keep dinning into his ears - that Beatrice is the loveliest creature of our acquaintance. I lured him - on to deny it, and now we quarrel about it every night.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe Lord Innisfail rather dislikes her,” said Mrs. - Burgoyne. - </p> - <p> - “I’m convinced of it,” said Lady Innisfail. “But - what annoys me most is the attitude of Mr. Airey. He professed to be - Harold’s friend as well as Helen’s, and yet he insists on - being so much with Beatrice that Harold will certainly be led on to the - love-making point—” - </p> - <p> - “If he has not passed it already,” suggested Mrs. Burgoyne. - </p> - <p> - “If he has not passed it already; for I need scarcely tell you, my - dear Phil, that a man does not make love to a girl for herself alone, but - simply because other men make love to her.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course.” - </p> - <p> - “So that it is only natural that Harold should want to make love to - Beatrice when he is led to believe that Edmund Airey wants to marry her.” - </p> - <p> - “The young fool! Why could he not restrain his desire until Mr. - Airey has married her? But do you really think that Mr. Airey does want to - marry her?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe that Harold Wynne believes so—that is enough for - the present. Oh, no. You’ll not find me quite so anxious to annex a - strange face another time.” - </p> - <p> - From the report of this confidential duologue it may possibly be - perceived, first, that Lady Innisfail was a much better judge of the - motives and impulses of men than Miss Craven was; and, secondly, that the - presence of Beatrice at the Castle had produced a marked impression upon - the company beneath its roof. - </p> - <p> - It was on the evening of the day after the confidential duologue just - reported that there was an entertainment in the hall of the Castle. It - took the form of <i>tableaux</i> arranged after well-known pictures, and - there was certainly no lack of actors and actresses for the figures. - </p> - <p> - Mary Queen of Scots was, of course, led to execution, and Marie - Antoinette, equally as a matter of course, appeared in her prison. Then - Miss Stafford did her best to realize the rapt young woman in Mr. Sant’s - “The Soul’s Awaking”—Miss Stafford was very wide - awake indeed, some scoffer suggested; and Miss Innisfail looked extremely - pretty—a hostess’s daughter invariably looks pretty—as - “The Peacemaker” in Mr. Marcus Stone’s picture. - </p> - <p> - Beatrice Avon took no part in the <i>tableaux</i>—the other girls - had not absolutely insisted on her appearing beside them on the stage that - had been fitted up; they had an+ informal council together, Miss Craven - being stage-manager, and they had come to the conclusion that they could - get along very nicely without her assistance. - </p> - <p> - Some of them said that Beatrice preferred flirting with the men. However - this may have been, the fact remained that Harold, when he had washed the - paint off his face—he had been the ill-tempered lover, Miss Craven - being the young woman with whom he was supposed to have quarrelled, - requiring the interposition of a sweet Peacemaker in the person of Miss - Innisfail—went round by a corridor to the back of the hall, and - stood for a few minutes behind a ‘portiere that took the place of a - door at one of the entrances. The hall was, of course, dimly lighted to - make the contrast with the stage the greater, so that he could not see the - features of the man who was sitting on the chair at the end of the row - nearest the <i>portiere</i>; but the applause that greeted a reproduction - of the picture of a monk shaving himself, having previously used no other - soap than was supplied by a particular maker, had scarcely died away - before Harold heard the voice of Edmund Airey say, in a low and earnest - tone, to someone who was seated beside him, “I do hope that before - you go away, you will let me know where you will next pitch your tent. I - don’t want to lose sight of you.” - </p> - <p> - “If you wish I shall let you know when I learn it from my father,” - was the reply that Harold heard, clearly spoken in the voice of Beatrice - Avon. - </p> - <p> - Harold went back into the billowy folds of the tapestry curtain, and then - into the corridor. The words that he had overheard had startled him. Not - merely were the words spoken by Edmund Airey the same as he himself had - employed a few days before to Beatrice, but her reply was practically the - same as the reply which she had made to him. - </p> - <p> - When the last of the figurantes had disappeared from the stage, and when - the buzz of congratulations was sounding through the hall, now fully - lighted, Harold was nowhere to be seen. - </p> - <p> - Only a few of the most earnest of the smokers were still in the hall when, - long past midnight, he appeared at the door leading to the outer hall or - porch. His shoes were muddy and his shirt front was pulpy, for the night - was a wet one. - </p> - <p> - He explained to his astonished friends that it was invariably the case - that putting paint and other auxiliaries to “making up” on his - face, brought on a headache, which he had learned by experience could only - be banished by a long walk in the open air. - </p> - <p> - Well, he had just had such a walk. - </p> - <p> - He did not expect that his explanation would carry any weight with it; and - the way he was looked at by his friends made him aware of the fact that, - in giving them credit for more sense than to believe him, he was doing - them no more than the merest justice. - </p> - <p> - No one who was present on his return placed the smallest amount of - credence in his story. What many of them did believe was of no - consequence. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0004" id="link2HBCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII.—ON THE ATLANTIC. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE boats were - scattered like milestones—as was stated by Brian—through the - sinuous length of Lough Suangorm. The cutter yacht <i>Acushla</i> was - leading the fleet out to the Atlantic, with two reefs in her mainsail, and - although she towed a large punt, and was by no means a fast boat, she had - no difficulty in maintaining her place, the fact being that the half-dozen - boats that lumbered after her were mainly fishing craft hailing from the - village of Cairndhu, and, as all the world knows, these are not built for - speed but endurance. They are half-decked and each carries a lug sail. One - of the legends of the coast is that when a lug sail is new its colour is - brown, and as a new sail is never seen at Cairndhu there are no means of - finding out if the story is true or false. The sails, as they exist, are - kaleidoscopic in their patchwork. It is understood that anything will - serve as a patch for a lug sail. Sometimes the centre-piece of an old coat - has been used for this purpose; but if so, it is only fair to state that - it is on record that the centre-piece of an old sail has been shaped into - a jacket for the ordinary wearing of a lad. - </p> - <p> - The lug sail may yet find its way into a drawing room in Belgravia and - repose side by side with the workhouse sheeting which occupies an honoured - place in that apartment. - </p> - <p> - On through the even waves that roll from between the headlands at the - entrance, to the little strand of pebbles at the end of the lough, the - boats lumbered. The sea and sky were equally gray, but now and again a - sudden gleam of sunshine would come from some unsuspected rift in the - motionless clouds, and fly along the crests of the waves, revealing a - green transparency for an instant, and then, flashing upon the sails, make - apparent every patch in their expanse, just as a flash of lightning on a - dark night reveals for a second every feature of a broad landscape. - </p> - <p> - As the first vessel of the little fleet, pursuing an almost direct course - in spite of the curving of the shores of the Irish fjord, approached one - coast and then the other, the great rocks that appeared snow-white, with - only a dab of black here and there, became suddenly all dark, and the air - was filled with what seemed like snow flakes. The cries of the innumerable - sea birds, that whirled about the disturbing boat before they settled and - the rocks became gradually white once more, had a remarkable effect when - heard against that monotonous background, so to speak, of rolling waves. - </p> - <p> - The narrow lough was a gigantic organ pipe through which the mighty bass - of the Atlantic roared everlastingly. - </p> - <p> - But when the headlands at the entrance were reached, the company who sat - on the weather side of the cutter <i>Acushla</i> became aware of a - commingling of sounds. The organ voice of the lough only filled up the - intervals between the tremendous roar of the lion-throated waves that - sprang with an appalling force half way up the black faces of the sheer - cliffs, and broke in mid-air. All day long and all night long those - inexhaustible billows come rushing upon that coast; and watching them and - listening to them one feels how mean are contemporary politics as well as - other things. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the Irish question,” remarked Lord Innisfail, - who was steering his own cutter. - </p> - <p> - He nodded in the direction of the waves that were clambering up the - headlands. What he meant exactly he might have had difficulty in - explaining. - </p> - <p> - “Very true, very true,” said Mr. Durdan, sagaciously, hoping - to provoke Mr. Airey to reply, and thinking it likely that he would learn - from Mr. Airey’s reply what was Lord Innisfail’s meaning. - </p> - <p> - But Mr. Airey, who had long ago become acquainted with Mr. Durdan’s - political methods, did not feel it incumbent on him to make the attempt to - grapple with the question—if it was a question—suggested by - Lord Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - The metaphor of a host should not, he knew, be considered too curiously. - Like the wit of a police-court magistrate, it should be accepted with - effusion. - </p> - <p> - “Stand by that foresheet,” said Lord Innisfail to one of the - yacht’s hands. “We’ll heave to until the other craft - come up.” - </p> - <p> - In a few moments the cutter had all way off her, and was simply tumbling - about among the waves in a way that made some of the ship’s company - hold their breath and think longingly of pale brandy. - </p> - <p> - The cruise of the <i>Acushla</i> and the appearance of the fleet of boats - upon the lough were due to the untiring energy of Lady Innisfail and to - the fact that at last Brian, the boatman, had, by the help of Father Conn, - come to grasp something of the force of the phrase “local colour”. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail was anxious that her guests should carry away certain - definite impressions of their sojourn at the Connaught castle beyond those - that may be acquired at any country-house, which everyone knows may be - comprised in a very few words. A big shoot, and an incipient scandal - usually constitute the record of a country-house entertainment. Now, it - was not that Lady Innisfail objected to a big shoot or an incipient - scandal—she admitted that both were excellent in their own way—but - she hoped to do a great deal better for her guests. She hoped to impart to - their visit some local colour. - </p> - <p> - She had hung on to the wake and the eviction, as has already been told, - with pertinacity. The <i>fête</i> which she believed was known to the - Irish peasantry as the Cruiskeen, had certainly some distinctive features; - though just as she fancied that the Banshee was within her grasp, it had - vanished into something substantial—this was the way she described - the scene on the cliffs. Although her guests said they were very well - satisfied with what they had seen and heard, adding that they had come to - the conclusion that if the Irish had only a touch of humour they would be - true to the pictures that had been drawn of them, still Lady Innisfail was - not satisfied. - </p> - <p> - Of course if Mr. Airey were to ask Miss Avon to marry him, her house-party - would be talked about during the winter. But she knew that it is the - marriages which do not come off that are talked about most; and, after - all, there is no local colour in marrying or giving in marriage, and she - yearned for local colour. Brian, after a time, came to understand - something of her ladyship’s yearnings. Like the priest and the other - inhabitants, he did not at first know what she wanted. - </p> - <p> - It is difficult to impress upon Fuzzy-wuzzy that he would be regarded as a - person of distinction in the Strand and as an idol in Belgravia. At his - home in the Soudan he is a very commonplace sort of person. So in the - region of Lough Suangorm, but a casual interest attaches to the caubeen, - which in Piccadilly would be followed by admiring crowds, and would - possibly be dealt with in Evening Editions. - </p> - <p> - But, as has just been said, Brian and his friends in due time came to - perceive the spectacular value to her ladyship’s guests of the most - commonplace things of the country; and it was this fact that induced Brian - to tell three stories of a very high colour to Mr. Airey and Mr. Wynne. - </p> - <p> - It was also his appreciation of her ladyship’s wants that caused him - to suggest to her the possibility of a seal-hunt constituting an element - of attraction—these were not the exact words employed by the boatman—to - some of her ladyship’s guests. - </p> - <p> - It is scarcely necessary to say that Lady Innisfail was delighted with the - suggestion. Some of her guests pretended that they also were delighted - with it, though all that the majority wanted was to be let alone. Still, - upon the afternoon appointed for the seal-hunt a considerable number of - the Castle party went aboard the yacht. Beatrice was one of the few girls - who were of the party. Helen would have dearly liked to go also; she would - certainly have gone if she had not upon one—only one—previous - occasion allowed herself to be persuaded to sail out to the headlands. She - was wise enough not to imperil her prospects for the sake of being - drenched with sea water. - </p> - <p> - She wondered—she did not exactly hope it—if it was possible - for Beatrice Avon to become seasick. - </p> - <p> - This was how upon that gray afternoon, the fleet of boats sailed out to - where the yacht was thumping about among the tremendous waves beyond the - headlands that guard the entrance to Lough Suangorm. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0005" id="link2HBCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV.—ON THE CHANCE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN the fishing - boats came within half a cable’s length of the cutter, Lord - Innisfail gave up the tiller to Brian, who was well qualified to be the - organizer of the expedition, having the reputation of being familiar with - the haunts and habits of the seals that may be found—by such as know - as much about them as Brian—among the great caves that pierce for - several miles the steep cliffs of the coast. - </p> - <p> - The responsibility of steering a boat under the headlands, either North or - South, was not sought by Lord Innisfail. For perhaps three hundred and - fifty days in every year it would be impossible to approach the cliffs in - any craft; but as Brian took the tiller he gave a knowing glance around - the coast and assured his lordship that it was a jewel of a day for a - seal-hunt, and added that it was well that he had brought only the largest - of the fishing boats, for anything smaller would sink with the weight of - the catch of seals. - </p> - <p> - He took in the slack of the main sheet and sent the cutter flying direct - to the Northern headland, the luggers following in her wake, though - scarcely preserving stations or distances with that rigorous naval - precision which occasionally sends an ironclad to the bottom. - </p> - <p> - The man-of-war may run upon a reef, and the country may be called on to - pay half a million for the damage; but it can never be said that she fails - to maintain her station prescribed by the etiquette of the Royal Navy in - following the flagship, which shows that the British sailor, wearing - epaulettes, is as true as the steel that his ship is made of, and a good - deal truer than that of some of the guns which he is asked to fire. - </p> - <p> - In a short time the boats had cleared the headland, and it seemed to some - of the cutter’s company as if they were given an opportunity of - looking along the whole west coast of Ireland in a moment. Northward and - southward, like a study in perspective, the lines of indented cliffs - stretched until they dwindled away into the gray sky. The foam line that - was curved as it curled around the enormous rocks close at hand, was - straightened out in the distance and never quite disappeared. - </p> - <p> - “Talk of the Great Wall of China,” said Lord Innisfail, - pointing proudly to the splendid chain of cliffs. “Talk of the Great - Wall of China indeed! What is it compared with that?” - </p> - <p> - He spoke as proudly as if he owned everything within that line of cliffs, - though he thanked heaven every night that he only owned a few thousand - acres in Ireland. - </p> - <p> - “What indeed—what indeed?” said Mr. Durdan. - </p> - <p> - One of the men thought the moment opportune for airing a theory that he - had to the effect that the Great Wall of China was not built by the - Chinese to keep the surrounding nations out, but by the surrounding - nations to keep the Chinese in. - </p> - <p> - It was a feasible theory, suggesting that the Chinese immigration question - existed among the Thibetans some thousands of years ago, to quite as great - an extent as it does in some other directions to-day. But it requires to - be a very strong theory to stand the strain of the Atlantic waves and a - practically unlimited view of the coast of Ireland. So no discussion - arose. - </p> - <p> - Already upon some of the flat rocks at the entrance to the great caves the - black head of a seal might be seen. It did not remain long in view, - however. Brian had scarcely pointed it out with a whisper to such persons - as were near him, when it disappeared. - </p> - <p> - “It’s the wary boys they are, to be sure!” he remarked - confidentially. - </p> - <p> - His boldness in steering among the rocks made some persons more than - usually thoughtful. Fortunately the majority of those aboard the cutter - knew nothing of his display of skill. They remained quite unaware of the - jagged rocks that the boat just cleared; and when he brought the craft to - the lee of a cliff, which formed a natural breakwater and a harbour of - ripples, none of these people seemed surprised. - </p> - <p> - Lord Innisfail and a few yachtsmen who knew something of sailing, drew - long breaths. They knew what they had escaped. - </p> - <p> - One of the hands got into the punt and took a line to the cliff to moor - the yacht when the sails had been lowered, and by the time that the - mooring was effected, the other boats had come into the natural harbour—it - would have given protection—that is, natural protection, to a couple - of ironclads—no power can protect them from their own commanders. - </p> - <p> - “Now, my lard,” said Brian, who seemed at last to realize his - responsibilities, “all we’ve got to do is to grab the - craythurs; but that same’s a caution. We’ll be at least an - hour-and-a-half in the caves, and as it will be cold work, and maybe wet - work, maybe some of their honours wouldn’t mind standing by the - cutter.” - </p> - <p> - The suggestion was heartily approved of by some of the yacht’s - company. Lady Innisfail said she was perfectly satisfied with such local - colour as was available without leaving the yacht, and it was understood - that Miss Avon would remain by her side. Mr. Airey said he thought he - could face with cheerfulness a scheme of existence that did not include - sitting with varying degrees of uneasiness in a small boat while other men - speared an inoffensive seal. - </p> - <p> - “Such explanations are not for the Atlantic Ocean,” said - Harold, getting over the side of the yacht into the punt that Brian had - hauled close—Lord Innisfail was already in the bow. - </p> - <p> - In a short time, by the skilful admiralship of Brian, the other boats, - which were brought up from the luggers, were manned, and their stations - were assigned to them, one being sent to explore a cave a short distance - off, while another was to remain at the entrance to pick up any seals that - might escape. The same plan was adopted in regard to the great cave, the - entrance to which was close to where the yacht was moored. Brian arranged - that his boat should enter the cave, while another, fully manned, should - stand by the rocks to capture the refugees. - </p> - <p> - All the boats then started for their stations—all except the punt - with Brian at the yoke lines, Harold and Mr. Durdan in the stern sheets, - one of the hands at the paddles, and Lord Innisfail in the bows; for when - this craft was about to push off, Brian gave an exclamation of discontent. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter now?” asked Lord Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - “Plenty’s the matter, my lard,” said Brian. “The - sorra a bit of luck we’ll have this day if we leave the ladies - behind us.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we must put up with bad luck,” said Lord Innisfail. - “Go down on your knees to her ladyship and ask her to come with us - if you think that will do any good.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, her ladyship would come without prayers if she meant to,” - said Brian. “But it’s Miss Avon that’s open to entreaty. - For the love of heaven and the encouragement of sport, step into the boat, - Sheila, and you’ll have something to talk about for the rest of your - life.” - </p> - <p> - Beatrice shook her head at the appeal, but that wouldn’t do for - Brian. “Look, my lady, look at her eyes, aren’t they just - jumping out of her head like young trout in a stream in May?” he - cried to Lady Innisfail. “Isn’t she waiting for you to say the - word to let her come, an’ not a word does any gentleman in the boat - speak on her behalf.” - </p> - <p> - The gentlemen remained dumb, but Lady Innisfail declared that if Miss Avon - was not afraid of a wetting and cared to go in the boat, there was no - reason why she should not do so. - </p> - <p> - In another moment Beatrice had stepped into the punt and it had pushed off - with a cheer from Brian. The men in the other boats, now in the distance, - hearing the cheer, but without knowing why it arose, sent back an answer - that aroused the thousand echoes of the cliffs and the ten thousand sea - birds that arose in a cloud from every crevice of the rocks. Thus it was - that the approach of the boat to the great cave did not take place in - silence. - </p> - <p> - Harold had not uttered a word. He had not even looked at Edmund Airey’s - face to see what expression it wore when Beatrice stepped into the boat. - </p> - <p> - “Did you ever hear anything like Airey’s roundabout phrase - about a scheme of existence?” said Mr. Durdan. - </p> - <p> - “It is his way of putting a simple matter,” said Harold. - “You heard of the man who, in order to soften down the fact that a - girl had what are colloquially known as beetle-crushers, wrote that her - feet tended to increase the mortality among coleoptera?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid that the days of the present government are - numbered,” said Mr. Durdan, who seemed to think that the remark was - in logical sequence with Harold’s story. - </p> - <p> - Beatrice looked wonderingly at the speaker; it was some moments before she - found an echo in the expression on Harold’s face to what she felt. - </p> - <p> - The man who could think of such things as the breaking up of a government, - when floating in thirty fathoms of green sea, beneath the shadow of such - cliffs as the boat was approaching, was a mystery to the girl, though she - was the daughter of one of the nineteenth century historians, to whom - nothing is a mystery. - </p> - <p> - The boat entered the great cave without a word being spoken by any one - aboard, and in a few minutes it was being poled along in semi-darkness. - The lapping of the swell from the entrance against the sides of the cave - sounded on through the distance of the interior, and from those mysterious - depths came strange sounds of splashing water, of dropping stalactites, - and now and again a mighty sob of waves choked within a narrow vent. - </p> - <p> - Silently the boat was forced onward, and soon all light from the entrance - was obscured. Through total darkness the little craft crept for nearly - half a mile. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly a blaze of light shot up with startling effect in the bows of the - boat. It only came from a candle that Brian had lit: but its gleam was - reflected in millions of stalactites into what seemed an interminable - distance—millions of stalactites on the roof and the walls, and - millions of ripples beneath gave back the gleam, until the boat appeared - to be the centre of a vast illumination. - </p> - <p> - The dark shadows of the men who were using the oars as poles, danced about - the brilliant roof and floor of the cave, adding to the fantastic charm of - the scene. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” said Brian, in a whisper, “these craythurs don’t - understand anything that’s said to them unless by a human being, so - we’ll need to be silent enough. We’ll be at the first ledge - soon, and there maybe you’ll wait with the lady, Mr. Wynne—you’re - heavier than Mr. Durdan, and every inch of water that the boat draws is - worth thinking about. I’ll leave a candle with you, but not a word - must you speak.” - </p> - <p> - “All right,” said Harold. “You’re the manager of - the expedition; we must obey you; but I don’t exactly see where my - share in the sport comes in.” - </p> - <p> - “I’d explain it all if I could trust myself to speak,” - said Brian. “The craythurs has ears.” The ledge referred to by - him was reached in silence. It was perhaps six inches above the water, and - in an emergency it might have afforded standing room for three persons. So - much Harold saw by the light of the candle that the boatman placed in a - niche of rock four feet above the water. - </p> - <p> - At a sign from Brian, Harold got upon the ledge and helped Beatrice out of - the boat. - </p> - <p> - The light of the candle that was in the bow of the boat gleamed upon the - figure of a man naked from the waist up, and wearing a hard round hat with - a candle fastened to the brim. - </p> - <p> - Harold knew that this was the costume of the seal-hunter of the Western - caves, for he had had a talk with Brian on the subject, and had learned - that only by swimming with a lighted candle on his forehead for a quarter - of a mile, the hunter could reach the sealing ground at the termination of - the cave. - </p> - <p> - Without a word being spoken, the boat went on, and its light soon - glimmered mysteriously in the distance. - </p> - <p> - Harold and Beatrice stood side by side on the narrow ledge of rock and - watched the dwindling of the light. The candle that was on the niche of - rock almost beside them seemed dwindling also. It had become the merest - spark. Harold saw that Brian had inadvertently placed it so that the - dripping of the water from the roof sent flecks of damp upon the wick. - </p> - <p> - He stretched out his hand to shift it to another place, but before he - could touch it, a large stalactite dropped upon it, and not only - extinguished it, but sent it into the water with a splash. - </p> - <p> - The little cry that came from the girl as the blackness of darkness closed - upon them, sounded to his ears as a reproach. - </p> - <p> - “I had not touched it,” said he. “Something dropped from - the roof upon it. You don’t mind the darkness?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no—no,” said she, doubtfully. “But we were - commanded to be dumb.” - </p> - <p> - “That command was given on the assumption that the candle would - continue burning—now the conditions are changed,” said he, - with a sophistry that would have done credit to a cabinet minister. - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” said she. - </p> - <p> - There was a considerable pause before she asked him how long he thought it - would be before the boat would return. - </p> - <p> - He declined to bind himself to any expression of opinion on the subject. - </p> - <p> - Then there was another pause, filled up only by the splash of something - falling from the roof—by the wash of the water against the smooth - rock. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder how it has come about that I am given a chance of speaking - to you at last?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “At last?” said she, repeating his words in the same tone of - inquiry. - </p> - <p> - “I say at last, because I have been waiting for such an opportunity - for some time, but it did not come. I don’t suppose I was clever - enough to make my opportunity, but now it has come, thank God.” - </p> - <p> - Again there was silence. He seemed to think that he had said something - requiring a reply from her, but she did not speak. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you would believe me when I say that I love you,” - he remarked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she replied, as naturally as though he had asked her - what she thought of the weather. “Yes, I think I would believe you. - If you did not love me—if I was not sure that you loved me, I should - be the most miserable girl in all the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Great God!” he cried. “You do not mean to say that you - love me, Beatrice?” - </p> - <p> - “If you could only see my face now, you would know it,” said - she. “My eyes would tell you all—no, not all—that is in - my heart.” - </p> - <p> - He caught her hands, after first grasping a few handfuls of clammy rock, - for the hands of the truest lovers do not meet mechanically. - </p> - <p> - “I see them,” he whispered—“I see your eyes - through the darkness. My love, my love!” - </p> - <p> - He did not kiss her. His soul revolted from the idea of the commonplace - kiss in the friendly secrecy of the darkness. - </p> - <p> - There are opportunities and opportunities. He believed that if he had - kissed her then she would never have forgiven him, and he was right. - “What a fool I was!” he cried. “Two nights ago, when I - overheard a man tell you, as I had told you long ago—so long ago—more - than a week ago—that he did not want you to pass out of his sight—when - I heard you make the same promise to him as you had made to me, I felt as - if there was nothing left for me in the world. I went out into the - darkness, and as I stood at the place when I first saw you, I thought that - I should be doing well if I were to throw myself headlong down those rocks - into the sea that the rain was beating upon. Beatrice, God only knows if - it would be better or worse for you if I had thrown myself down—if I - were to leave you standing alone here now.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not say those words—they are like the words I asked you - before not to say. Even then your words meant everything to me. They mean - everything to me still.” - </p> - <p> - He gave a little laugh. Triumph rang through it. He did not seem to think - that his laughter might sound incongruous to her. - </p> - <p> - “This is my hour,” he said. “Whatever fate may have in - store for me it cannot make me unlive this hour. And to think that I had - got no idea that such an hour should ever come to me—that you should - ever come to me, my beloved! But you came to me. You came to me when I had - tried to bring myself to feel that there was something worth living for in - the world apart from love.” - </p> - <p> - “And now?” - </p> - <p> - “And now—and now—now I know that there is nothing but - love that is worth living for. What is your thought, Beatrice—tell - me all that is in your heart?” - </p> - <p> - “All—all?” She now gave the same little laugh that he - had given. She felt that her turn had come. - </p> - <p> - She gave just the same laugh when his feeling of triumph had given place - to a very different feeling—when he had told her that he was a - pauper—that he had no position in the world—that he was - dependent upon his father for every penny that he had to spend, with the - exception of a few hundred pounds a year, which he inherited from his - mother—that it was an act of baseness on his part to tell her that - he loved her. - </p> - <p> - He had plenty of time for telling her all this, and for explaining his - position thoroughly, for nearly an hour had passed before a gleam of light - and a hail from the furthest recesses of the cave, made them aware of the - fact that other interests than theirs existed in the world. - </p> - <p> - And yet when he had told her all that he had to tell to his disadvantage, - she gave that little laugh of triumph. He would have given a good deal to - be able to see the expression which he knew was in those wonderful eyes of - hers, as that laugh came from her. - </p> - <p> - Not being able to do so, however, he could only crush her hands against - his lips and reply to the boat’s hail. - </p> - <p> - Brian, on hearing of the mishap to the candle, delivered a torrent of - execration against himself. It took Harold some minutes to bring himself - up to the point of Lord Innisfail’s enthusiasm on the subject of - seal-fishing. Five excellent specimens were in the bottom of the boat, and - the men who had swum after them were there also. A strong odour of whiskey - was about them; and the general idea that prevailed was that they would - not suffer from a chill, though they had been in the water for three - quarters of an hour. - </p> - <p> - As the other boats only succeeded in capturing three seals among them all, - Brian had statistics to bear out his contention that the presence of - Beatrice had brought luck to his boat. - </p> - <p> - He pocketed two sovereigns which Harold handed him when the boats returned - to the mooring-place, and he was more profuse than ever in his abuse of - his own stupidity in placing the candle so as to be affected by the damp - from the roof. - </p> - <p> - His eyes twinkled all the time in a way that made Harold’s cheeks - red. - </p> - <p> - The judge found Miss Avon somewhat <i>distraite</i> after dinner that - night. He became pensive in consequence. He wondered if she thought him - elderly. - </p> - <p> - He did not mind in the least growing old, but the idea of being thought - elderly was abhorrent to him. - </p> - <p> - The next day Beatrice and her father returned to their cottage at the - other side of the lough. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0006" id="link2HBCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV.—ON THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE REPROBATE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>OMETHING - remarkable had occurred. Lord Fotheringay had been for a fortnight under - one roof without disgracing himself. - </p> - <p> - The charitable people said he was reforming. - </p> - <p> - The others said he was aging rapidly. - </p> - <p> - The fact remained the same, however: he had been a fortnight at the Castle - and he had not yet disgraced himself. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burgoyne congratulated Lady Innisfail upon this remarkable - occurrence, and Lady Innisfail began to hope that it might get talked - about. If her autumn party at Castle Innisfail were to be talked about in - connection with the reform of Lord Fotheringay, much more interest would - be attached to the party and the Castle than would be the result of the - publication of the statistics of a gigantic shoot. Gigantic shoots did - undoubtedly take place on the Innisfail Irish property, but they - invariably took place before the arrival of Lord Innisfail and his guests, - and the statistics were, for obvious reasons, not published. They only - leaked out now and again. - </p> - <p> - The most commonplace people might enjoy the reputation attaching to the - careful preservation and the indiscriminate slaughter of game; but Lady - Innisfail knew that the distinction accruing from a connection with a - social scandal of a really high order, or with a great social reform—either - as regards a hardened reprobate or an afternoon toilet—was something - much greater. - </p> - <p> - Of course, she understood perfectly well that in England the Divorce Court - is the natural and legitimate medium for attaining distinction in the form - of a Special Edition and a pen and ink portrait; but she had seen great - things accomplished by the rumour of an unfair game of cards, as well as - by a very daring skirt dance. - </p> - <p> - Next to a high-class scandal, the discovery of a new religion was a means - of reaching eminence, she knew. With the exact social value attaching to - the Reform of a Hardened Reprobate, she was as yet unacquainted, the fact - being that she had never had any experience of such an incident—it - was certainly very rare in the society in which she moved, so that it is - not surprising that she was not prepared to say at a moment how much it - would count in the estimation of the world. - </p> - <p> - But if the Reform of a Reprobate—especially a reprobate with a title—was - so rare as to be uncatalogued, so to speak, surely it should be of - exceptional value as a social incident. Should it not partake of the - prestige which attaches to a rare occurrence? - </p> - <p> - This was the way that Mrs. Burgoyne put the matter to her friend and - hostess, and her friend and hostess was clever enough to appreciate the - force of her phrases. She began to perceive that although Lord Fotheringay - had come to the Castle on the slenderest of invitations, and simply - because it suited his purpose—although she had been greatly annoyed - at his sudden appearance at the Castle, still good might come of it. - </p> - <p> - She did not venture to estimate from the standpoint of the moralist, the - advantages accruing to the Reformed Reprobate himself from the incident of - his reform, she merely looked at the matter from the standpoint of the - woman of society—which is something quite different—desirous - of attaining a certain social distinction. - </p> - <p> - Thus it was that Lady Innisfail took to herself the credit of the Reform - of the Reprobate, and petted the reprobate accordingly, giving no - attention whatever to the affairs of his son. These affairs, interesting - though they had been to her some time before, now became insignificant - compared with the Great Reform. - </p> - <p> - She even went the length of submitting to be confided in by Lord - Fotheringay; and she heard, with genuine interest, from his own lips that - he considered the world in general to be hollow. He had found it so. He - had sounded the depths of its hollowness. He had found that in all grades - of society there was much evil. The working classes—he had studied - the question of the working man not as a parliamentary candidate, - consequently honestly—drank too much beer. They sought happiness - through the agency of beer; but all the beer produced by all the brewers - in the House of Lords would not bring happiness to the working classes. As - for the higher grades of society—the people who were guilty of - partaking of unearned increment—well, they were wrong too. He - thought it unnecessary to give the particulars of the avenues through - which they sought happiness. But they were all wrong. The domestic life—there, - and there only, might one find the elements of true happiness. He knew - this because he had endeavoured to reach happiness by every other avenue - and had failed in his endeavours. He now meant to supply his omission, and - he regretted that it had never occurred to him to do so before. Yes, some - poet or other had written something or other on the subject of the great - charm of a life of domesticity, and Lord Fotheringay assured Lady - Innisfail in confidence that that poet was right. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail sighed and said that the Home—the English Home—with - its simple pleasures and innocent mirth, was where the Heart—the - English Heart—was born. What happiness was within the reach of all - if they would only be content with the Home! Society might be all very - well in its way. There were duties to be discharged—every rank in - life carried its duties with it; but how sweet it was, after one had - discharged one’s social obligations, to find a solace in the - retirement of Home. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay lifted up his hands and said “Ah—ah,” - in different cadences. - </p> - <p> - Lady Innisfail folded her hands and shook her head with some degree of - solemnity. She felt confident that if Lord Fotheringay was in earnest, her - autumn party would be talked about with an enthusiasm surpassing that - which would attach to the comments on any of the big shoots in Scotland, - or in Yorkshire, or in Wales. - </p> - <p> - But when Lord Fotheringay had an opportunity of conversing alone with Mr. - Airey, he did not think it necessary to dwell upon the delights which he - had begun to perceive might be found in a life of pure domesticity. He - took the liberty of reminding Mr. Airey of the conversation they had on - the morning after Miss Avon’s arrival at the Castle. - </p> - <p> - “Had we a conversation then, Lord Fotheringay?” said Mr. - Airey, in a tone that gave Lord Fotheringay to understand that if any - contentious point was about to be discussed, it would rest with him to - prove everything. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we had a conversation,” said Lord Fotheringay. “I - was foolish enough to make a confidant of you.” - </p> - <p> - “If you did so, you certainly were foolish,” said Edmund, - quietly. - </p> - <p> - “I have been keeping my eyes open and my ears open as well, during - the past ten days,” said Lord Fotheringay, with a leer that was - meant to be significant. Edmund Airey, however, only took it to signify - that Lord Fotheringay could easily be put into a very bad temper. He said - nothing, but allowed Lord Fotheringay to continue. “Yes, let me tell - you that when I keep both eyes and ears open not much escapes me. I have - seen and heard a good deal. You are a clever sort of person, friend Airey; - but you don’t know the world as I know it.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no—as you know it—ah, no,” remarked Mr. - Airey. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay was a trifle put out by the irritating way in which the - words were spoken. Still, the pause he made was not of long duration. - </p> - <p> - “You have your game to play, like other people, I suppose,” he - resumed, after the little pause. - </p> - <p> - “You are at liberty to suppose anything you please, my dear Lord - Fotheringay,” said Mr. Airey, with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” said Lord Fotheringay, adopting quite another tone. - “Come, Airey, speaking as man to man, wasn’t it a confoundedly - shabby trick for you to play upon me—getting me to tell you that I - meant to marry that young thing—to save her from unhappiness, Airey?” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” said Airey. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” said Lord Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - “You didn’t complete your sentence. Was the shabby trick - accepting your confidence?” - </p> - <p> - “The shabby trick was trying to win the affection of the young woman - after I had declared to you my intention.” - </p> - <p> - “That was the shabby trick, was it?” - </p> - <p> - “I have no hesitation in saying that it was.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. I hope that you have nothing more to confide in me - beside this—your confidences have so far been singularly - uninteresting.” - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay got really angry. - </p> - <p> - “Let me tell you—” he began, but he was stopped by - Airey. - </p> - <p> - “No, I decline to let you tell me anything,” said he. “You - accused me just now of being so foolish as to listen to your confidences. - I, perhaps, deserved the reproach. But I should be a fool if I were to - give you another chance of levelling the same accusation against me. You - will have to force your confidences on someone else in future, unless such - as concern your liver. You confided in me that your liver wasn’t - quite the thing. How is it to-day?” - </p> - <p> - “I understand your tactics,” said Lord Fotheringay, with a - snap. “And I’ll take good care to make others acquainted with - them also,” he added. “Oh, no, Mr. Airey; I wasn’t born - yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “To that fact every Peerage in the kingdom bears testimony,” - said Mr. Airey. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay had neglected his cigar. It had gone out. He now took - three or four violent puffs at it; he snapped it from between his teeth, - looked at the end, and then dropped it on the ground and stamped on it. - </p> - <p> - “It was your own fault,” said Airey. “Try one of mine, - and don’t bother yourself with other matters.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll bother myself with what I please,” said Lord - Fotheringay with a snarl. - </p> - <p> - But he took Mr. Airey’s cigar, and smoked it to the end. He knew - that Mr. Airey smoked Carolinas. - </p> - <p> - This little scene took place outside the Castle before lunch on the second - day after the departure of Mr. Avon and his daughter; and, after lunch, - Lord Fotheringay put on a yachting jacket and cap, and announced his - intention of having a stroll along the cliffs. His doctor had long ago - assured him, he said, that he did not take sufficient exercise nor did he - breathe enough fresh air. He meant in future to put himself on a strict - regimen in this respect, and would begin at once. - </p> - <p> - He was allowed to carry out his intention alone—indeed he did not - hint that his medical adviser had suggested company as essential to the - success of any scheme of open air exercise. - </p> - <p> - The day was a breezy one, and the full force of the wind was felt at the - summit of the cliff coast; but like many other gentlemen who dread being - thought elderly, he was glad to seize every opportunity of showing that he - was as athletic as the best of the young fellows; so he strode along, - gasping and blowing with quite as much fresh air in his face as the most - exacting physician could possibly have prescribed for a single dose. - </p> - <p> - He made his way to the mooring-place of the boats, and he found Brian in - the boat-house engaged in making everything snug. - </p> - <p> - He was very civil to Brian, and after a transfer of coin, inquired about - the weather. - </p> - <p> - There was a bit of a draught of wind in the lough, Brian said, but it was - a fine day for a sail. Would his lardship have a mind for a bit of a sail? - The <i>Acushla</i> was cruising, but the <i>Mavourneen</i>, a neat little - craft that sailed like a swallow, was at his lardship’s service. - </p> - <p> - After some little consideration, Lord Fotheringay said that though he had - no idea of sailing when he left the Castle, yet he never could resist the - temptation of a fine breeze—it was nothing stronger than a breeze - that was blowing, was it? - </p> - <p> - “A draught—just a bit of a draught,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “In that case,” said Lord Fotheringay, “I think I may - venture. In fact, now that I come to think of it, I should like to visit - the opposite shore. There is a Castle or something, is there not, on the - opposite shore?” - </p> - <p> - “Is it a Castle?” said Brian. “Oh, there’s a power - of Castles scattered along the other shore, my lard. It’s thrippin’ - over them your lardship will be after doin.’” - </p> - <p> - “Then we’ll not lose a moment in starting,” said Lord - Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0007" id="link2HBCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI.—ON FRANKNESS AND FRIENDSHIP. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>RIAN took care - that no moment was lost. In the course of a very few minutes Lord - Fotheringay was seated on the windward thwarts of the boat, his hands - grasping the gunwale to right and left, and his head bowed to mitigate in - some measure the force of the shower of sea-water that flashed over the - boat as her hows neatly clipped the crest off every wave. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay held on grimly. He hated the sea and all connected with - it; though he hated the House of Lords to almost as great an extent, yet - he had offered the promoter of the Channel Tunnel to attend in the House - and lend the moral weight of his name to the support of the scheme. It was - only the breadth and spontaneousness of Brian’s assurance that the - breeze was no more than a draught, that had induced him to carry out his - cherished idea of crossing the lough. - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t I tell your lardship that the boat could sail with the - best of them?” said the man, as he hauled in the sheet a trifle, and - brought the boat closer to the wind—a manouvre that did not tend to - lessen the cascade that deluged his passenger. - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay said not a word. He kept his head bowed to every flap of - the waves beneath the bows. His attitude would have commended itself to - any painter anxious to produce a type of Submission to the Will of Heaven. - </p> - <p> - He was aging quickly—so much Brian perceived, and dwelt upon—with - excellent effect—in his subsequent narrative of the voyage to some - of the servants at the Castle. The cosmetic that will withstand the - constant application of sea-water has yet to be invented, so that in half - an hour Lord Fotheringay would not have been recognized except by his - valet. Brian had taken aboard a well-preserved gentleman with a rosy - complexion and a moustache almost too black for nature. The person who - disembarked at the opposite side of the lough was a stooped old man with - lank streaky cheeks and a wisp of gray hair on each side of his upper lip. - </p> - <p> - “And it’s a fine sailor your lardship is entirely,” - remarked the boatman, as he lent his tottering, dazed passenger a helping - hand up the beach of pebbles. “And it’s raal enjoyment your - lardship will be after having among the Castles of the ould quality, after - your lardship’s sail.” - </p> - <p> - Not a word did Lord Fotheringay utter. He felt utterly broken down in - spirit, and it was not until he had got behind a rock and had taken out a - pocket-comb and a pocket-glass, and had by these auxiliaries, and the - application of a grain or two of roseate powder without which he never - ventured a mile from his base of supplies, repaired some of the ravages of - his voyage, that he ventured to make his way to the picturesque white - cottage, which Miss Avon had once pointed out to him as the temporary - residence of her father and herself. - </p> - <p> - It was a five-roomed cottage that had been built and furnished by an - enthusiastic English fisherman for his accommodation during his annual - residence in Ireland. One, more glance did Lord Fotheringay give to his - pocket-mirror before knocking at the door. - </p> - <p> - He would have had time to renew his youth, had he had his pigments handy, - before the door was opened by an old woman with a shawl over her shoulders - and a cap, that had possibly once been white, on her straggling hairs. - </p> - <p> - She made the stage courtesy of an old woman in front of Lord Fotheringay, - and explained that she was a little hard of hearing—she was even - obliging enough to give a circumstantial account of the accident that was - responsible for her infirmity. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Avon?” said the old woman, when Lord Fotheringay had - repeated his original request in a louder tone. “Miss Avon? no, she’s - not here now—not even her father, who was a jewel of a gentleman, - though a bit queer. God bless them both now that they have gone back to - England, maybe never to return.” - </p> - <p> - “Back to England. When?” shouted Lord Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - “Why, since early in the morning. The Blessed Virgin keep the young - lady from harm, for she’s swater than honey, and the Saints preserve - her father, for he was—” - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay did not wait to hear the position of the historian - defined by the old woman. He turned away from the door with such words as - caused her infirmity to be a blessing in disguise. - </p> - <p> - When Brian greeted his return with a few well-chosen phrases bearing upon - the architecture of the early Celtic nobles, Lord Fotheringay swore at - him; but the boatman, who did a little in that way himself when under - extreme provocation, only smiled as Lord Fotheringay took his seat in the - boat once more, and prepared for the ordeal of his passage. - </p> - <p> - There was a good deal in Brian’s smile. - </p> - <p> - The wind had changed most unaccountably, he explained, so that it would, - he feared, be absolutely necessary to tack out almost to the entrance of - the lough in order to reach the mooring-place. For the next hour he became - the exponent of every system of sailing known to modern navigators. After - something over an hour of this manoeuvring, he had compassion upon his - victim, and ran the boat before the wind—he might have done so at - first if Lord Fotheringay had not shown such a poor knowledge of men as to - swear at him—to the mooring-place. - </p> - <p> - “If it’s not making too free with your lardship, I’d - offer your lardship a hand up the track,” said Brian. “It’s - myself that has to go up to the Castle anyway, with a letter to her - ladyship from Miss Avon. Didn’t the young lady give it to me in the - morning before she started with his honour her father on the car?” - </p> - <p> - “And you knew all this time that Miss Avon and her father had left - the neighbourhood?” said Lord Fotheringay, through his store teeth. - </p> - <p> - “Tubbe sure I did,” said Brian. “But Miss Avon didn’t - live in one of the Castles of the ould quality that your lardship was so - particular ready to explore.” - </p> - <p> - Lord Fotheringay felt that his knowledge of the world and the dwellers - therein had its limits. - </p> - <p> - It was at Lord Fotheringay’s bedside that Harold said his farewell - to his father the next day. Lord Fotheringay’s incipient rheumatism - had been acutely developed by his drenching of the previous afternoon, and - he thought it prudent to remain in bed. - </p> - <p> - “You’re going, are you?” snarled the Father. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’m going,” replied the Son. “Lord and Lady - Innisfail leave to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you asked Miss Craven to marry you?” inquired the - Father. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Why not—tell me that?” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t made up my mind on the subject of marrying.” - </p> - <p> - “Then the sooner you make it up the better it will be for yourself. - I’ve been watching you pretty closely for some days—I did not - fail to notice a certain jaunty indifference to what was going on around - you on the night of your return from that tomfoolery in the boats—seal-hunting, - I think they called it. I saw the way you looked at Helen Craven that - night. Contempt, or something akin to contempt, was in every glance. Now - you know that she is to be at Ella’s in October. You have thus six - weeks to make up your mind to marry her. If you make up your mind to marry - anyone else, you may make up your mind to live upon the three hundred a - year that your mother left you. Not a penny you will get from me. I’ve - stinted myself hitherto to secure you your allowance. By heavens, I’ll - not do so any longer. You will only receive your allowance from me for - another year, and then only by signing a declaration at my lawyer’s - to the effect that you are not married. I’ve heard of secret - marriages before now, but you needn’t think of that little game. - That’s all I’ve to say to you.” - </p> - <p> - “And it is enough,” said Harold. “Good-bye.” He - left the room and then he left the Castle, Lady Innisfail only shaking her - head and whispering, “You have disappointed me,” as he made - his adieux. - </p> - <p> - The next day all the guests had departed—all, with the exception of - Lord Fotheringay, who was still too ill to move. In the course of some - days, however, the doctor thought that he might without risk—except, - of course, such as was incidental to the conveyance itself—face a - drive on an outside car, to the nearest railway-station. - </p> - <p> - Before leaving him, as she was compelled to do owing to her own - engagements, Lady Innisfail had another interesting conversation—it - almost amounted to a consultation—with her friend Mrs. Burgoyne on - the subject of the Reform of the Hardened Reprobate. And the result of - their further consideration of the subject from every standpoint, was to - induce them to believe that, with such a powerful incentive to the Higher - Life as an acute rheumatic attack, Lord Fotheringay’s reform might - safely be counted on. It might, at any rate, be freely discussed during - the winter. If, subsequently, he should become a backslider, it would not - matter. His reform would have gone the way of all topics. - </p> - <p> - Helen Craven and Edmund Airey had also a consultation together on the - subject upon which they had previously talked more than once. - </p> - <p> - Each of them showed such an anxiety to give prominence to the circumstance - that they were actuated solely for Harold’s benefit in putting into - practice the plan which one of them had suggested, it was pretty clear - that they had an uneasy feeling that they required some justification for - the course which they had thought well to pursue. - </p> - <p> - Yes, they agreed that Harold should be placed beyond the power of his - father. Mr. Airey said he had never met a more contemptible person than - Lord Fotheringay, and for the sake of making Harold independent of such a - father, he would, he declared, do again all that he had done during the - week of Miss Avon’s sojourn at the Castle. - </p> - <p> - It was, indeed, sad, Miss Craven felt, that Harold should have such a - father. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it was because I felt this so strongly that I—I—well, - I began to ask myself if there might not be some way of escape for him,” - said she, in a pensive tone that was quite different from the tone of the - frank communication that she had made to Mr. Airey some time before. - </p> - <p> - “I can quite understand that,” said Edmund. “Well, - though Harold hasn’t shown himself to be wise—that is—” - </p> - <p> - “We both know what that means,” said she, anticipating his - definition of wisdom so far as Harold was concerned. - </p> - <p> - “We do,” said Edmund. “If he has not shown himself to be - wise in this way, he has not shown himself to be a fool in another way.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose he has not,” said she, thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! you don’t mean to think that—” - </p> - <p> - “That he has told Beatrice Avon that he loves her? No, I don’t - fancy that he has, still—” - </p> - <p> - “Still?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I thought that, on their return from that awful seal-hunt, I - saw a change in both of them. It seemed to me that—that—well, - I don’t quite know how I should express it. Haven’t you seen a - thirsty look on a man’s face?” - </p> - <p> - “A thirsty look? I believe I have seen it on a woman’s face.” - </p> - <p> - “It may be the same. Well, Harold Wynne’s face wore such an - expression for days before the seal-hunt—I can’t say that I - noticed it on Beatrice Avon’s face at the same time; but so soon as - they returned from the boats on that evening, I noticed the change on - Harold’s—perhaps it was only fancy.” - </p> - <p> - “I am inclined to believe that it was fancy. In my belief none of us - was quite the same after that wild cruise. I was beside Miss Avon all the - time that we were sailing out to the caves, and though she and Harold were - in the boat together, yet Lord Innisfail and Durdan were in the same boat - also. I can’t see how they could have had any time for an - understanding while they were engaged in looking after the seals.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven shook her head doubtfully. It was clear that she was a - believer in the making of opportunities in such matters as those which - they were discussing. - </p> - <p> - “Anyhow, we have done all that we could reasonably be expected to - do,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “And perhaps a trifle over,” said he. “If it were not - that I like Harold so much—and you, too, my dear”—this - seemed an afterthought—“I would not have done all that I have - done. It is quite unlikely that Miss Avon and I shall be under the same - roof again, but if we should be, I shall, you may be certain, find out - from her whether or not an understanding exists between her and Harold. - But what understanding could it be?” - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven smiled. Was this the man who had made such a reputation for - cleverness, she asked herself—a man who placed a limit on the - opportunities of lovers, and then inquired what possible understanding - could be come to between a penniless man and a girl with “a gray eye - or so.” - </p> - <p> - “What understanding?” said she. “Why, he may have - unfolded to her a scheme for becoming Lord High Chancellor after two year’s - hard work at the bar, with a garden-party now and again; or for being made - a Bishop in the same time; and their understanding may be to wait for one - another until the arrival of either event. Never mind. We have done our - best for him.” - </p> - <p> - “For them,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he tried to bring himself to believe that all that he had done was - for the benefit of his friend Harold and for his friend Beatrice—to - say nothing of his friend Helen as well. After a time he did almost force - himself to believe that there was nothing that was not strictly honourable - in the endeavour that he had made, at Helen’s suggestion, to induce - Beatrice Avon to perceive the possibility of her obtaining a proposal of - marriage from a rich and distinguished man, if she were only to decline to - afford the impecunious son of a dissolute peer an opportunity of telling - her that he loved her. - </p> - <p> - Now and again, however, he had an uneasy twinge, as the thought occurred - to him that if some man, understanding the exact circumstances of the - case, were to be as frank with him as Helen Craven had been (once), that - man might perhaps be led to say that he had been making a fool of Beatrice - for the sake of gratifying his own vanity. - </p> - <p> - It was just possible, and he knew it, that that frank friend—assuming - that frankness and friendship may exist together—might be disposed - to give prominence in this matter to the impulses of vanity, to the - exclusion of the impulses of friendship, and a desire to set the crooked - straight. - </p> - <p> - Even the fortnight which he spent in Norway with one of the heads of the - Government party—a gentleman who would probably have shortly at his - disposal an important Under-Secretaryship—failed quite to abate - these little twinges that he had when he reflected upon the direction that - might be taken by a frank friend, in considering the question of the - responsibility involved in his attitude toward Miss Avon. - </p> - <p> - It was just a week after Lord Fotheringay had left Castle Innisfail that a - stranger appeared in the neighbourhood—a strange gentleman with the - darkest hair and the fiercest eyes ever seen, even in that region of dark - hair and eyes. He inquired who were the guests at the Castle, and when he - learned that the last of them—a distinguished peer named Lord - Fotheringay—had gone some time, and that it was extremely unlikely - that the Castle would be open for another ten months, his eyes became - fiercer than ever. He made use of words in a strange tongue, which Brian - declared, if not oaths, would do duty for oaths without anyone being the - wiser. - </p> - <p> - The stranger departed as mysteriously as he had come. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0008" id="link2HBCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVII.—ON CIRCUMVENTING A STAG. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>F Edmund Airey had - a good deal to think about in Norway, Harold Wynne was certainly not - without a subject for thought in Scotland. - </p> - <p> - It was with a feeling of exultation that he had sat in the bows of the - cutter <i>Acushla</i> on her return to her moorings after that seal-hunt - which everyone agreed had been an extraordinary success. Had this - expression of exultation been noticed by Lady Innisfail, it would, - naturally, have been attributed by her to the fact that he had been in the - boat that had made the largest catch of seals. To be sure, Miss Craven, - who had observed at least a change in the expression upon his face, did - not attribute it to his gratification on having slaughtered some seals, - but then Miss Craven was more acute than an ordinary observer. - </p> - <p> - He felt that he did well to be exultant, as he looked at Beatrice Avon - standing by the side of Lord Innisfail at the tiller. The wind that filled - the mainsail came upon her face and held her garments against her body, - revealing every gracious curve of her shape, and suggesting to his eyes a - fine piece of sculpture with flying drapery. - </p> - <p> - And she was his. - </p> - <p> - It seemed to him when he had begun to speak to her in the solemn darkness - of the seal-cave, that it was impossible that he could receive any answer - from her that would satisfy him. How was it possible that she could love - him, he had asked himself at some agonizing moments during the week. He - thought that she might possibly have come to love him in time, if she had - not been with him in the boat during that night of mist, when the voice of - Helen Craven had wailed round the cliffs. Her arrival at the Castle could - not but have revealed to her the fact that she might obtain an offer of - marriage from someone who was socially far above him; and thus he had - almost lost all hope of her. - </p> - <p> - And yet she was his. - </p> - <p> - The course adopted by his friend Edmund Airey had astonished him. He could - not believe that Airey had fallen in love with her. It was not consistent - with Airey’s nature to fall in love with anyone, he believed. But he - knew that in the matter of falling in love, people do not always act - consistently with their character; so that, after all, Airey might be only - waiting an opportunity to tell her that he had fallen in love with her. - </p> - <p> - The words that he had overheard Airey speak to her upon the night of the - <i>tableaux</i> in the hall—words that had driven him out into the - night of rain and storm to walk madly along the cliffs, and to wonder if - he were to throw himself into the waves beneath, would he be strong enough - to let himself sink into their depths or weak enough to make a struggle - for life—those words had cleared away whatever doubts he had - entertained as to Edmund’s intentions. - </p> - <p> - And yet she was his. - </p> - <p> - She had answered his question so simply and clearly—with such - earnestness and tenderness as startled him. It seemed that they had come - to love each other, as he had read of lovers doing, from the first moment - that they had met. It seemed that her love had, like his, only increased - through their being kept apart from each other—mainly by the clever - device of Miss Craven and the co-operation of Edmund Airey, though, of - course, Harold did not know this. - </p> - <p> - His reflections upon this marvel—the increase of their love, though - they had few opportunities of being together and alone—would have - been instructive even to persons so astute and so ready to undertake the - general control of events as Mr. Airey and Miss Craven. Unfortunately, - however, they were as ignorant of what had taken place to induce these - reflections as he was of the conspiracy between them to keep him apart - from Beatrice to secure his happiness and the happiness of Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - The fact that Beatrice loved him and had confessed her love for him, - though they had had so few opportunities of being together, seemed to him - the greatest of all the marvels that he had recently experienced. - </p> - <p> - As he gave a farewell glance at the lough and recollected how, a fortnight - before, he had walked along the cliffs and had cast to the winds all his - cherished ideas of love, he could not help feeling that he had been - surrounded with marvels. He had had a narrow escape—he actually - regarded a goodlooking young woman with several thousands of pounds of an - income, as a narrow escape. - </p> - <p> - This was the last of the reflections that came to him with the sound of - the green seas choked in the narrows of the lough. - </p> - <p> - The necessity of preserving himself from sudden death—the Irish - outside car on which he was driving was the worst specimen he had yet seen—absorbed - all his thoughts when he had passed through the village of Ballycruiskeen; - and by the time he had got out of the train that carried him to the East - Coast—a matter of six hours travelling—and aboard the steamer - that bore him to Glasgow, the exultation that he had felt on leaving - Castle Innisfail, and on reflecting upon the great happiness that had come - to him, was considerably chastened. - </p> - <p> - He was due at two houses in Scotland. At the first he meant to do a little - shooting. The place was not inaccessible. After a day’s travelling - he found himself at a railway station fifteen miles from his destination. - He eventually reached the place, however, and he had some shooting, which, - though indifferent, was far better than it was possible to obtain on Lord - Innisfail’s mountains—at least for Lord Innisfail’s - guests to obtain. - </p> - <p> - The second place was still further north—it was now and again - alluded to as the North Pole by some visitors who had succeeded in finding - their way to it, in spite of the directions given to them by the various - authorities on the topography of the Highlands. Several theories existed - as to the best way of reaching this place, and Harold, who knew sufficient - Scotch to be able to take in the general meaning of the inhabitants - without the aid of an interpreter, was made aware while at the shooting - lodge, of these theories. Hearing, however, that some persons had actually - been known to find the place, he felt certain that they had struck out an - independent course for themselves. It was incredible to him that any of - them had reached it by following the directions they had received on the - subject. He determined to follow their example; and he had reached the - place—eventually. - </p> - <p> - It was when he had been for three days following a stag, that he began to - think of his own matters in a dispassioned way. Crawling on one’s - stomach along a mile or two of boggy land and then wriggling through - narrow spaces among the rocks—sitting for five or six hours on - gigantic sponges (damp) of heather, with one’s chin on one’s - knees for strategical purposes, which the gillies pretend they understand, - but which they keep a dead secret—shivering as the Scotch mist - clothes one as with a wet blanket, then being told suddenly that there is - a stag thirty yards to windward—getting a glimpse of it, missing it, - and then hearing the gillies exchanging remarks in a perfectly - intelligible Gaelic regarding one’s capacity—these incidents - constitute an environment that tends to make one look dispassionately upon - such marvels as Harold had been considering in a very different spirit - while the Irish lough was yet within hearing. - </p> - <p> - On the third day that he had been trying to circumvent the stag, Harold - felt despondent—not about the stag, for he had long ago ceased to - take any interest in the brute—but about his own future. - </p> - <p> - It is to be regretted (sometimes) that an exchange of sentiments on the - subject of love between lovers does not bring with it a change of - circumstances, making possible the realization of a scheme of life in - which those sentiments shall play an active part—or at least as - active a part as sentiments can play. This was Harold’s great - regret. Since he had found that he loved Beatrice and that Beatrice loved - him, the world naturally appeared lovelier also. But it was with the - loveliness of a picture that hangs in a public gallery, not as an - individual possession. - </p> - <p> - His material circumstances, so far from having improved since he had - confessed to Edmund Airey that it was necessary for him to marry a woman - with money, had become worse; and yet he had given no thought to the young - woman with the money, but a great many thoughts to the young woman who - had, practically, none. He felt that no more unsatisfactory state of - matters could be imagined. And yet he felt that it would be impossible to - take any steps with a view of bringing about a change. - </p> - <p> - He had received several letters from Beatrice, and he had written several - to her; but though in more than one he had told her in that plain strain - which one adopts when one does not desire to be in any way convincing, - that it was a most unfortunate day for her when she met him, still he did - not suggest that their correspondence should cease. - </p> - <p> - What was to be the end of their love? - </p> - <p> - It was the constant attempt to answer this question that gave the stag his - chance of life when, on the afternoon of the third day, Harold was - commanded by his masters the gillies to fire into that thickening in the - mist which he was given to understand by an unmistakable pantomime, was - the stag. - </p> - <p> - While the gillies were exchanging their remarks in Gaelic, flavouring them - with very smoky whiskey, he was thinking, not of the escape of the stag, - but of what possible end there could be to the love that existed between - Beatrice and himself. - </p> - <p> - It was the renewed thinking upon this question that brought about the - death of that particular stag and two others before the next evening, for - he had arrived at a point when he felt that he must shoot either a stag or - himself. He had arrived at a condition of despair that made pretty severe - demands upon him. - </p> - <p> - The slaughter of the stags saved him. When he saw their bodies stretched - before him he felt exultant once more. He felt that he had overcome his - fate; and it was the next morning before he realized the fact that he had - done nothing of the sort—that the possibility of his ever being able - to marry Beatrice Avon was as remote as it had been when he had fired - blindly into the mist, and his masters, who had carried the guns, - exhausted (he believed) the resources, of Gaelic sarcasm in comment. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0009" id="link2HBCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVIII.—ON ENJOYING A RESPITE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was the first - week in October when Harold Wynne found himself in London. He had got a - letter from Beatrice in which she told him that she and her father would - return to London from Holland that week. Mr. Avon had conscientiously - followed the track of an Irish informer in whom he was greatly interested, - and who had, at the beginning of the century, found his way to Holland, - where he was looked upon as a poor exile from Erin. He had betrayed about - a dozen of his fellow-countrymen to their enemies, and had then returned - to Ireland to live to an honoured old age on the proceeds of the bargain - he had made for their heads. - </p> - <p> - The result of Harold’s consideration of the position that he - occupied in regard to Beatrice, was this visit to London. He made up his - mind that he should see her and tell her that, like Mrs. Browning’s - hero, he loved her so well that he only could leave her. - </p> - <p> - He could bring himself to do it, he felt. He believed that he was equal to - an act of heroic self-sacrifice for the sake of the girl—that was - how he put the matter to himself when being soaked on the Scotch mountain. - Yes, he would go to her and tell her that the conclusion to which he had - come was that they must forget one another—that only unhappiness - could result from the relationship that existed between them. He knew that - there is no more unsatisfactory relationship between a man and a woman - than that which has love for a basis, but with no prospect of marriage; - and he knew that so long as his father lived and continued selfish—and - only death could divide him from his selfishness—marriage with - Beatrice was out of the question. - </p> - <p> - It was with this resolution upon him that he drove to the address in the - neighbourhood of the British Museum, where Beatrice said she was to be - found with her father. - </p> - <p> - It was one of those mansions which at some period in the early part of the - century had been almost splendid; now it was simply large. It was not the - house that Harold would have cared to occupy, even rent free—and - this was a consideration to him. But for a scholar who had a large library - of his own, and who found it necessary to be frequently in the - neighbourhood of the larger Library at the Museum, the house must - undoubtedly have had its advantages. - </p> - <p> - She was not at home. The elderly butler said that Mr. Avon had found it - necessary to visit Brussels for a few days, and he had thus been delayed - on the Continent beyond the date he had appointed for his return. He would - probably be in England by the end of the week—the day was Wednesday. - </p> - <p> - Harold left the gloom of Bloomsbury behind him, feeling a curious - satisfaction at having failed to see Beatrice—the satisfaction of a - respite. Some days must elapse before he could make known his resolution - to her. - </p> - <p> - He strolled westward to a club of which he was a member—the Bedouin, - and was about to order dinner, when someone came behind him and laid a - hand, by no means gently, on his shoulder. Some of the Bedouins thought it - <i>de rigueur</i> to play such pranks upon each other; and, to do them - justice, it was only rarely that they dislocated a friend’s shoulder - or gave a nervous friend a fit. People said one never knew what was coming - from the moment they entered the Bedouin Club, and the prominent Bedouins - accepted this statement as embodying one of the most agreeable of its many - distinctive features. - </p> - <p> - Harold was always prepared for the worst in this place, so when the force - of the blow swung him round and he saw an extremely plain arrangement of - features, distorted by a smile of extraordinary breadth, beneath a - closely-cropped crown of bright red hair, he merely said, “Hallo, - Archie, you here? I thought you were in South Africa lion-hunting or - something.” - </p> - <p> - The smile that had previously distorted the features of the young man, was - of such fulness that it might reasonably have been taken for granted that - it could not be increased; the possessor showed, however, that that smile - was not the result of a supreme effort. So soon as Harold had spoken he - gave a wink, and that wink seemed to release the mechanical system by - which his features were contorted, for in an instant his face became one - mouth. In plain words, this mouth of the young man had swallowed up his - other features. All that could be seen of his face was that enormous mouth - flanked by a pair of enormous ears, like plantain leaves growing on each - side of the crater of a volcano. - </p> - <p> - Harold looked at him and laughed, then picked up a <i>menu</i> card and - studied it until he calculated that the young man whom he had addressed as - Archie should have thrown off so much of his smile as would enable him to - speak. - </p> - <p> - He gave him plenty of time, and when he looked round he saw that some of - the young man’s features had succeeded in struggling to the surface, - as it were, beneath the circular mat of red hair that lay between his - ears. - </p> - <p> - “No South Africa for me, tarty chip,” said Archie. (“Tarty - chip” was the popular term of address that year among young men - about town. Its philological significance was never discovered.) - </p> - <p> - “No South Africa for me; I went one better than that,” - continued the young man. - </p> - <p> - “I doubt it,” said Harold. “I’ve had my eye on you - until lately. You have usually gone one worse. Have you any money left—tell - the truth?” - </p> - <p> - “Money? I asked the tarty chips that look after that sort of thing - for me how I stood the other day,” said Archie, “and I’m - ashamed to say that I’ve been spending less than my income—that - is until a couple of months ago. I’ve still about three million. - What does that mean?” - </p> - <p> - “That you’ve got rid of about a million inside two years,” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “You’re going it blind,” said Archie. “It only - means that I’ve spent fifty decimals in eighteen months. I can spare - that, tarty chip.” (It may possibly be remembered that in the slang - of the year a decimal signified a thousand pounds.) “That means that - you’ve squandered a fortune, Archie,” said Harold, thinking - what fifty thousand pounds would mean to him. - </p> - <p> - “There’s not much of a squander in the deal when I got value - for it,” said Archie. “I got plenty of value. I’ve got - to know all about this world.” - </p> - <p> - “And you’ll soon get to know all about the next, if you go on - at this rate,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Not me; I’ve got my money in sound places. You heard about my - show.” - </p> - <p> - “Your show? I’ve heard about nothing for the past year but - your shows. What’s the latest? I want something to eat.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come with me to my private trough,” cried the young man. - “Don’t lay down a mosaic pavement in your inside in this hole. - Come along, tarty chip; I’ve got a <i>chef</i> named Achille—he - knows what suits us—also some ‘84 Heidsieck. Come along with - me, and I’ll tell you all about the show. We’ll go there - together later on. We’ll take supper with her.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! with her?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. You don’t mean to say that you haven’t - heard that I’ve taken the Legitimate Theatre for Mrs. Mowbray? Where - on God’s footstool have you been for the past month?” - </p> - <p> - “Not further than the extreme North of Scotland. It was far enough. - I saw a paragraph stating that Mrs. Mowbray, after being a failure in a - number of places, had taken the Legitimate. What has that got to say to - you?” - </p> - <p> - “Not much, but I’ve got a good deal to say to it. Oh, come - along, and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m building a monument - for myself. I’ve got the Legitimate and I mean to make Irving and - the rest of them sit up.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0010" id="link2HBCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF READY MONEY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>RCHIE BROWN was - the only son of Mr. John Brown, the eminent contractor. Mr. John Brown had - been a man of simple habits and no tastes. When a working navvy he had - acquired a liking for oatmeal porridge, and up to the day of his death, - when he had some twenty thousand persons in his employment, each of them - earning money for him, he never rose above this comestible. He lived a - thoroughly happy life, taking no thought about money, and having no idea, - beyond the building of drinking fountains in his native town, how to spend - the profits realized on his enormous transactions. - </p> - <p> - Now, as the building of even the most complete system of drinking - fountains, in a small town in Scotland, does not produce much impression - upon the financial position of a man with some millions of pounds in cash, - and making business profits to the extent of two hundred thousand a year, - it was inevitable that, when a brick one afternoon fell on Mr. John Brown’s - head and fractured his skull so severely as to cause his death, his only - son should be left very well provided for. - </p> - <p> - Archie Brown was left provided with some millions in cash, and with - property that yielded him about one hundred pounds a day. - </p> - <p> - Up to the day of his father’s death he had never had more than five - hundred a year to spend as pocket-money—he had saved even out of - this modest sum, for he had scarcely any more expensive tastes than his - father, though he had ever regarded <i>sole à la Normande</i> as more - palatable than oatmeal porridge as a breakfast dish. - </p> - <p> - He had never caused his father a moment’s uneasiness; but as soon as - he was given a bird’s eye view, so to speak, of his income, he began - to ask himself if there might not be something in the world more palatable - even than <i>sole à la Normande</i>. - </p> - <p> - In the course of a year or two he had learned a good deal on the subject - of what was palatable and what was not; for from the earliest records it - is understood that the knowledge of good and the knowledge of evil may be - found on the one tree. - </p> - <p> - He began to be talked about, and that is always worth paying money for—some - excellent judges say that it is the only thing worth paying money for. - Occasionally he paid a trifle over the market price for this commodity. - But then he knew that he generally paid more than the market price for - everything that he bought, from his collars, which were unusually high, - down to his boots, which were of glazed kid, so that he did not complain. - </p> - <p> - He found that, after a while, the tradespeople, seeing that he paid them - cash, treated him fairly, and that the person who supplied him with cigars - was actually generous when he bought them by the thousand. - </p> - <p> - People who at first had fancied that Mr. Archibald Brown was a plunger—that - is, a swindler whom they could swindle out of his thousands—had - reason to modify their views on the subject after some time. For six - months he had been imposed upon in many directions. But with all the other - things which had to be paid for, the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of - Good and Evil should, he knew, be included. Imported in a fresh condition - this was, he knew, expensive; but he had a sufficient acquaintance with - the elements of fruit-culture to be well aware of the fact that in this - condition it is worth very much more than the canned article. - </p> - <p> - He bought his knowledge of good and evil fresh. - </p> - <p> - He was no fool, some people said, exultantly. - </p> - <p> - These were the people whose friends had tried to impose on him but had not - succeeded. - </p> - <p> - He was no fool, some people said regretfully. - </p> - <p> - These were the people who had tried to impose on him but had not - succeeded. - </p> - <p> - Harold had always liked Archie Brown, and he had offered him much advice—vegetarian - banquets of the canned fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. The shrewd - outbursts of confidence in which Archie indulged now and again, showed - Harold that he was fast coming to understand his position in society—his - friends and his enemies. - </p> - <p> - Harold, after some further persuasion, got into the hansom which Archie - had hailed, and was soon driving down Piccadilly to the spacious rooms of - the latter—rooms furnished in a wonderful fashion. As a panorama of - styles the sitting-room, which was about thirty feet square, with a - greenhouse in the rear, would have been worth much to a lecturer on the - progress or decadence of art—any average lecturer could make the - furniture bear out his views, whether they took one direction or the - other. - </p> - <p> - Two cabinets which had belonged to Louis XV were the finest specimens - known in the world. They contained Sèvres porcelain and briar-root pipes. - A third cabinet was in the purest style of boarding house art. A small - gilt sofa was covered with old French tapestry which would have brought - five pounds the square inch at an auction. Beside it was the famous - Four-guinea Tottenham Armchair in best Utrecht velvet—three-nine-six - in cretonne, carriage paid to any railway-station in the United Kingdom. - </p> - <p> - A chair, the frame of which was wholly of ivory, carved in Italy, in the - seventeenth century, by the greatest artist that ever lived, apparently - had its uses in Archie Brown’s <i>entourage</i>, for it sustained in - an upright position a half-empty soda-water bottle—the bottle would - not have stood upright but for the high relief in the carving of the - flowing hair of the figure of Atalanta at one part of the frame. Near it - was an interesting old oak chair that was for some time believed to have - once belonged to King Henry VIII. - </p> - <p> - In achieving this striking contrast to the carved ivory, Mr. Brown thought - that he had proved his capacity to appreciate an important element in - artistic arrangement. He pointed it out to Harold without delay. He had - pointed it out to every other person who had visited his rooms. - </p> - <p> - He also pointed out a picture by one Rembrandt which he had picked up at - an auction for forty shillings. A dealer had subsequently assured him that - if he wanted a companion picture by the same painter he would not - guarantee to procure it for him at a lower figure than twenty-five guineas—perhaps - it might even cost him as high as thirty; therefore—the logic was - Archie’s—the Rembrandt had been a dead bargain. - </p> - <p> - Harold looked at this Burgomaster’s Daughter in eighteenth century - costume, and said that undoubtedly the painter knew what he was about. - </p> - <p> - “And so does Archie, tarty chip,” said his host, leading him - to one of the bedrooms. - </p> - <p> - “Now it’s half past seven,” said Archie, leaving him, - “and dinner will be served at a quarter to eight. I’ve never - been late but once, and Achille was so hurt that he gave me notice. I - promised that it should never occur again, and it hasn’t. He doesn’t - insist on my dressing for dinner, though he says he should like it.” - </p> - <p> - “Make my apologies to Achille,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Archie seriously—“at - least I think it won’t.” - </p> - <p> - Harold had never been in these rooms before—he wondered how it had - chanced that he came to them at all. But before he had partaken of more - than one of the <i>hors d’ouvres</i>—there were four of them—he - knew that he had done well to come. Achille was an artist, the Sauterne - was Chateau Coutet of 1861, and the champagne was, as Archie had promised - it should be, Heidsieck of 1884. The electric light was artfully toned - down, and the middle-aged butler understood his business. - </p> - <p> - “This is the family trough,” said Archie. “I say, Harry, - isn’t it one better than the oatmeal porridge of our dads—I - mean of my dad; yours, I know, was always one of us; my dad wasn’t, - God bless him! If he had been we shouldn’t be here now. He’d - have died a pauper.” - </p> - <p> - Harold so far forgot himself as to say, “Doesn’t Carlyle - remark somewhere that it’s the fathers who work that the sons—ah, - never mind.” - </p> - <p> - “Carlyle? What Carlyle was that? Do I know him?” asked Archie. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Harold, shaking his head. - </p> - <p> - “He isn’t a tarty chip, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Tart, not tarty.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh. Don’t neglect this jelly. It’s the best thing that - Achille does. It’s the only thing that he ever repeats himself in. - He came to me boasting that he could give me three hundred and sixty-five - different dinners in the year. ‘That’s all very well,’ - said I, ‘but what about Leap Year?’ I showed him there that - his bluff wouldn’t do. ‘Pass’ said I, and he passed. But - we understand one another now. I will say that he has never repeated - himself except in this jelly. I make him give it to me once a week.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re right,” said Harold. “It is something to - think about.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, while you’re in front of it, but never after,” - said Archie. “That’s what Achille says. ‘The true - dinner,’ says he, ‘is the one that makes you think while you’re - at it, but that never causes you a thought afterwards.’” - </p> - <p> - “Achille is more than an artist, he is a philosopher,” said - Harold. “What does he call this?” he glanced at the menu card. - “‘<i>Glace à la chagrin d’Achille</i>’ What does - he mean by that? ‘The chagrin of Achilles’? Where does the - chagrin come in?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he has some story about a namesake of his,” said Archie. - “He was cut up about something, and he wouldn’t come out of - the marquee.” - </p> - <p> - “The tent,” cried Harold. “Achilles sulked in his tent. - Of course, that’s the ‘<i>chagrin d’Achille</i>.’” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you heard of it too? Then the story has managed to leak out - somehow. They always do. There’s nothing in it. Now I’ll tell - you all about the show. Try one of these figs.” - </p> - <p> - Harold helped himself to a green fig, the elderly butler placed a decanter - of claret on the table, and disappeared with the noiselessness of a - shadow. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0011" id="link2HBCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXX.—ON THE LEGITIMATE IN ART. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN the history of - the drama in England during the last twenty years of the nineteenth - century comes to be written, the episode of the management of the - Legitimate Theatre by Mrs. Mowbray will doubtless be amply treated from - the standpoint of art, and the historian will, it may be confidently - expected, lament the want of appreciation on the part of the public for - the Shakespearian drama, to which the closing of the Legitimate Theatre - was due. - </p> - <p> - There were a considerable number of persons, however, who showed a - readiness to assert that the management of the Legitimate by Mrs. Mowbray - should be looked upon as a purely—only purely was not the word they - used—social incident, having no basis whatever in art. It failed, - they said, not because the people of England had ceased to love - Shakespeare, but because Mr. Archie Brown had ceased to love Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - However this may be, there were also people who said that the Legitimate - Theatre under the management of Mrs. Mowbray could not have been so great - a financial failure, after all; for Mrs. Mowbray, when her season came to - an end, wore as expensive dresses as ever, and drove as expensive horses - as ever; and as everyone who had been associated with the enterprise had - been paid—some people said overpaid—the natural assumption was - that Shakespeare on the stage was not so abhorrent to the people of - England as was generally supposed. - </p> - <p> - The people who took this view of the matter were people who had never - heard the name of Mr. Archie Brown—people who regarded Mrs. Mowbray - as a self-sacrificing lady who had so enthusiastic a desire to make the - public acquainted with the beauties of Shakespeare, that she was quite - content to spend her own fortune (wherever that came from) in producing - “Cymbeline” and other masterpieces at the Legitimate. - </p> - <p> - There were other people who said that Archie Brown was a young ass. - </p> - <p> - There were others who said that Mrs. Mowbray was a harpy. - </p> - <p> - There were others still—they were mostly men—who said that - Mrs. Mowbray was the handsomest woman in England. - </p> - <p> - The bitterest—they were mostly women—said that she was both - handsome and a harpy. - </p> - <p> - The truth regarding the difficult question of the Legitimate Theatre was - gathered by Harold Wynne, as he swallowed his claret and ate his olives at - the dining table at Archie Birown’s rooms in Piccadilly. - </p> - <p> - He perceived from what Archie told him, that Archie had a genuine - enthusiasm in the cause of Shakespeare. How he had acquired it, he might - have had considerable difficulty in explaining. He also gathered that Mrs. - Mowbray cared very little for Shakespeare except as a medium for - impressing upon the public the fact—she believed it to be a fact—that - Mrs. Mowbray was the most beautiful woman in England. - </p> - <p> - “Cymbeline” had, she considered, been written in the prophetic - instinct, which the author so frequently manifested, that one day a woman - with such shapely limbs as Mrs. Mowbray undoubtedly possessed, might - desire to exhibit them to the public of this grand old England of - Shakespeare’s and ours. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Mowbray was probably the most expensive taste that any man in England - could entertain. - </p> - <p> - All this Harold gathered from the account of the theatrical enterprise, as - communicated to him by Archie after dinner. - </p> - <p> - And the best of it all was, Archie assured him, that no human being could - say a word against the character of Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - “I never heard a word against the character of her frocks,” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a big thing, the management of the Legitimate,” - said Archie, gravely. - </p> - <p> - “No doubt; even when it’s managed, shall we say, legitimately?” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “I feel the responsibility, I can tell you,” said Archie. - “Shakespeare has never been given a proper chance in England; and - although she’s a year or two older than me, yet on the box seat of - my coach she doesn’t look a day over twenty-two—just when a - woman is at her best, Harry. What I want to know is, shall it be said of - us that Shakespeare—the immortal Shakespeare, mind you—Stratford - upon Avon, you know—” - </p> - <p> - “I believe I have his late address,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all right. But what I want to know is, shall it be - said that we are willing to throw our Shakespeare overboard? In the scene - in the front of the cave she is particularly fine.” - </p> - <p> - In an instant Harold’s thoughts were carried back to a certain scene - in front of a cave on a moonlight night; and for him the roar of life - through Piccadilly was changed to the roar of the Atlantic. His thoughts - remained far away while Archie talked gravely of building himself a - monument by his revival of “Cymbeline”, with which the - Legitimate had been opened by Mrs. Mowbray. Of course, the thing hadn’t - begun to pay yet, he explained. Everyone knew that the Bicycle had ruined - theatrical business in London; but the Legitimate could fight even the - Bicycle, and when the public had the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray properly - impressed upon them, Shakespeare would certainly obtain that recognition - which he deserves from England. Were Englishmen proud of Shakespeare, or - were they not? that was what Archie wished very much to know. If the - people of your so-called British Islands wish to throw Shakespeare - overboard, just let them say so. But if they threw him over, the - responsibility would rest with them; Mrs. Mowbray would still be the - handsomest woman in England. At any rate, “Cymbeline” at the - Legitimate would be a monument. - </p> - <p> - “As a lighthouse is a monument,” said Harold, coming back from - the Irish lough to Piccadilly. - </p> - <p> - “I knew you’d agree with me,” said Archie. “You - know that I’ve always had a great respect for your opinion, Harry. I - don’t object so much as some tarty chips to your dad. I wish he’d - see Mrs. Mowbray. There’s no vet. whose opinion I’d sooner - take on the subject than his. He’d find her all right.” - </p> - <p> - Harold looked at the young man whose plain features—visible when he - did not smile too broadly—displayed the enthusiasm that possessed - him when he was fancying that his devotion to the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray - was a true devotion to Shakespeare. Archie Brown, he was well aware, was - very imperfectly educated. - </p> - <p> - He was not, however, much worse than the general run of people. Like them - he knew only enough of Shakespeare to be able to misquote him now and - again; and, like them, he believed that. Darwinism meant nothing more than - that men had once been monkeys. - </p> - <p> - Harold looked at Archie, and felt that Mrs. Mowbray was a fortunate woman - in having met with him. The monument was being raised, Harold felt; and he - was right. The management of the Legitimate-Theatre was a memorial to - Vanity working heart, and soul with Ignorance to the praise and glory of - Shakespeare. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0012" id="link2HBCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXI.—ON A BLACK SHEEP. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span> EFORE Archie had - completed his confidences, a visitor was announced. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it’s only old Playdell,” said Archie. “You - know old Playdell, of course.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not so certain that I do,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he’s a good old soul who was kicked out of the Church by - the bishop for doing something or other. He’s useful to me—keeps - my correspondence in order—spots the chaps that write the begging - letters, and sees that they don’t get anything out of me, while he - takes care that all the genuine ones get all that they deserve. He’s - an Oxford man.” - </p> - <p> - “Playdell—Playdell,” said Harold. “Surely he can’t - be the fellow that got run out for marrying people without a licence?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s his speciality,” said Archie. “Come along, - chippie Chaplain. Chip in, and have a glass of something.” - </p> - <p> - A middle-aged man, wearing the coat and the tie of a cleric, entered the - room with a smile and a bow to Harold. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve heard of Mr. Wynne, Play?” said Archie. “The - Honourable Harold Wynne. He’s heard of you—yes, you bet your - hoofs on that.” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say you’ve heard of me, Mr. Wynne,” said the - man. “It’s the black sheep in a flock that obtain notoriety; - the colourless ones escape notice. I’m a black sheep.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re about as black as they make them, old Play,” - remarked Archie, with a prompt and kindly acquiescence. “But your - blackness doesn’t go deeper than the wool.” - </p> - <p> - “You say that because you are always disposed to be charitable, - Archie,” said Mr. Playdell. “Even with you I’m afraid - that another notorious character is not so black as he’s painted.” - </p> - <p> - “Neither he is,” said Archie. “You know as well as I do - that the devil is not so black as he used to be—he’s turning - gray in his old age.” - </p> - <p> - “They treated me worse than they treated the Fiend himself, Mr. - Wynne,” said Playdell. “They turned me out of the Church, but - the Church still retains the Prince of Darkness. He is still the most - powerful auxiliary that the Church knows.” - </p> - <p> - “If you expressed that sentiment when in orders,” said Harold, - “I can quite easily understand how you find yourself outside the - Church.” - </p> - <p> - “I was quite orthodox when in the Church, Mr. Wynne. I couldn’t - afford to be otherwise,” said Playdell. “I wasn’t even - an Honest Doubter. I felt that if I had begun to doubt I might become a - Dissenter before I knew what I was about. It is only since I left the - Church that I’ve indulged in the luxury of being unorthodox.” - </p> - <p> - “Take a glass of wine for your stomach’s sake,” said - Archie. - </p> - <p> - “That lad is the son of a Scotch Nonconformist,” said Mr. - Playdell to Harold; “hence the text. Would it be unorthodox to say - that an inscrutable Providence did not see fit to preserve the reply of - Timothy to that advice? For my own part I cannot doubt for a moment that - Timothy inquired for what other reason his correspondent fancied he might - take the wine. I like my young patron’s La Rose. It must have been - something very different from this that the person alluded to when he said - ‘my love is better than wine.’ Yes, I’ve always thought - that the truth of the statement was largely dependent on the wine.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll take my oath that isn’t orthodox,” said - Archie. “You’d better mind what you’re about, chippie - Chaplain, or I’ll treat you as the bishop did. This is an orthodox - household, let me tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “I feel like Balaam’s ass sometimes, Mr. Wynne, in this - situation,” said Mr. Playdell. “In endeavouring to avoid the - angel with the sword on one hand—that is the threatening orthodoxy - of the Church—I make myself liable to a blow from the staff of the - prophet—our young friend is the prophet.” - </p> - <p> - “I will say this for you, chippie Chaplain,” said Archie, - “you’ve kept me straight. Not that I ever did take kindly to - the flowing bowl; but we all know what temptations there are.” He - looked into his glass and spoke solemnly, shaking his head. “Yes, - Harry, I’ve never drunk a thimbleful more than I should since old - Play here lectured me.” - </p> - <p> - “If I could only persuade you—‘’commenced Mr. - Playdell. - </p> - <p> - “But I’m not such an ass,” cried Archie, interrupting - him. Then he turned to Harold, saying, “The chippie Chaplain wants - to marry me to some one whose name we never mention. That has always been - his weakness—marrying tarty chips that he had no right to marry.” - </p> - <p> - “If I don’t mistake, Mr. Playdell, it was this little weakness - that brought you to grief,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “It was the only point that the bishop could lay hold of, Mr. Wynne,” - said Playdell. “I held, and I still hold, that the ceremony of - marriage may be performed by any person who has been ordained—that - the question of a licence is not one that should come forward upon any - occasion. Those who hold other opinions are those who would degrade the - ordinance into a mere civil act.” - </p> - <p> - “And you married without question every couple who came to you, I - believe?” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “I did, Mr. Wynne. And I will be happy to marry any other couples - who come to me for that purpose now.” - </p> - <p> - “But, you are no longer in the Church, and such marriages would be - no marriages in the eyes of the law.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing can be more certain, Mr. Wynne. But I know that there are - many persons in this country who hold, with me, that the ordinance is not - one that should be made the subject of a licence bought from a bishop—who - hold that the very act of purchase is a gross degradation of the ordinance - of God.” - </p> - <p> - “I say, chippie Chaplain, haven’t we had enough of that?” - said Archie. “You’ve pegged away at that marriage business - with me for a good many months. Now, I say, pass the marriage business. - Let us have a fresh deal.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Wynne, I merely wished to explain my position to you,” - said Playdell. “I’m on the side of the angels in this - question, as a great statesman but a poor scientist said of another - question.” - </p> - <p> - “Pass the statesman as well,” cried Archie. - </p> - <p> - “What do tarty chips like us care for politics or other fads? He - told me the other day, Harry, that instead of introducing a bill for the - admission of ladies as members of Parliament, it would soon be necessary - to introduce a bill for the admission of gentlemen as members—yes, - you said that. You can’t deny it.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t,” said Mr. Playdell. “The result of the - last General Election—” - </p> - <p> - “Pass the General Election,” shouted Archie. “Mr. Wynne - hates that sort of thing. Now give an account of yourself. What have you - done to earn your screw since morning?” - </p> - <p> - “This is what I have come to, Mr. Wynne,” said Playdell. - “Think of it; a clergyman and M.A. Oxon, forced to give an account - of his stewardship to a young cub like that!” He laughed after a - moment of seriousness. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t seem to feel deeply the degradation,” - remarked Harold. - </p> - <p> - “It’s nothing to the depths to which I have fallen,” - said Mr. Playdell. “I was never more than a curate, but in spite of - the drawback of being privileged to preach the Gospel twice a week, the - curacy was a comfortable one. I published two volumes of my sermons, Mr. - Wynne. They sold poorly in England, but I believe that in America they - made the fortune of the publishers that pirated them. It is perfectly well - known that my sermons achieved a great and good purpose in the States. - They were practical. I will say that for them. The leader of the corner in - hogs who ran the prices up last autumn, sold out of the business, I - understand, after reading my sermon on the text, ‘The husks that the - swine do eat.’ Several judges also resigned, admitting that they - were converted. It was freely stated that even a Congressman had been - reformed by one sermon of mine, while another was known to have brought - tears to the eyes of a reporter on the <i>New York Herald</i>. And yet, - with all these gratifying results, I never got a penny out of the American - edition. Just think what would happen on this side of the Atlantic if, let - us say, a Royal Academician were to find grace through a sermon, or—to - assume an extreme case—a member of the Stock Exchange? Why, the - writer would be a made man. I had thoughts of going to America, Mr. Wynne. - At any rate, I’m going to deal with the publishers there directly. A - firm in Boston is at present about to boom a Bowdlerized edition of the - Bible which I have prepared for family reading in the States—not a - word in it that the purest-minded young woman in all Boston might not see. - It should sell, Mr. Wynne. I’m also translating into English a - volume of American humour.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll give you a chance of going to America, before you sleep - if you don’t dry up about your sermons and suchlike skittles,” - said Archie. “The decanter’s beside you. Fill your glass. Mr. - Wynne is coming to my show to-night.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Playdell passed the decanter without filling his glass. “You - know that I never take more than one glass of La Rose,” said he. - “I have found out all about your house painter who fell off the - ladder and broke all his ribs—he is the same as your Clergyman’s - Orphan, and he lives in the same house as your Widow of a Naval Officer - whose little all was invested in a fraudulent building society—he is - also ‘First Thessalonians seven and ten. P.O.O. or stamps’.” - </p> - <p> - “Great Godfrey!” cried Archie; “and I had already - written out a cheque for twenty pounds to send to that swindler! Do you - mean to tell me, Play, that all those you’ve mentioned are - impostors?” - </p> - <p> - “All? Why, there’s only one impostor among the lot,” - said Mr. Playdell. “He is ‘First Thessalonians,’ and he - has at least a dozen branch establishments.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s enough to make a tarty chip disgusted with God’s - footstool,” said Archie. “Before old Play took me in hand I - used to fling decimals about right and left, without inquiry.” - </p> - <p> - “He was the sole support of several of the most notorious swindlers - in the country,” said Mr. Playdell. “I’ve managed to - whittle them down considerably. Shakespeare is at present the only - impostor that has defied my efforts,” he added, in a whisper to - Harold. - </p> - <p> - Harold laughed. He was beginning to feel some remorse at having previously - looked on Archie Brown as a good-natured fool. He now felt that, in spite - of Mrs. Mowbray, he would not wreck his life. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0013" id="link2HBCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXII.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND SUPPER. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ARRIAGES by the - score were waiting at the fine Corinthian entrance to the Legitimate, when - Harold and Archie reached the theatre in their hansom. The <i>façade</i> - of the Legitimate Theatre is so severely Corinthian that foreign visitors - invariably ask what church it is. - </p> - <p> - It was probably the classical columns supporting the pediment of the - entrance that caused Archie to abate his frivolous conversation with his - friend in the hansom—Archie had been expressing the opinion that it - was exhilarating—only exhilarating was not the word he used—to - swear at a man who had once been a clergyman and who still wore the dress - of a cleric. “A chap feels that his turn has come,” he had - said. “No matter how wrong they are you can’t swear at them - and tell them to come down out of that, when they’re in their own - pulpits—they’d have you up for brawling. That’s why I - like to take it out of old Playdell. He tells me, however, that there’s - no dean in the Church that gathers in the decimals as he does in my shop. - But, bless you! he saves me his screw three times over.” - </p> - <p> - But now that the classical front of the Legitimate came in view, Archie - became solemn. - </p> - <p> - He possibly appreciated the feelings of a conscientious clergyman when - about to enter his Church. - </p> - <p> - Shakespeare was a great responsibility. - </p> - <p> - So was Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - The performance was not quite over; but before Archie had paid the - hansomeer, the audience was streaming out from every door. - </p> - <p> - “Stand here and listen to what the people are saying.” - whispered Archie. “I often do it. It is only in this way that you - can learn how much appreciation for Shakespeare still remains in England.” - </p> - <p> - He took up his position with Harold at the foot of the splendid staircase - of the theatre, where the people chatted together while waiting for their - carriages. - </p> - <p> - With scarcely an exception, the remarks had a hearing upon the performance - of “Cymbeline.” Only two ladies confined their criticisms to - their respective medical advisers. - </p> - <p> - Of the others, one man said that Mrs. Mowbray bore a striking resemblance - to her photographs. - </p> - <p> - A second said that she was the most beautiful woman in England. - </p> - <p> - A third said that she knocked sparks out of Polly Floss in the same line - of business. (Polly Floss was the leading exponent of burlesque). - </p> - <p> - One woman said that Mrs. Mowbray was most picturesquely dressed. - </p> - <p> - A second said that she was most picturesquely undressed. - </p> - <p> - A third wondered if Liberty had got the exact tint of the robe that Mrs. - Mowbray had worn in the second act. - </p> - <p> - “And yet some people say that there’s no appreciation of - Shakespeare in England!” said Archie, as he led Harold round the - stalls, over which the attendants were spreading covers, and on to Mrs. - Mowbray’s private rooms. - </p> - <p> - “From the crowds that went out by every door, I judge that the - theatre is making money, at any rate; and I suppose that’s the most - practical test of appreciation,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, they don’t all pay,” said Archie. “That’s - a feature of theatrical management that it takes an outsider some time to - understand. Mrs. Mowbray should understand it pretty well by this time, so - should her business manager. I’m just getting to understand it.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean to say that the people are allowed to come in without - paying?” - </p> - <p> - “It amounts to that in the long run—literally the long run—of - the piece, I believe. Upon my soul, there are some people who fancy that a - chap runs a show as a sort of free entertainment for the public. The - dramatic critics seem to fancy that a chap produces a play, simply in - order to give them an opportunity of showing off their own cleverness in - slating it. It seems that a writer-chap can’t show his cleverness in - praising a piece, but only in slanging it.” - </p> - <p> - “I think that I’d try and make people pay for their seats.” - </p> - <p> - “I used always to pay for mine in the old days—but then, I was - always squandering my money.” - </p> - <p> - “I have always paid for mine.” - </p> - <p> - “The manager says that if you asked people to pay, they’d be - mortally offended and never enter the theatre again, and where would you - be then?” - </p> - <p> - “Where, indeed?” said Harold. “I expect your manager - must know his business thoroughly.” - </p> - <p> - “He does. It requires tact to get people to come to see Shakespeare,” - said Archie. “But a chap can’t build a monument for himself - without paying for it.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be ridiculous to expect it,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - Pushing aside a magnificent piece of heavy drapery, Archie brought his - friend into a passage illuminated by the electric light; and knocking at a - door at the farther end, he was admitted by Mrs. Mowbray’s maid, - into a prettily-furnished sitting-room and into the presence of Mrs. - Mowbray, who was sitting robed in something very exquisite and cloud-like—not - exactly a peignoir but something that suggested a peignoir. - </p> - <p> - She was like a picture by Romney. If one could imagine all the charm of - all the pictures of Emma Hamilton (<i>née</i> Lyon) which Romney painted, - meeting harmoniously in another creature, one would come within reasonable - distance of seeing Mrs. Mowbray, as Harold saw her when he entered the - room. - </p> - <p> - Even with the disadvantage of the exaggerated colour and the - over-emphasized eye-lashes necessary for the searching illumination of the - footlights, she was very lovely, Harold acknowledged. - </p> - <p> - But all the loveliness of Mrs. Mowbray produced but a trifling effect - compared to that produced by her charm of manner. She was the most natural - woman ever known. - </p> - <p> - The position of the natural man has been defined by an eminent authority. - But who shall define the position of the natural woman? - </p> - <p> - It was Mrs. Mowbray’s perfect simplicity, especially when talking to - men—as a matter of fact she preferred talking to men rather than to - women—that made her seem so lovely—nay, that made a man feel - that it was good for him to be in her presence. She was devoid of the - smallest trace of affectation. She seemed the embodiment of truth. She - never smiled for the sake of conventionality. But when she did smile, just - as Harold entered the room, her head turning round so that her face was - looking over her shoulder, she had all the spiritual beauty of the - loveliest picture ever painted by Greuze, consequently the loveliest - picture ever painted by the hand of man. - </p> - <p> - And yet she was so very human. - </p> - <p> - An Algy and an Eddy were already in the room—the first was a - Marquis, the second was the eldest son of a duke. Both were handsome lads, - of quiet manners, and both were in the Household Cavalry. Mrs. Mowbray - liked to be surrounded by the youngest of men. - </p> - <p> - Harold had been acquainted with her long before she had become an actress. - He had not had an opportunity of meeting her since; but he found that she - remembered him very well. - </p> - <p> - She had heard of his father, she said, looking at him in a way that did - not in the least suggest a picture by Greuze. - </p> - <p> - When people referred to his father they did not usually assume a look of - innocence. Most of them would have had difficulty in assuming such a look - under any circumstances. - </p> - <p> - “My father is frequently heard of,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “And your father’s son also,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “What - a freak of Lady Innisfail’s! She lured you all across to Ireland. I - heard so much. And what came of it, after all?” - </p> - <p> - “Acute admiration for the allurements of Lady Innisfail in my case, - and a touch of acute rheumatism in my father’s case,” said - Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Neither will be fatal to the sufferers,” said Mrs. Mowbray—“or - to Lady Innisfail, for that matter,” she added. - </p> - <p> - “I should say not,” remarked Algy. “We all admire Lady - Innisfail.” - </p> - <p> - “Few cases of acute admiration of Lady Innisfail have proved fatal, - so far as I can hear, Lord Brackenthorpe,” said Mrs. Mowbray. - “Young mem have suffered from it and have become exemplary husbands - and parents.” - </p> - <p> - “And if they don’t live happy, that we may,” said - Archie. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the end of the whole matter,” said. Harold. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the end of the orthodox fairy tale,” said Mrs. - Mowbray. “Was your visit to Ireland a fairy story, Mr. Wynne?” - </p> - <p> - Harold wondered how much this woman knew of the details of his visit to - Ireland. Before he-could think of an answer in the same strain, Mrs. - Mowbray had risen from the little gilt sofa, and had taken a step or two - toward her dressing-room. The look she tossed to Harold, when she turned - round with her fingers on the handle of the door, was a marvellous one. - </p> - <p> - Had it been attempted by any other woman, it would have provoked derision - on the part of the average man—certainly on the part of Harold - Wynne. But, coming from Mrs. Mowbray, it conveyed—well, all that she - meant it to convey. It was not merely fascinating, it was fascination - itself. - </p> - <p> - It was such a look as this, he felt—but nearly a year had passed - before he had thought of the parallel—that Venus had cast at Paris - upon a momentous occasion. It was the glance of Venus Victrix. It made a - man think—a year or so afterwards—of Ahola and Aholibah, of - Ashtoreth, of Cleopatra, of Faustina, of Iseult, of Rosamond. - </p> - <p> - And yet the momentary expression of her features was as simple and as - natural as that worn by one of Greuze’s girls. - </p> - <p> - “She’ll not be more than ten minutes,” said - </p> - <p> - Archie. “I don’t know how she manages to dress herself in the - time.” - </p> - <p> - He did not exaggerate. Mrs. Mowbray returned in ten minutes, with no trace - of paint upon her face, wearing a robe that seemed to surround her with - fleecy clouds. The garment was not much more than an atmosphere—it - was a good deal less substantial than the atmosphere of London in December - or that of Sheffield in June. - </p> - <p> - “We shall have the pleasantest of suppers,” she said, “and - the pleasantest of chats. I understand that Mr. Wynne has solved the Irish - problem.” - </p> - <p> - “And what is the solution, Mrs. Mowbray?” said Lord - Brackenthorpe. - </p> - <p> - “The solution—ah—‘a gray eye or so’,” - said Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - The little Mercutio swagger with which she gave point to the words, was - better than anything she had done on the stage. - </p> - <p> - “And now, Mr. Wynne, you must lead the way with me to our little - supper-room,” said she, before the laugh, in which everyone joined, - at the pretty bit of comedy, had ceased. - </p> - <p> - Harold gave her his arm. - </p> - <p> - When at the point of entering the room—it was daintily furnished - with old English oak and old English silver—Mrs. Mowbray said, in - the most casual way possible, “I hope you will tell me all that may - be told about that charming White Lady of the Cave. How amusing it must - have been to watch the chagrin of Lord Fotheringay, when Mr. Airey gave - him to understand that he meant to make love to that young person with the - wonderful eyes.” - </p> - <p> - “It was intensely amusing, indeed,” said Harold, who had - become prepared for anything that Mrs. Mowbray might say. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you must have been amused; for, of course, you knew that Mr. - Airey was not in earnest—that he had simply been told off by Miss - Craven to amuse himself with the young person, in order to induce her to - take her beautiful eyes off—off—someone else, and to turn them - admiringly upon Mr. Airey.” - </p> - <p> - “That was the most amusing part of the comedy, of course,” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “What fools some girls are!” laughed Mrs. Mowbray. It was well - known that she disliked the society of women. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a wise provision of nature that the fools should be the - girls.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I have known a fool or two among men,” said Mrs. Mowbray, - with another laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Have known—did you say <i>have known?</i>” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Any girl who has lived in this world of ours for a quarter of a - century, should have seen enough to make her aware of the fact that the - best way to set about increasing the passion of, let us say, the average - man—” - </p> - <p> - “No, the average man is passionless.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, the passion of whatever man you please—for a young - woman whom he loves, or fancies he loves—it’s all the same in - the end—is to induce him to believe that several other men are also - in love with her.” - </p> - <p> - “That is one of the rudiments of a science of which you are the - leading exponent,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “And yet Miss Craven was foolish enough to fancy that the man of - whom she was thinking, would give himself up to think of her so soon as he - believed that Mr. Airey was in love with her rival! Ah, here are our - lentils and pulse. How good it is of you to imperil your digestions by - taking supper with me, when only a few hours can have passed since you - dined.” - </p> - <p> - “Digestion is not an immortal soul,” said Harold, “and I - believe that immortal souls have been imperilled before now, for the sake - of taking supper with the most beautiful woman in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever heard a woman say that I am beautiful?” she - asked. - </p> - <p> - “Never,” said Harold. “That is the one sin which a woman - never pardons in another.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not know women—” with a little pitying smile. - “A woman will forgive a woman for being more beautiful than herself—for - being less virtuous than herself, but never for being better-dressed than - herself.” - </p> - <p> - “For how many of the three sins do you ask forgiveness of woman—two - or three?” said Harold, gently. - </p> - <p> - But instead of making an answer, Mrs. Mowbray said something about the - necessity of cherishing a digestion. It was disgraceful, she said, that - bread-and-butter and arithmetic should be forced upon a school boy—that - such magnificent powers of digestion as he possessed should not be - utilized ta the uttermost. - </p> - <p> - Lord Brackenthorpe said he knew a clever artist chap, who had drawn a - sketch of about a thousand people crowding over one another, in an - American hotel, in order to see a boy, who had been overheard asking his - mother what was the meaning of the word dyspepsia. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Mowbray wondered if the melancholy of Hamlet was due to a weak - digestion. - </p> - <p> - Harold said he thought it should rather be accepted as evidence that there - was a Schleswig-Holstein question even in Hamlet’s day. - </p> - <p> - Meantime, the pheasants and sparkling red Burgundy were affording - compensation for the absence of any brilliant talk. - </p> - <p> - Then the young men lit their cigarettes. Mrs. Mowbray had never been known - to risk her reputation (for femininity) by letting a cigarette between her - lips; but her femininity was in no way jeopardized—rather was it - accentuated—by her liking to be in the neighbourhood of where - cigarettes were being smoked—that is, when the cigarettes were good - and when the smokers were pleasant young men with titles, or even - unpleasant young men with thousands. - </p> - <p> - After the lapse of an hour, a message came regarding Mrs. Mowbray’s - brougham. Her guests rose and she looked about for her wrap. - </p> - <p> - While Harold Wynne was laying it on her lovely shoulders, she kept her - eyes fixed upon his. Hers were full of intelligence. When he had carefully - fastened the gold clasp just beneath the hollow of her throat—it - required very careful handling—she poised her head to the extent of - perhaps a quarter of an inch to one side, and laughed; then she moved away - from him, but turned her head so that her face was once more over her - shoulder, like the face of the Greuze girl from whom she had learnt the - trick. - </p> - <p> - He knew that she wanted him to ask her from whom she had heard the stories - regarding Castle Innisfail and its guests. - </p> - <p> - He also knew that the reason she wanted him to ask her this question, was - in order that she might have the delight of refusing to answer him, while - keeping him in the expectancy of receiving an answer. - </p> - <p> - Such a delight would, of course, be a malicious one. But he knew that it - would be a thoroughly womanly one, and he knew that Mrs. Mowbray was a - thorough woman. - </p> - <p> - Therefore he laughed back at her and did not ask her anything—not - even to take his arm out to her brougham. - </p> - <p> - Archie Brown did, and she took his arm, still looking over her shoulder at - Harold. - </p> - <p> - It only needed that the lovely, wicked look should vanish in a sentence. - </p> - <p> - And it did. - </p> - <p> - The full lips parted, and the poise of the head was increased by perhaps - the eighth part of an inch. - </p> - <p> - “‘A gray eye or so,’” she murmured. - </p> - <p> - Her laughter rang down the corridor. - </p> - <p> - “And the best of it all is, that no one can say a word against her - character,” said Archie. - </p> - <p> - This was the conclusion of his rhapsody in the hansom, in which he and - Harold were driving down Piccadilly—a rhapsody upon the beauty, the - genius, and the expensiveness of Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - Harold was silent. The truth was that he was thinking about something far - apart from Mrs. Mowbray, her beauty, her doubtful genius, and her - undoubted power of spending money. - </p> - <p> - “What do you say?” said Archie. “Great Godfrey! you don’t - mean to say that you’ve heard a word breathed against her character?” - </p> - <p> - “On the contrary,” said Harold, “I’ve always heard - it asserted that Mrs. Mowbray is the best dressed woman in London.” - </p> - <p> - “Give me your hand, old chap; I knew that I could trust you to do - her justice,” cried Archie. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0014" id="link2HBCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIII.—ON BLESSING OR DOOM. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>VEN before he - slept, Harold Wynne found that he had a good many matters to think about, - in addition to the exquisitely natural poises of Mrs. Mowbray’s - shapely head. - </p> - <p> - It was apparent to him that Mrs. Mowbray had somehow obtained a - circumstantial account of the appearance of Beatrice Avon at the Irish - Castle, and of the effect that had been produced, in more than one - direction, by her appearance. - </p> - <p> - But the most important information that he had derived from Mrs. Mowbray - was that which had reference to the attitude of Edmund Airey toward - Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - Undoubtedly, Mrs. Mowbray had, by some means, come to be possessed of the - truth regarding the apparent fascination which Beatrice had for Edmund - Airey. It was a trick—it was the result of a conspiracy between - Helen Craven and Edmund, in order that he, Harold, should be prevented - from even telling Beatrice that he loved her. Helen had felt certain that - Beatrice, when she fancied—poor girl!—that she had produced so - extraordinary an impression upon the wealthy and distinguished man, would - be likely to treat the poor and undistinguished man, whose name was Harold - Wynne, in such a way as would prevent him from ever telling her that he - loved her! - </p> - <p> - And Edmund had not hesitated to play the part which Helen had assigned to - him! For more than a moment did Harold feel that his friend had behaved in - a grossly dishonourable way. But he knew that his friend, if taxed with - behaving dishonourably, would be ready to prove—if he thought it - necessary—that, so far from acting dishonourably, he had shown - himself to be Harold’s best friend, by doing his best to prevent - Harold from asking a penniless girl to be his wife. Oh, yes, Mr. Edmund - Airey would have no trouble in showing, to the satisfaction of a - considerable number of people—perhaps, even to his own satisfaction—that - he was acting the part of a truly conscientious; and, perhaps, a - self-sacrificing friend, by adopting Helen Craven’s suggestion. - </p> - <p> - Harold felt very bitter toward his friend Edmund Airey; though it was - unreasonable for him to do so; for had not he come to precisely the same - conclusion as his friend in respect of Beatrice, this conclusion being, of - course, that nothing but unhappiness could be the result of his loving - Beatrice, and of his asking Beatrice to love him? - </p> - <p> - If Edmund Airey had succeeded in preventing him from carrying out his - designs, Harold would be saved from the necessity of having with Beatrice - that melancholy interview to which he was looking forward; therefore it - was unreasonable for him to entertain any feeling of bitterness toward - Edmund. - </p> - <p> - But for all that, he felt very bitterly toward Edmund—a fact which - shows that, in some men as well as in all women, logic is subordinate to - feeling. - </p> - <p> - It was also far from logical on his part to begin to think, only after he - had accused his friend of dishonourable conduct, of the source whence the - evidence upon which he had founded his accusation, was derived. - </p> - <p> - How had Mrs. Mowbray come to hear how Edmund Airey had plotted with Helen - Craven, he asked himself. He began to wonder how she could have heard - about the gray eyes of Beatrice, to which she had alluded more than once, - with such excellent effect from the standpoint of art. From whom could she - have heard so much? - </p> - <p> - She certainly did not hear it from Mr. Durdan, even if she was acquainted - with him, which was doubtful; for Mr. Durdan was discreet. Besides, Mr. - Durdan was rarely eloquent on any social subject. He was the sort of man - who makes a tour on the Continent and returns to tell you of nothing - except a flea at Bellaggio. - </p> - <p> - Was it possible that some of the fishing men had been taking notes unknown - to any of their fellow guests, for the benefit of Mrs. Mowbray? - </p> - <p> - Harold did not think so. - </p> - <p> - After some time he ceased to trouble himself with these vain speculations. - The fact—he believed it to be a fact—remained the same: - someone who had been at Castle Innisfail had given Mrs. Mowbray a highly - circumstantial account of certain occurrences in the neighbourhood of the - Castle; and if Mrs. Mowbray had received such an account, why might not - anyone else be equally favoured? - </p> - <p> - Thus it was that he strayed into new regions of speculation, where he - could not possibly find any profit. What did it matter to him if everyone - in London knew that Edmund Airey had plotted with Helen Craven, to prevent - an impecunious man from marrying a penniless girl? All that remained for - him to do was to go to the girl, and tell her that he had made a mistake—that - he would be asking her to make too great a sacrifice, were he to hold her - to her promise to love him and him only. - </p> - <p> - It was somewhat curious that his resolution in this matter should be - strengthened by the fact of his having learned that Edmund Airey had not - been in earnest, in what was generally regarded at Castle Innisfail as an - attitude of serious, and not merely autumn, love-making, in respect of - Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - He did not feel at all annoyed to learn that, if he were to withdraw from - the side of Beatrice, his place would not be taken by that wealthy and - distinguished man, Edmund Airey. When he had at first made up his mind to - go to Beatrice and ask her to forget that he had ever told her that he - loved her, he had had an uneasy feeling that his friend might show even a - greater interest than he had done on the evening of the <i>tableaux</i> at - the Castle, in the future movements of Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - At that time his resolution had not been overwhelming in its force. But - now that Mrs. Mowbray had made that strange communication—it almost - amounted to a revelation—to him, he felt almost impatient at the - delay that he knew there must be before he could see the girl and make his - confession to her. - </p> - <p> - He had two more days to think over his resolution, in addition to his - sleepless night after receiving Mrs. Mowbray’s confidences; and the - result of keeping his thoughts in the one direction was, that at last he - had almost convinced himself that he was glad that the opportunity had - arrived for him to present himself to the girl, in order to tell her that - he would no longer stand in the way of her loving someone else. - </p> - <p> - When he found himself in her presence, however, his convictions on this - particular point were scarcely so strong as they might have been. - </p> - <p> - She was sitting in front of the fire in the great drawing-room that - retained all the original decorations of the Brothers Adam, and she was - wearing something beautifully simple—something creamy, with old - lace. The furniture of the room also belonged to the period of the Adams, - and on the walls were a number of coloured engravings by Bartolozzi after - Cipriani and Angelica Kauffmann. - </p> - <p> - She was in his arms in a moment. She gave herself to him as naturally and - as artlessly as though she were a child; and he held her close to him, - looking down upon her face without uttering a word—kissing her mouth - conscientiously, her shell-pink cheeks earnestly, her forehead - scrupulously, and her chin playfully. - </p> - <p> - This was how he opened the interview which he had arranged to part them - for ever. - </p> - <p> - Then they both drew a long breath simultaneously, and both laughed in - unison. - </p> - <p> - Then he held her away from him for a few seconds, looking upon her - exquisite face. Again he kissed her—but this time solemnly and with - something of the father about the action. - </p> - <p> - “At last—at last,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “At last,” she murmured in reply. - </p> - <p> - “It seems to me that I have never seen you before,” said he. - “You seem to be a different person altogether. I do not remember - anything of your face, except your eyes—no, by heavens! your eyes - are different also.” - </p> - <p> - “It was dark as midnight in the depths of that seal-cave,” she - whispered. - </p> - <p> - “You mean that—ah, yes, my beloved! If I could have seen your - eyes at that moment I know I should have found them full of the light that - I now see in their depths. You remember what I said to you on the morning - after your arrival at the Castle? Your eyes meant everything to me then—I - knew it—beatitude or doom.” - </p> - <p> - “And you know now what they meant?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her earnestly and passionately for some moments. Then his - hands dropped suddenly as though they were the hands of a man who had died - in a moment—his hands dropped, he turned away his face. - </p> - <p> - “God knows, God knows,” he said, with what seemed like a moan. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said; “God knows, and you know as well as God - that in my heart there is nothing that does not mean love for you. Does - love mean blessing or doom?” - </p> - <p> - “God knows,” said he again. “Your love should mean to me - the most blessed thing on earth.” - </p> - <p> - “And your love makes me most blessed among women,” said she. - </p> - <p> - This exchange of thought could scarcely be said to make easier the task - which he had set himself to do before nightfall. - </p> - <p> - He seemed to become aware of this, for he went to the high mantelpiece, - and stood with his hands upon it, earnestly examining the carved marble - frieze, cream-tinted with age, which was on a level with his face. - </p> - <p> - She knew, however, that he was not examining the carving from the - standpoint of a critic; and she waited silently for whatever was coming. - </p> - <p> - It came when he ceased his scrutiny of the classical figures in high - relief, that appeared upon the marble slab. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice, my beloved,” said he, and her face brightened. - Nothing that commenced with the assumption that she was his beloved could - be very bad. “I have been in great trouble—I am in great - trouble still.” - </p> - <p> - She was by his side in a moment, and had taken one of his hands in hers. - She held it, looking up to his face with her eyes full of sympathy and - concern. - </p> - <p> - “My dearest,” he said, “you are all that is good and - gracious. We must part, and for ever.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed, still looking at his face. There really was something - laughable in the sequence of his words. But her laugh did not make his - task any easier. - </p> - <p> - “When I told you that I loved you, Beatrice, I told you the truth,” - said he. “If I were to tell you anything else now it would be a - falsehood. But I had no right ever to speak to you of love. I am - absolutely penniless.” - </p> - <p> - “That is no confession,” said she. “I knew all along - that you were dependent upon your father for everything. I felt for you—so - did Mr. Airey.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Airey?” said he. “Mr. Airey mentioned to you that I - was a beggar?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he didn’t say that. He only said—what did he say?—something - about the affairs of the world being very badly arranged, otherwise you - should have thousands—oh, he said he felt for you with all his - heart.” - </p> - <p> - “‘With all his appreciation of the value of an opportunity,’ - he should have said. Never mind Edmund Airey. You, yourself, can see, - Beatrice, how impossible it would be for any man with the least sense of - honour, situated as I am, to ask you to wait—to wait for something - indefinite.” - </p> - <p> - “You did not ask me to wait for anything. You did not ask me to wait - for your love—you gave it to me at once. There is nothing indefinite - in love.” - </p> - <p> - “My Beatrice, you cannot think that I would ask you for your love - without hoping to marry you?” - </p> - <p> - “Then let us be married to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - She did not laugh, speaking the words. He could see that she would not - hesitate to marry him at any moment. - </p> - <p> - “Would to heaven that we could be, my dearest! But could there be - anything more cruel than for a penniless man, such as I am, to ask a girl, - such as you are, to marry him?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot see where the cruelty would be. People have been very - happy together before now, though they have had very little money between - them.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Beatrice, you were not meant to pass your life in squalid - lodgings, with none of the refinements of life around you; and I—well, - I have known what roughing it means; I would face the worst alone; but I - am not selfish enough to seek to drag you down to my level—to ask - you to face hardship for my sake.” - </p> - <p> - “But I——” - </p> - <p> - “Do not say anything, darling: anything that you may say will only - make it the harder to part. I can do it, Beatrice; I am strong enough to - say good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “Then say it, Harold.” - </p> - <p> - She stood facing him, with her wonderful eyes looking steadily into his. - The message that they conveyed to him was such as he could not fail to - read aright. He knew that if he had said goodbye, he would never have a - chance of looking into those eyes again. - </p> - <p> - And yet he made the attempt to speak—to say the word that she had - challenged him to utter. His lips were parted for more than a moment. He - suddenly dropped her hand—he had been holding it all the time—and - turned away from her with a passionate gesture. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot say it—God help me! I cannot say good-bye,” he - cried. - </p> - <p> - He had flung himself into a sofa and had buried his face in his hands. - </p> - <p> - For a short time he had actually felt that he was desirous to part from - her. For some minutes he had been quite sincere. The force of the words he - had made use of to show Beatrice how absolutely necessary it was that they - should part, had not been felt by her; those words had, however, affected - him. He had felt—for the first time, in spite of his previous - self-communing—that he must say good-bye to her, but he found that - he was too weak to say it. - </p> - <p> - He felt a hand upon his shoulder. He could feel her gracious presence near - to him, before her voice came. - </p> - <p> - “Harold,” she said, “if you had said it, I should never - have had an hour’s happiness in my life. I would never have seen you - again. I felt that all the happiness of my life was dependent upon your - refraining from speaking those words. Cannot you see, my love, that the - matter has passed out of our hands—that it is out of our power to - part now? Harold, cannot you see that, let it be for good or evil—for - heaven or doom—we must be together? Whatever is before us, we are - not two but one—our lives are joined beyond the power of separation. - I am yours; you are mine.” - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet. He saw that tears were in her eyes. “Let it - be so,” he cried. “In God’s name let it be so. Whatever - may happen, no suggestion of parting shall come from me. We stand - together, and for ever, Beatrice.” - </p> - <p> - “For ever and ever,” she said. - </p> - <p> - That was how their interview came to a close. - </p> - <p> - Did he know when he had set out for her home that this would be the close - of their interview—this clasping of the hands—this meeting of - the lips? - </p> - <p> - Perhaps he did not. But one thing is certain: if it had not had this - ending, he would have been greatly mortified. - </p> - <p> - His vanity would have received a great blow. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0015" id="link2HBCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIV.—ON THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ALKING Westward to - his rooms, he enjoyed once again the same feeling of exultation, which had - been his on the evening of the return from the seal-hunt. He felt that she - was wholly his. - </p> - <p> - He had done all that was in his power to show her how very much better it - would be for her to part from him and never to see him again—how - much better it would be for her to marry the wealthy and distinguished man - who had, out of the goodness of his heart, expressed to her a deep - sympathy for his, Harold’s, unfortunate condition of dependence upon - a wicked father. But he had not been able to convince her that it would be - to her advantage to adopt this course. - </p> - <p> - Yet, instead of feeling deeply humiliated by reason of the failure of his - arguments, he felt exultant. - </p> - <p> - “She is mine—she is mine!” he cried, when he found - himself alone in his room in St. James’s. “There is none like - her, and she is mine!” - </p> - <p> - He reflected for a long time upon her beauty. He thought of Mrs. Mowbray, - and he smiled, knowing that Beatrice was far lovelier, though her - loveliness was not of the same impressive type. One did not seem to - breathe near Beatrice that atmosphere heavy with the scent of roses, which - Mrs. Mowbray carried with her for the intoxication of the nations. Still, - the beauty of Beatrice was not a tame thing. It had stirred him, and it - had stirred other men. - </p> - <p> - Yes, it had stirred Edmund Airey—he felt certain of it, although he - did not doubt the truth of Mrs. Mowbray’s communication on this - subject. - </p> - <p> - Even though Edmund Airey had been in a plot with Helen, still Harold felt - that he had been stirred by the beauty of Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - He thought over this point for some time, and the conclusion that he came - to was, that he could easily find out if Edmund meant to play no more - important a <i>rôle</i> than that of partner in Helen Craven’s plot. - It was perfectly clear, that if Edmund had merely acted as he had done at - the suggestion of Helen, he would cease to take any further interest in - Beatrice, unless it was his intention to devote his life to carrying out - the plot. - </p> - <p> - In the course of some weeks, he would learn all that could be known on - this point; but meantime his condition was a peculiar one. - </p> - <p> - He would have felt mortified had he been certain that Edmund Airey had not - really been stirred by the charm of Beatrice; but he would have been - somewhat uneasy had he felt certain that Edmund was deeply in love with - her. He trusted her implicitly—he felt certain of himself in this - respect. Had he not a right to trust her, after the way in which she had - spoken to him—the way in which she had given herself up to him? But - then he felt that he had made use of such definite arguments to her, in - pointing out the advisability of their parting, as caused it to be quite - possible that she might begin to perceive—after a year or two of - waiting—that there was some value in those arguments of his, after - all. - </p> - <p> - By the time that he had dined with some people, who had sent him a card on - his return to London, and had subjected himself to the mortifying - influence of some unfamiliar <i>entrées</i>, and a conversation with a - woman who was the survivor of the wreck of spiritualism in London, he was - no longer in the exultant mood of the afternoon. - </p> - <p> - “A Fool’s Paradise—a Fool’s Paradise!” he - murmured, as he sat in an easy-chair, and gazed into his flickering fire. - </p> - <p> - It had been very glorious to think that he was beloved by that exquisite - girl—to think of the kisses of her mouth; but whither was the love - leading him? - </p> - <p> - His father’s words could not be forgotten—those words which he - had spoken from beneath the eiderdown of his bed at Castle Innisfail; and - Harold knew that, should he marry Beatrice, his father would certainly - carry out his threat of cutting off his allowance. - </p> - <p> - Thus it was that he sat in his chair feeling that, even though Beatrice - had refused to be separated from him, still they were as completely parted - by circumstances as if she had immediately acknowledged the force of his - arguments, and had accepted, his invitation to say good-bye for ever. - </p> - <p> - Thus it was that he cried, “A Fool’s Paradise—a Fool’s - Paradise!” as he thought over the whole matter. - </p> - <p> - What were the exact elements of the Paradise in which his exclamation - suggested that he was living, he might have had some difficulty in - defining. - </p> - <p> - But then the site of the original Paradise is still a matter of - speculation. - </p> - <p> - The next day he went to take lunch with her and her father—he had - promised to do so before he had left her, when they had had their - interview. - </p> - <p> - It so happened, however, that he only partook of lunch with Beatrice; for - Mr. Avon had, he learned, been compelled to go to Dublin for some days, to - satisfy himself regarding a document which was in a library in that city. - </p> - <p> - Harold did not grumble at the prospect of a long afternoon by her side; - only he could not help feeling that the <i>ménage</i> of the Avon family - was one of the most remarkable that he had ever known. The historical - investigations of Mr. Avon did not seem to induce him to take a - conventional view of his obligations, as the father of an extremely - handsome girl—assuming that he was aware of the fact of her beauty—or - a pessimistic view of modern society. He seemed to allow Beatrice to be in - every way her own mistress—to receive whatever visitors she pleased; - and to lay no narrow-minded prohibition upon such an incident as lunching - <i>tête-à-tête</i> with a young man, or perhaps—but Harold had no - knowledge of such a case—an old man. - </p> - <p> - He wondered if the historian had ever been remonstrated with on this - subject, by such persons as had not had the advantage of scrutinizing - humanity through the medium of state papers. - </p> - <p> - Harold thought that, on the whole, he had no reason to take exception to - the liberality of Mr. Avon’s system. He reflected that it was to - this system he was indebted for what promised to be an extremely agreeable - afternoon. - </p> - <p> - What he did not reflect upon, however, was, that he was indebted to Mr. - Avon’s peculiarities—some people would undoubtedly call the - system a peculiar one—for a charmingly irresponsible relationship - toward the historian’s daughter. He did not reflect upon the fact, - that if the girl had had the Average Father, or the Vigilant Mother, to - say nothing of the Athletic Brother, he would not have been able, without - some explanation, to visit her, and, on the strength of promising to love - her, to kiss her, as he had now repeatedly done, on the mouth—or - even on the forehead, which is somewhat less satisfying. Everyone knows - that the Vigilant Mother would, by the application of a maternal - thumb-screw which she always carries attached to her bunch of keys, have - extorted from Beatrice a full confession as to the incidents of the - seal-hunt—all except the hunting of the seals—and that this - confession would have led to a visit to the study of the Average Father, - in one corner of which reposes the rack, in working order, for the - reception of the suitor. Everyone knows so much, and also that the - alternative of the paternal rack, is the fist of the Athletic Brother. - </p> - <p> - But Mr. Harold Wynne did not seem to reflect upon these points, when he - heard the lightly uttered excuses of Beatrice for her father’s - absence, as they seated themselves at the table in the large dining-room. - </p> - <p> - His practised eye made him aware of the fact that Beatrice understood what - he considered to be the essentials of a <i>recherché</i> lunch: a lunch - appeals to the eye; but wine appeals to other senses than the sense of - seeing; and the result of his judgment was to convince him that, if Mr. - Avon was as careless in the affairs of the cellar as he was in the affairs - of the drawing-room, he was to be congratulated upon having about him - someone who understood still hock at any rate. - </p> - <p> - In the drawing-room, she busied herself in arranging, in Wedgwood bowls, - some flowers that he had brought her—trifles of sprawling orchids, - Eucharis lilies, and a fairy tropical fern or two, all of which are quite - easy to be procured in London in October for the expenditure of a few - sovereigns. The picture that she made bending over her bowls was - inexpressibly lovely. He sat silent, watching her, while she prattled away - with the artless high spirits of a child. She was surely the loveliest - thing yet made by God. He thought of what the pious old writer had said - about a particular fruit, and he paraphrased it in his own mind, saying, - that doubtless God could make a lovelier thing, but certainly He had never - made it. - </p> - <p> - “I am delighted to have such sweet flowers now,” she cried, as - she observed, with critical eyes, the effect of a bit of flaming crimson—an - orchid suggesting a flamingo in flight—over the turquoise edge of - the bowl. “I am delighted, because I have a prospect of other - visitors beside yourself, my lord.” - </p> - <p> - “Other visitors?” said he. He wondered if he might venture to - suggest to her the inadvisability of entertaining other visitors during - her father’s absence. - </p> - <p> - “Other visitors indeed,” she replied. “I did not tell - you yesterday all that I had to tell. I forget now what we talked about - yesterday. How did we put in our time?” - </p> - <p> - She looked up with laughing eyes across the bowl of flowers, that she held - up to her face. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t forget—I shall never forget,” said he, in - a low voice. - </p> - <p> - “You must never forget,” said she. “But to my visitors—who - are they, do you fancy? Don’t try to guess, for if you should - succeed I should be too mortified to be able to tell you that you were - right. I will tell you now. Three days ago—while we were still on - the Continent—Miss Craven called. She promised faithfully to do so - at Castle Innisfail—indeed, she suggested doing so herself; and I - found her card waiting for me on my return with a few words scrawled on - it, to tell me that she would return in some days. I don’t think - that anything should be in the same bowl with a Eucharis lily—even - the Venus-hair fern looks out of place beside it.” - </p> - <p> - She had strayed from her firebrand orchids to the white lilies. - </p> - <p> - “You are quite right, indeed,” said he. “A lily and you - stand alone—you make everything else in the world seem tawdry.” - </p> - <p> - “That is not the message of the lily,” said she. “But - supposing that Miss Craven should call upon me to-day—would you be - glad of such a third person to our party?” - </p> - <p> - “I should kill her, if she were a thousand times Helen Craven,” - said he, with a laugh. “But she is only one visitor; who are the - others?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, there is only one other, and he is interesting to me only,” - she cried. “Yes, I found Mr. Airey’s card also waiting for me, - and on it were scrawled almost the very words that were on Miss Craven’s - card, so that he may be here at any moment.” Harold did not say a - word. He sat watching her as her hands mingled with their sister-lilies on - the table. Something cold seemed to have clasped his heart—a cold - doubt that made him dumb. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she continued; “Mr. Airey asked me one night at - Castle Innisfail to let him know where we should go after leaving Ireland.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said he, in a slow way; “I heard him make that - request of you.” - </p> - <p> - “You heard him? But you were taking part in the <i>tableaux</i> in - the hall.” - </p> - <p> - “I had left the platform and had strayed round to one of the doors. - You told him where you were going?” - </p> - <p> - “I told him that we should be in this house in October, and he said - that he would make it a point to be in town early in October, though - Parliament was not to sit until the middle of January. He has kept his - word.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he has kept his word.” - </p> - <p> - Harold felt that cold hand tightening upon his heart. “I think that - he was interested in me,” continued the girl. “I know that I - was interested in him. He knows so much about everything. He is a close - friend of yours, is he not?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Harold, without much enthusiasm. “Yes, he - was a close friend of mine. You see, I had my heart set upon going into - Parliament—upon so humble an object may one’s aspirations be - centred—and Edmund Airey was my adviser.” - </p> - <p> - “And what did he advise you to do?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “He advised me to—well, to go into Parliament.” He could - not bring himself to tell her what form exactly Edmund Airey’s - advice had assumed. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure that his advice was good,” said she. “I think - that I would go to him if I stood in need of advice.” - </p> - <p> - “Would you, indeed, Beatrice?” said he. He was at the point of - telling her all that he had learned from Mrs. Mowbray; he only restrained - himself by an effort. - </p> - <p> - “I believe that he is both clever and wise.” - </p> - <p> - “The two do not always go together, certainly.” - </p> - <p> - “They do not. But Mr. Airey is, I think, both.” - </p> - <p> - “He has been better than either. To be successful is better than to - be either wise or clever. Mr. Airey has been successful. He will get an - Under-Secretaryship if the Government survives the want of confidence of - the Opposition.” - </p> - <p> - “And you will go into Parliament, Harold?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “That aspiration is past,” said he; “I have chosen the - more excellent career. Now, tell me something of your aspirations, my - beloved.” - </p> - <p> - “To see you daily—to be near you—to—” - </p> - <p> - But the enumeration of the terms of her aspirations is unnecessary. - </p> - <p> - How was it that some hours after this, Harold Wynne left the house with - that cold feeling still at his heart? - </p> - <p> - Was it a pang of doubt in regard to Beatrice, or a pang of jealousy in - regard to Edmund Airey? - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0016" id="link2HBCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXV.—ON THE HOME. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD WYNNE - remembered how he had made up his mind to judge whether or not Edmund - Airey had been simply playing, in respect of Beatrice, the part which, - according to Mrs. Mowbray’s story, had been assigned to him by Helen - Craven. He had made up his mind that unless Edmund Airey meant to go much - further than—according to Mrs. Mowbray’s communication—Helen - Craven could reasonably ask him to go, he would not take the trouble to - see Beatrice again. - </p> - <p> - Helen could scarcely expect him to give up his life to the furtherance of - her interests with another man. - </p> - <p> - Well, he had found that Edmund, so far from showing any intention of - abandoning the position—it has already been defined—which he - had assumed toward Beatrice, had shown, in the plainest possible way, that - he did not mean to lose sight of her. - </p> - <p> - And for such a man as he was, to mean so much, meant a great deal, Harold - was forced to acknowledge. - </p> - <p> - He spent the remainder of the day which had begun so auspiciously, - wondering if his friend, Edmund Airey, meant to tell Beatrice some day - that he loved her, and, what was very much more important, that he was - anxious to marry her. - </p> - <p> - And then that unworthy doubt of which he had become conscious, returned to - him. - </p> - <p> - If Edmund Airey, who, at first, had merely been attracted to Beatrice with - a view of furthering what Helen Craven believed to be her interests, had - come to regard her differently—as he, Harold, assumed that he had—might - it not be possible, he asked himself, that Beatrice, who had just admitted - that she had always had some sort of admiration for Edmund Airey, would———- - </p> - <p> - “Never, never, never!” he cried. “She is all that is - good and true and faithful. She is mine—altogether mine!” - </p> - <p> - But his mind was in such a condition that the thought which he had tried - to crush down, remained with him to torture him. - </p> - <p> - It should not have been a torturing thought, considering that, a few days - before, he had made up his mind that it was his duty to relinquish - Beatrice—to go to her and bid her good-bye for ever. To be sure, he - had failed to realize this honourable intention of his; but what was - honourable at one time was honourable at another, so that the thought of - something occurring to bring about the separation for which he had - professed to be so anxious, should not have been a great trouble to him—it - should have been just the contrary. - </p> - <p> - The next day found him in the same condition. The thought occurred to him, - “What if, at this very moment, Edmund Airey is with her, - endeavouring to increase that admiration which he must know Beatrice - entertains for him?” The thought was not a consoling one. Its effect - was to make him think very severely of the laxity of Mr. Avon’s <i>ménage</i>, - which would make possible such an interview as he had just imagined. It - was a terrible thing, he thought, for a father to show so utter a - disregard for his responsibilities as to——- - </p> - <p> - But here he reflected upon something that had occurred to him in - connection with <i>tête-à-tête</i> interviews, and he thought it better - not to pursue his course of indignant denunciation of the eminent - historian. - </p> - <p> - He put on an overcoat and went to pay a visit to his sister, who, he had - heard the previous day, was in town for a short time. In another week she - would be entertaining a large party for the pheasant-shooting at her - country-house in Brackenshire, and Harold was to be her guest as well as - Edmund Airey and Helen Craven. It was to this visit that Lord Fotheringay - had alluded in the course of his chamber interview with his son at Castle - Innisfail. - </p> - <p> - Harold had now made up his mind that he would not be able to join his - sister’s party, and he thought it better to tell her so than to - write to her to this effect. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Lampson was not at home, the servant said, when he had knocked at the - door of the house in Eaton Square. A party was expected for lunch, - however, so that she would probably return within half an hour. - </p> - <p> - Harold said he would wait for his sister, and went upstairs. - </p> - <p> - There was one person already in the drawingroom and that person was Lord - Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - Harold greeted him, and found that he was in an extremely good humour. He - had never been in better health, he declared. He felt, he said, as young - as the best of them—he prudently refrained from defining them—and - he was still of the opinion that the Home—the dear old English Home—was - where true and lasting happiness alone was to be found; and he meant to - try the Principality of Monaco later on; for November was too awful in any - part of Britain. Yes, he had seen the influence of the Home upon exiles in - various parts of the world. Had he not seen strong men weep like children—like - innocent children—at the sight of an English post-mark—the - post-mark of a simple English village? Why had they wept, he asked his - son, with the well-gloved forefinger of the professional moralist - outstretched? - </p> - <p> - His son declined to hazard an answer. - </p> - <p> - They had wept those tears—those bitter tears—Lord Fotheringay - said, with solemn emphasis, because their thoughts went back to that - village home of theirs—the father, the mother, perhaps a sister—who - could tell? - </p> - <p> - “Ah, my boy,” he continued, “‘’Mid pleasures - and palaces’—‘’mid pleasures and’—by - the way, I looked in at the Rivoli Palace last night. I heard that there - was a woman at that place who did a new dance. I saw it. A new dance! My - dear boy, it wasn’t new when I saw it first, and that’s—ah, - never mind—it’s some years ago. I was greatly disappointed - with it. There’s nothing indecent in it—I will say that for it—but - there’s nothing enlivening. Ah, the old home of burlesque—the - old home—that’s what I was talking about—the Home—the - sentiment of the Home—” - </p> - <p> - “Of burlesque?” suggested Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Of the devil, sir,” said his father. “Don’t try - to be clever; it’s nearly as bad as being insolent. What about that - girl—Helen Craven, I mean? Have you seen her since you came to town? - She’s here. She’ll be at Ella’s next week. Perhaps it - will be your last chance. Heavens above! To think that a pauper like you - should need to be urged to marry such a girl! A girl with two hundred - thousand pounds in cash—a girl belonging to one of the best families - in all—in all Birmingham. Harold, don’t be a fool! Such a - chance doesn’t come every day.” - </p> - <p> - Just then Mrs Lampson entered the room and with her, her latest discovery, - the Coming Dramatist. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Lampson was invariably making discoveries. But they were mostly - discoveries of quartz; they contained a certain proportion of gold, to be - sure; but when it came to the crushing, they did not yield enough of the - precious metal to pay the incidental expenses of the plant for the - working. - </p> - <p> - She had discovered poets and poetesses—the latter by the score. She - had discovered at least one Genius in black and white—his genius - being testified by his refusal to work; and she had discovered a - pianoforte Genius—his genius being proved by the dishevelment of his - hair. The man who had the reputation for being the Greatest Living Atheist - was a welcome guest at her house, and the most ridiculous of living - socialists boasted of having dined at her table. - </p> - <p> - She was foremost in every philanthropic movement, and wrote articles to - the magazines, lamenting the low tone of modern society in London. - </p> - <p> - She also sneered (in private) at Lady Innisfail. Her latest discovery, the - Coming Dramatist, had had, he proudly declared, his plays returned to him - by the best managers in London, and by the one conscientious manager in - the United States—the last mentioned had not prepaid the postage, he - lamented. - </p> - <p> - He was a fearful joy to cherish; but Mrs. Lampson listened to his egotism - at lunch, and tried to prevent her other guests from listening to him. - </p> - <p> - They would not understand him, she thought, and she did not make a mistake - in this matter. - </p> - <p> - She got rid of him as soon as possible, and once more breathed freely. He - had not disgraced her—that was so much in his favour. The same could - not always be said of her discoveries. - </p> - <p> - The Christian Dynamitard was, people said, the only gentleman who had ever - been introduced ta society by Mrs. Lampson. - </p> - <p> - When Harold found his sister alone, he explained to her that it would be - impossible for him to join her party at Abbeylands—Mr. Lampson’s - Bracken-shire place—and his sister laughed and said she supposed - that he had something better on his hands. He assured her that he had - nothing better, only— - </p> - <p> - “There, there,” said she, “I don’t want you to - invent an excuse. You would only have met people whom you know.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Harold, “you’re not foolish - enough to ask your discoveries down to shoot pheasants. I should like to - see some of them in a <i>battue</i> with my best enemies. Yes, I’d - hire a window, with pleasure.” - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t he behave well—the Coming Dramatist?” said - she, earnestly. “You cannot say he didn’t behave well—at - least for a Coming Person.” - </p> - <p> - “He behaved—wonderfully,” said Harold. “Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - She followed him to the door of the room—nay, outside. - </p> - <p> - “By the bye,” said she, in a whisper; “do you know - anything of a Miss Avon?” - </p> - <p> - “Miss Avon?” said Harold. “Miss Avon. Why, if she is the - daughter of Julius Anthony Avon, the historian, we met her at Castle - Innisfail. Why do you ask me, Ella?” - </p> - <p> - “It is so funny,” said she. “Yesterday Mr. Airey called - upon me, and before he left he begged of me to call upon her, and even - hinted—he has got infinite tact—that she would make a charming - addition to our party at Abbeylands.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “And just now papa has been whispering to me about this same Miss - Avon. He commanded me—papa has no tact—to invite her to join - us for a week. I wonder what that means.” - </p> - <p> - “What what means?” - </p> - <p> - “That—Mr. Airey and papa.” - </p> - <p> - “Great Heaven! Ella, what should it mean, except that two men, for - whom we have had a nominal respect, have gone over to the majority of - fools?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, is that all? I was afraid that—ah, good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0017" id="link2HBCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN OF THE WORLD. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was true then—what - he had surmised was true! Edmund Airey had shown himself to be actuated by - a stronger impulse than a desire to assist Helen Craven to realize her - hopes—so much appeared perfectly plain to Harold Wynne, as he - strolled back to his rooms. - </p> - <p> - He was now convinced that Edmund Airey was serious in his attitude in - respect of Beatrice. At Castle Innisfail he had been ready enough to play - the game with counters, on his side at least, as stakes, but now he meant - to play a serious game. - </p> - <p> - Harold recalled what proofs he had already received, to justify his - arriving at this conclusion, and he felt that they were ample—he - felt that this conclusion was the only one possible to be arrived at by - anyone acquainted with all that had come under his notice. - </p> - <p> - He was quite astounded to hear from his sister that Edmund Airey had taken - so extreme a step as to beg of her to call upon Beatrice, and invite her - to join the Abbeylands party. Whether or not he had approached Mrs. - Lampson in confidence on this matter, the fact of his having approached - her was, in some degree, compromising to himself, and no one was better - aware of this fact than Edmund Airey. He was not an eager boy to give way - to a passion without counting the cost. There was no more subtle - calculator of costs than Edmund Airey, and Harold knew it. - </p> - <p> - What, then, was left for Harold to infer? - </p> - <p> - Nothing, except what he had already inferred. - </p> - <p> - What then was left for him to do to checkmate the man who was menacing - him? - </p> - <p> - He had lived so long in that world, the centre of which is situated - somewhere about Park Lane, and he had come to believe so thoroughly that - the leading characteristic of this world is worldliness, that he had lost - the capacity to trust anyone implicitly. He was unable to bring himself to - risk everything upon the chance of Beatrice’s loving him, in the - face of the worst that might occur. - </p> - <p> - Thus it was that the little feeling of distrust which he experienced the - previous day remained with him. It did not increase, but it was there. Now - and again he could feel its cold finger upon his heart, and he knew that - it was there. - </p> - <p> - He could not love with that blind, unreasoning, uncalculating love—that - love which knows only heaven and hell, not earth. That perfect love, which - casteth out distrust, was not the love of his world. - </p> - <p> - And thus it was that he walked to his rooms, thinking by what means he - could bind that girl to him, so that she should be bound beyond the - possibility of chance, or craft, or worldliness coming between them. - </p> - <p> - He had not arrived at any satisfactory conclusion on this subject when he - reached his rooms. - </p> - <p> - He was surprised to find waiting for him Mr. Playdell, but he greeted the - man cordially—he had acquired a liking for him, for he perceived - that, with all his eccentricities—all his crude theories that he - tried to vivify by calling them principles, he was still acting faithfully - toward Archie Brown, and was preventing him from squandering hundreds of - pounds where Archie might have squandered thousands. - </p> - <p> - “You are naturally surprised to see me, Mr. Wynne,” said - Playdell. “I dare say that most men would think that I had taken a - liberty in making an uninvited call like this.” - </p> - <p> - “I, at any rate, think nothing of the sort, Mr. Playdell,” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “I am certain that you do not,” said Mr. Play-dell. “I - am certain that you are capable of doing me justice—yes, on some - points.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope that I am, Mr. Playdell.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that you are, Mr. Wynne. You are not one of those silly - persons, wise in their own conceit, who wink at one another when my name - is mentioned, and suggest that the unfrocked priest is making a very fair - thing out of his young patron.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe that your influence over him is wholly for good, Mr. - Playdell. If he were to allow you the income of a Bishop instead of that - of a Dean I believe that he would still save money—a great deal of - money—by having you near him.” - </p> - <p> - “And you are in no way astray, Mr. Wynne. I was prepared for what - people would say when I accepted the situation that Archie offered me, but - the only stipulation that I made was that my accounts were to be audited - by a professional man, and monthly. Thus it is that I protect myself. - Every penny that I receive is accounted for.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a very wise plan, Mr. Playdell, but—” - </p> - <p> - “But it has nothing to do with my coming here to-day? That is what - you are too polite to say. You are right, Mr. Wynne. I have not come here - to talk about myself and my systems, but about our friend Archie. You have - great influence over him.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid I haven’t much. If I had, I wouldn’t - hesitate to tell him that he is making an ass of himself.” - </p> - <p> - “You have come to the point at once, Mr. Wynne.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Playdell had risen from his chair and was walking up and down the room - with his head bent. Now he stood opposite to Harold. - </p> - <p> - “The point?” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “The point is that he is being robbed right and left through the - medium of the Legitimate Theatre, and a stop must be put to it,” - said Playdell. - </p> - <p> - “And you think that I should make the attempt to put a stop to this - foolishness of his? My dear Mr. Playdell, if I were to suggest to Archie - that he is making an ass of himself over this particular matter, I should - never have another chance of exercising my influence over him for good or - bad. I have always known that Mrs. Mowbray is one of the most expensive - tastes in England. But when the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray is to be exploited - with the beauty of the poetry of Shakespeare, and when these gems are - enclosed in so elaborate a setting as the Legitimate Theatre—well, I - suppose Archie’s millions will hold out. There’s a deal of - spending in three millions, Mr. Playdell.” - </p> - <p> - “His millions will hold out,” said Mr. Playdell. “And so - will he,” laughed Harold. “I have known Mrs. Mowbray for - several years, and she has never ruined any man except her husband, and he - is not worth talking about. She has always liked young men with wealth so - enormous that even her powers of spending money can make no impression on - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Wynne, you can have no notion what that theatre has cost Archie—what - it is daily costing him. Eight hundred pounds a week wouldn’t cover - the net loss of that ridiculous business—that trailing of - Shakespeare in the mire, to gratify the vanity of a woman. I know what men - are when they are very young. If I were to talk to Archie seriously on - this subject, he would laugh at me; if he did not, he would throw - something at me. The result would be <i>nil</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Unless he was a good shot with a casual missile.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Wynne, he would not listen to me; but he would listen to you—I - know that he would. You could talk to him with all the authority of a man - of the world—a man in Society.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, shaking his head, “if there’s - no fool like the old fool, there’s no ass like the young ass. Now, I - can assure you, on the authority of a man of the world—you know what - such an authority is worth—that to try and detach Archie from his - theatre nonsense just now by means of a lecture, would be as impossible as - to detach a limpet from a rock by a sermon on—let us say—the - flexibility of the marriage bond.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas! alas!” said Mr. Playdell. - </p> - <p> - “The only way that Archie can be induced to throw over Mrs. Mowbray - and Shakespeare and suchlike follies, is by inducing him to form a - stronger attachment elsewhere.” - </p> - <p> - “The last state of that man might be worse than the first, Mr. - Wynne.” - </p> - <p> - “Might—yes, it might be, but that is no reason why it should - be. The young ass takes to thistles, because it has never known the - enjoyment of a legitimate pasture.” - </p> - <p> - “The legitimate pasture is some distance away from the Legitimate - Theatre, Mr. Wynne.” - </p> - <p> - “I agree with you. Now, the thought has just occurred to me that I - might get Archie brought among decent people, for the first time in his - life. My sister, Mrs. Lampson, is having a party down at her husband’s - place in Brackenshire, for the pheasant-shooting. Why shouldn’t - Archie be one of the party? There are a number of decent men going, and - decent women also. None of the men will try to get the better of him.” - </p> - <p> - “And the women will not try to make a fool of him?” - </p> - <p> - “I won’t promise that—the world can’t cease to - revolve on its axis because Archie Brown has a tendency to giddiness.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Playdell was grave. Then he said, thoughtfully, “Whatever the - women may be, they can’t be of the stamp of Mrs. Mowbray.” - </p> - <p> - “You may trust my sister for that. You may also trust her to see - that they are less beautiful than Mrs. Mowbray,” remarked Harold. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Playdell pondered. - </p> - <p> - “Pheasant-shooting is expensive in its way,” said he. “The - preservation of grouse runs away with a good deal of money also, I am - told. Race horses, it is generally understood, entail considerable outlay. - Put them all together, and you only come within measurable distance of - Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare as a pastime—with nothing to show for - the money—absolutely nothing to show for the money.” - </p> - <p> - “Except Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Wynne, I believe that your kind suggestion may be the saving of - that lad,” said Playdell. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it’s the merest chance,” said Harold. “He may - grow sick of the whole business after the first <i>battue</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “He won’t. I’ve known men saved from destruction by - scoring a century in a first-class cricket match: they gave themselves up - to cricket, to the exclusion of other games less healthy. If Archie takes - kindly to the pheasants, he may make up his mind to buy a place and - preserve them. That will be a healthy occupation for him. You will give - him to understand that it’s the proper thing to do, Mr. Wynne.” - </p> - <p> - “You may depend upon me. I’ll write to my sister to invite - him. It’s only an experiment.” - </p> - <p> - “It will succeed, Mr. Wynne—it will succeed, I feel that it - will. If you only knew, as I do, how he is being fooled, you would - understand my earnestness—you have long ago forgiven my intrusion. - Give me a chance of serving you in return, Mr. Wynne. That’s all I - ask.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HBCH0018" id="link2HBCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVII.—ON THE DEFECTIVE LINK. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD had a note - written to Mrs. Lampson, begging her to invite his friend, Mr. Archie - Brown, to join her party at Abbeylands, almost before Mr. Playdell had - left the street. He knew that his sister would be very glad to have - Archie. All the world had a general notion of Archie’s millions; and - Abbeylands was one of those immense houses that can accommodate a - practically unlimited number of guests. The property had been bought from - a nobleman, who had been brought to the verge of bankruptcy by trying to - maintain it. Mr. Lampson, a patriotic American, had come to his relief, - and had taken the place off his hands. - </p> - <p> - That is what all truly patriotic Americans do when they have an - opportunity. - </p> - <p> - The new-world democracy comes to the rescue of the old-world aristocracy, - and thus a venerable institution is preserved from annihilation. - </p> - <p> - Harold posted his letter as he went out to dine with a man who was a - member of the Carlton Club, and zealous in heating up recruits for the - Conservative party. He thought that Harold might possibly be open to - conviction, not, of course, on the question of the righteousness of - certain principles, but on the question of the direction in which the cat - was about to jump. The jumping cat is the dominant power in modern - politics. - </p> - <p> - Harold ate his dinner, and listened patiently to the man whose - acquaintance with the tendencies of every genus of the political <i>felis</i> - was supposed to be extraordinary. He said little. Before he had gone to - Castle Innisfail the subject would have interested him greatly, but now he - thought that Archie Brown’s inanities were preferable to those of - the politician. - </p> - <p> - He was just enough to acknowledge, however, that the cigar with which he - left the Carlton was as good a one as he had ever smoked. So that there - was some advantage in being a Conservative after all. - </p> - <p> - He walked round St. James’s Square, for the night was warm and fine. - His mind was not conscious of having received anything during the previous - two hours upon which it would be profitable to ponder. He thought over the - question which he had put to himself previously—the question of how - he could bind Beatrice to him—how he could make her certainly his - own, and thus banish that cold distrust of which he now and again became - aware—no, it was not exactly distrust, it was only a slightly - defective link in the chain of complete trust. - </p> - <p> - She loved him and she promised to love him. He reflected upon this, and he - asked himself what more could he want. What bond stronger than her word - could he desire to have? - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I will trust her for ever—for ever,” he murmured. - “If she is not true, then there never was truth on earth.” - </p> - <p> - He fancied that he had dismissed the matter from his mind with this - exorcism. - </p> - <p> - And so he had. - </p> - <p> - But it so happens that some persons are so constituted that there is but - the slenderest connection between their mind and their heart. Something - that appeals very forcibly to their mind will not touch their heart in the - least. They are Nature’s “sports.” - </p> - <p> - Harold Wynne was one of these people. He had made up his mind that, on the - question of implicitly trusting Beatrice, nothing more remained to be - said. There was still, however, that cold finger upon his heart. - </p> - <p> - But having made up his mind that nothing more remained to be said on the - question, he was logical enough—for logic is also a mental - attribute, though by no means universally distributed—to think of - other matters. - </p> - <p> - He began to think about Mr. Playdell, and his zeal for the reform of - Archie. Harold’s respect for Mr. Playdell had materially increased - since the morning. At first he had been inclined to look with suspicion - upon the man who had, by the machinery of the Church, been prohibited from - discharging the functions of a priest of that Church, though, of course, - he was free to exercise that unimportant function known as preaching. He - could not preach within a church, however. If he wished to try and save - souls by preaching, that was his own business. He would not do so with the - sanction of the Church. He was anxious to save the soul of Archie Brown, - at any rate. He assumed that Archie had a soul in embryo, ready to be - hatched, and it was clear to Harold that Mr. Playdell was anxious to save - it from being addled before it had pecked its way out of its shell. - Therefore Harold had a considerable respect for Mr. Playdell, though he - had been one of the unprofitable servants of the Church. - </p> - <p> - He thought of the earnest words of the man—of the earnest way in - which he had begged to be given the chance of returning the service, which - he believed was about to be done to him by Harold. - </p> - <p> - He had been greatly in earnest; but that fact only made his words the more - ridiculous. - </p> - <p> - “What service could he possibly do me?” Harold thought, when - he had had his laugh, recalling the outstretched hand of Mr. Playdell, and - his eager eyes. “<i>What service could he possibly do me? What - service?</i>” - </p> - <p> - He was rooted to the pavement. The driver of a passing hansom pulled up - opposite him, taking the fact of his stopping so suddenly as an indication - that he wanted a hansom. - </p> - <p> - He took no notice of the hansom, and it passed up the square. He remained - so long lost in thought, that his cigar, so strongly impregnated with - sound Conservative principles, went out like any Radical weed, or the - penny Pickwick of the Labour Processionist. - </p> - <p> - He dropped the unsmoked end, and felt for his pocket-handkerchief. He - raised his hat and wiped his forehead. - </p> - <p> - Then he took a stroll into Piccadilly and on to Knightsbridge. He went - down Sloane Street, and into Chelsea, returning by the Embankment to - Westminster—the clock was chiming the hour of 2 a.m. as he passed. - </p> - <p> - But the same clock had struck three before he got into bed, and five - before he fell asleep. - </p> - <h3> - END OF VOL. II. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <p> - ==== - </p> - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A GRAY EYE OR SO - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore - </h2> - <h3> - In Three Volumes—Volume III - </h3> - <h3> - Sixth Edition - </h3> - <h4> - London - </h4> - <h4> - Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row - </h4> - <h3> - 1893 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001_"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007c.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007c.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HC_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 3</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0001"> CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE - WORLD. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0002"> CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0003"> CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0004"> CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A - CRISIS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0005"> CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0006"> CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0007"> CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A - SYSTEM. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0008"> CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0009"> CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0010"> CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0011"> CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL - INCIDENT. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0012"> CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF - CONFESSION. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0013"> CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0014"> CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND - OTHERS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0015"> CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND - FATE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0016"> CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0017"> CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A - POWER. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0018"> CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE - BROWN. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0019"> CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCCH0020"> CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HC_4_0001" id="link2HC_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A GRAY EYE OR SO. - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0001" id="link2HCCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>HORTLY after noon - he was with her. He had left his rooms without touching a morsel of - breakfast, and it was plain that such sleep as he had had could not have - been of a soothing nature. He was pale and haggard; and she seemed - surprised—not frightened, however, for her love was that which - casteth out fear—at the way he came to her—with outstretched - hands which caught her own, as he said, “My beloved—my - beloved, I have a strange word for you—a strange proposal to make. - Dearest, can you trust me? Will you marry me—to-morrow—to-day?” - </p> - <p> - She scarcely gave a start. He was only conscious of her hands tightening - upon his own. She kept her eyes fixed upon his. The silence was long. It - was made the more impressive by the distinctness with which the jocularity - of the fishmonger’s hoy with the cook at the area railings, was - heard in the room. - </p> - <p> - “Harold,” she said, in a voice that had no trace of distrust, - “Harold, you are part of my life—all my life! When I said that - I loved you, I had given myself to you. I will marry you any time you - please—to-morrow—to-day—this moment!” - </p> - <p> - She was in his arms, sobbing. - </p> - <p> - His “God bless you, my darling!” sounded like a sob also. - </p> - <p> - In a few moments she was laughing through her tears. - </p> - <p> - He was not laughing. - </p> - <p> - “Now, tell me what you mean, my beloved,” said she, with a - hand on each of his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me what you mean by coming to frighten me like this. What has - happened?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing has happened, only I want to feel that you are my own—my - own beyond the possibility of being separated from me by any power on - earth. I do not want to take you away from your father’s house—I - cannot offer you any home. It may be years before we can live together as - those who love one another as we love, may live with the good will of - heaven. I only want you to become my wife in name, dearest. Our marriage - must be kept a secret.” - </p> - <p> - “But my own love,” said she, “why should you wish to go - through this ceremony? Are we not united by the true bond of love? Can we - be more closely united than we are now? The strength of the marriage bond - is only strong in proportion as the love which is the foundation of - marriage is strong. Now, why should you wish for the marriage rite before - we are prepared to live for ever under the same roof?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, why?” he cried passionately, as he looked into the - depths of her eyes. - </p> - <p> - He left her and went across the room to one of the windows and looked out. - (It was the greengrocer’s boy who was now jocular with the cook at - the area railings.) - </p> - <p> - “My Beatrice—” Harold had returned to her from his - scrutiny of the pavement. “My Beatrice, you have not seen all that I - have seen in the world. You do not know—you do not know me as I know - myself. Why should there come to me sometimes an unworthy thought—no, - not a doubt—oh, I have seen so much of the world, Beatrice, I feel - that if anything should come between us it would kill me. I must—I - must feel that we are made one—that there is a bond binding us - together that nothing can sever.” - </p> - <p> - “But, my Harold—no, I will not interpose any buts. You would - not ask me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you - know the world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and - knowing you and loving you with all my heart—with all my soul—I - trust you implicitly—without a question—without the shadow of - a doubt.” - </p> - <p> - “God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to - regret loving me—trusting me.” - </p> - <p> - “It is my life—it is my life, Harold.” - </p> - <p> - Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer - with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure. - </p> - <p> - “It must be to-morrow,” he said, returning to her. “I - shall come here at noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can - part us. You will still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God - hasten the day when you can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the - world and call yourself by my name.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall be here at noon to-morrow,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Unless,” said he, returning to her after he had kissed her - forehead and had gone to the door. “Unless”—he framed - her face with his hands, and looked down into the depths of her eyes.—“Unless, - when you have thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot - trust me.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world,” said he. - </p> - <p> - He knew the world. - </p> - <p> - Another man who knew the world was Pontius Pilate. - </p> - <p> - This was why he asked “What is Truth?” - </p> - <p> - Harold Wynne was in Archie Brown’s room in Piccadilly within half an - hour. - </p> - <p> - Archie was at the Legitimate Theatre, Mr. Playdell said—Mr. Playdell - was seated at the dining-room table surrounded by papers. A trifling - difference of opinion had arisen between Mrs. Mowbray and her manager, he - added, and (with a smile) Archie had hurried to the theatre to set matters - right. - </p> - <p> - “It is kind of you to call, Mr. Wynne,” continued Mr. - Playdell. “But I hope it is not to tell me that you regret the - suggestion that you made yesterday—that you do not see your way to - write to your sister to invite Archie to her place.” - </p> - <p> - “I wrote to her the moment you left me,” said Harold. “Archie - will get his invitation this evening. It is not about him that I came here - to-day, Mr. Playdell. I came to see you. You asked me yesterday to give - you an opportunity of doing something for me. I can give you that - opportunity.” - </p> - <p> - “And I promise you that I shall embrace it with gladness, Mr. Wynne,” - said Playdell, rising from the table. “Tell me how I can serve you - and you will find how ready I am.” - </p> - <p> - “You still hold to your original principles regarding marriage, Mr. - Playdell?” - </p> - <p> - “How could I do otherwise than hold to them, Mr. Wynne? They are the - result of thought; they are not merely a fad to gain notoriety. Let me - prove the position that I take up on this matter.” - </p> - <p> - “You need not, Mr. Playdeil. I heard all your case when it was - published. I confess that I now think differently respecting you from what - I thought at that time. Will you perform the ceremony of marriage between - a lady who has promised to marry me and myself?” - </p> - <p> - “There is only one condition that I make, Mr. Wynne. You must take - an oath that you consider the rite, as I perform it, to be binding upon - you, and that you will never recognize a divorce.” - </p> - <p> - “I will take that oath willingly, Mr. Playdeil. I have promised my - <i>fiancée</i> that we shall be with her at noon to-morrow. She will be - prepared for us. By the way, do you require a ring for the ceremony as - performed by you?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Playdeil looked grave—almost scandalized. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Wynne,” said he, “that question suggests to me a - certain disbelief on your part in the validity in the sight of heaven of - the rite of marriage as performed by a man with a full sense of his high - office, even though unfrocked by a Church that has always shown too great - a readiness to submit to secular guidance—secular restrictions in - matters that were originally, like marriage, purely spiritual. The Church - has not only submitted to civil restrictions in the matter of the - celebration of the holy rite of matrimony, but, while declaring at the - altar that God has joined them whom the Church has joined, and while - denying the authority of man to put them asunder, she recognizes the - validity of divorce. She will marry a man who has been divorced from his - wife, when he has duly paid the Archbishop a sum of money for sanctioning - what in the sight of God is adultery.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, “I recollect very - clearly the able manner in which you defended your—your—principles, - when they were called in question. I do not desire to call them in - question now. I believe in your sincerity in this matter and in other - matters. I shall drive here for you at half past eleven o’clock - to-morrow. I need scarcely say that I mean my marriage to be kept a - secret.” - </p> - <p> - “You may depend upon my good faith in that respect,” said Mr. - Playdell. “Mr. Wynne,” he added, impressively, “this - land of ours will never be a moral one so long as the Church is content to - accept a Parliamentary definition of morality. The Church ought certainly - to know her own business.” - </p> - <p> - “There I quite agree with you,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - He refrained from asking Mr. Playdell if the Church, in dispensing with - his services as one of her priests, had not made an honest attempt to - vindicate her claims to know her own business. He merely said, “Half - past eleven to-morrow,” after shaking hands with Mr. Playdell, who - opened the door for him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0002" id="link2HCCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD WYNNE shut - himself up in his rooms without even lunching. He drew a chair in front of - the fire and seated himself with the sigh of relief that is given by a man - who has taken a definite step in some matter upon which he has been - thinking deeply for some time. He sat there all the day, gazing into the - fire. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he had taken the step that had suggested itself to him the previous - night. He had made up his mind to take advantage of the opportunity that - was afforded him of binding Beatrice to him by a bond which she at least - would believe incapable of rupture. The accident of his meeting with the - man whose views on the question of marriage had caused him to be thrust - out of the Church, and whose practices left him open to a criminal - prosecution, had suggested to him the means for binding to him the girl - whose truth he had no reason to doubt. - </p> - <p> - He meant to perpetrate a fraud upon her. He had known of men entrapping - innocent girls by means of a mock marriage, and he had always regarded - such men as the most unscrupulous of scoundrels. He almost succeeded, - after a time, in quieting the whisperings by his conscience of the word - “fraud”—its irritating repetitions of this ugly word—by - giving prominence to the excellence of his intentions in the transaction - which he was contemplating. It was not a mock marriage—no, it was - not, as ordinary mock marriages, to be gone through in order to give a man - possession of the body of a woman, and to admit of his getting rid of her - when it would suit his convenience to do so. It was, he assured his - conscience, no mock marriage, since he was seeking it for no gross - purpose, but simply to banish the feeling of cold distrust which he had - now and again experienced. Had he not offered to free the girl from the - promise which she had given to him? Was that like the course which would - be adopted by a man endeavouring to take advantage of a girl by means of a - mock marriage? Was there anything on earth that he desired more strongly - than a real marriage with that same girl? There was nothing. But it was, - unfortunately, the case that a real marriage would mean ruin to him; for - he knew that his father would keep his word—when it suited his own - purpose—and refuse him his allowance upon the day that he refused to - sign a declaration to the effect that he was unmarried. - </p> - <p> - The rite which Mr. Playdell had promised to perform between him and - Beatrice would enable him to sign the declaration with—well, with a - clear conscience. - </p> - <p> - But in the meantime this same conscience continued gibing him upon his - defence of his conduct; asking him with an irritating sneer, if he would - mind explaining his position to the girl’s father?—if he was - not simply taking advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s - life—of the remarkable independence which she enjoyed, apparently - with the sanction of her father, to perpetrate a fraud upon her? - </p> - <p> - For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound - argument—that is, argument that sounds well—and for general - obstinacy, there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in - moderately good working order. - </p> - <p> - After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, he - sprang from his seat crying, “I’ll not do it—I’ll - not do it!” - </p> - <p> - He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the - words, “I’ll not do it—I’ll not do it!” - </p> - <p> - In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote a - note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on second - thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an equally - short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be advisable - to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan which he had - suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into its cover; but - when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his stamp-drawer was - empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going to his club to dine, - and he knew that he could get stamps from the hall-porter. - </p> - <p> - He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on - entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe - conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary. - </p> - <p> - At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. He - brightened up at the appearance of Harold. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to - dine with me,” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry that I can’t congratulate you upon finding - one,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Then I congratulate myself,” said Mr. Durdan, brightly. - “You’re the most companionable man that I know in town at - present.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, then you’re not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is - here just now,” said Harold with a shrewd laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Edmund Airey? Edmund Airey?” said Mr. Durdan. “Let me - tell you that your friend Edmund Airey is——” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say it in the open air,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Come inside and make the revelation to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you will dine with me? Good! My dear fellow, my medical man - has warned me times without number of the evil of dining alone, or with a - newspaper—even the <i>Telegraph</i>. It’s the beginning of - dyspepsia, he says; so I wait at the door any time I am dining here until - I get hold of the right man.” - </p> - <p> - “If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you’re - afraid of, you may reckon upon my services,” said Harold. “But - to tell you the truth, I’m a bit down myself to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter with you—nothing serious?” said - Mr. Durdan. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been working out some matters,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “I know what’s the matter with you,” said the other. - “That friend of yours has been trying to secure you for the - Government, and you were too straightforward to be entrapped? Airey is a - clever man—I don’t deny his cleverness for a moment. Oh, yes; - Mr. Airey is a very clever man.” It seemed that he was now levelling - an accusation against Mr. Airey that his best friends would find - difficulty in repudiating. “Yes, but you and I, Wynne, are not to be - caught by a phrase. The moment he fancied that I was attracted to her—I - say, fancied, mind—and that he fancied—it may have been the - merest fancy—that she was not altogether indifferent to me, he - forced himself forward, and I have good reason to believe that he is now - in town solely on her account. I give you my word, Wynne, I never spoke a - sentence to Miss Avon that all the world mightn’t hear. Oh, there’s - nothing so contemptible as a man like Airey—a fellow who is - attracted to a girl only when he sees that she is attracting other men. - Yes, I met a man yesterday who told me that Airey was in town. ‘Why - should he be in town now?’ I inquired. ‘There’s nothing - going on in town.’ He winked and said, ‘<i>cherchez la femme</i>’—he - did upon my word. Oh, the days of the Government are numbered. Will you - try Chablis or Sauterne?” - </p> - <p> - Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis. - </p> - <p> - For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan’s - prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of - Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any - stamps. - </p> - <p> - He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night. - </p> - <p> - Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat the - two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small pieces. - </p> - <p> - With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling of - distrust. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he would make sure of her. - </p> - <p> - He unlocked one of the drawers in his writing-table and brought out a - small <i>boule</i> case. When he had found—not without a good deal - of searching—the right key for the box, he opened it. It contained - an ivory miniature of his mother, in a Venetian mounting, a few jewels, - and two small rings. One of them was set with a fine chrysoprase cameo of - Eros, and surrounded by rubies. The other was an old <i>in memoriam</i> - ring. - </p> - <p> - He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time, - slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept turning - it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and relocked the - box and the drawer. - </p> - <p> - “It will be hers,” he said. “Would I use my mother’s - ring for this ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud—if I meant to - take advantage of it to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with - her, so may God deal with me when my hour comes.” It was a ring that - had been left to him with a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had - now chosen it for the ceremony which was to be performed the next day. - </p> - <p> - Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence - the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument - had done. - </p> - <p> - The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after - noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had been - repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once been a - priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, did not - consider the rite a mockery. - </p> - <p> - Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a - dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell - forward until his face was buried in his hands. - </p> - <p> - It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial. - </p> - <p> - Her hand—his mother’s ring was upon the third finger—was - upon his head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, “My - husband—my husband—I shall be a true wife to you for ever and - ever. We shall live trusting one another for ever, my beloved!” - </p> - <p> - They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands for - a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head - against his. - </p> - <p> - In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him, - looking into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my love, my love,” he cried. “What am I that you - should have given to me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I - should have asked you to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as - yours, Beatrice? Was there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive - me, Beatrice?” - </p> - <p> - “Only once,” said she, “I felt that—I scarcely - know what I felt, dear—I think it was that your hurrying on our - marriage showed—was it a want of trust?” - </p> - <p> - “I was a fool—a fool!” he said bitterly. “The - temptation to bind you to me was too great to be resisted. But now—oh, - Beatrice, I will give up my life to make you happy!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0003" id="link2HCCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next afternoon - when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with two letters in her - hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, letting her know - that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least a fortnight longer; - the second was from Mrs. Lampson—she had paid Beatrice a ten minutes’ - visit the previous day—inviting her to stay for a week at - Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday. - </p> - <p> - “What am I to do in the matter, my husband—you see how quickly - I have come to recognize your authority?” she cried, while he - glanced at his sister’s invitation. - </p> - <p> - “My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and - other matters, by pleasing yourself,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said she. “I will only do what you advise me. - That, you should see as a husband—I see it clearly as a wife—will - give me a capital chance of throwing the blame on you in case of any - disappointment. Oh, yes, you may be certain that if I go anywhere on your - recommendation and fail to enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at - your door. That’s the way with wives, is it not?” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t say,” said he. “I’ve never had one - from whom to get any hints that would enable me to form an opinion.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to - please myself?” said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was - extremely charming. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve seen other men’s wives now and again,” said - he. “It was a great privilege.” - </p> - <p> - “And they pleased themselves?” - </p> - <p> - “They did not please me, at any rate. I don’t see why you - shouldn’t go down to my sister’s place next week. You should - enjoy yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “You will be there?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I was to have been there,” said he; “but when I - promised to go I had not met you. When I found that you were to be in - town, I told Ella, my sister, that it was impossible for me to join her - party.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course that decides the matter,” said she. “I must - remain here, unless you change your mind and go to Abbeylands.” - </p> - <p> - He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where she - was opening the old mahogany escritoire. - </p> - <p> - “I particularly want you to go to my sister’s,” he said. - “A reason has just occurred to me—a very strong reason, why - you should accept the invitation, especially as I shall not be there.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no,” said she, “I could not go without you.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean - to be so graceful an exponent?” said he, standing behind her with a - hand on each of her shoulders. “The fact is, dearest, that far more - than you can imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to - throw people—my relations in particular—off the notion that - something came of our meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go - to Abbeylands while it was known that I had excused myself, you can - understand what the effect would be.” - </p> - <p> - “The effect, so far as I’m concerned, would be that I should - be miserable, all the time I was away from you.” - </p> - <p> - “The effect would be, that those people who may have been joining - our names together, would feel that they have been a little too - precipitate in their conclusions.” - </p> - <p> - “That seems a very small result for so much self-sacrifice on our - part, Harold.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s not so small as it may seem to you. I see now how - important it would be to me—to both of us—if you were to go - for a week to Abbeylands while I remain in town.” - </p> - <p> - “Then of course I’ll go. Yes, dear; I told you that I would - trust you for ever. I placed all my trust in you yesterday. How many - people would condemn me for marrying you in such indecent haste—that - is what they would call it—and without a word of consultation with - my father either? When I showed my trust in you at that time—the - most important in my life—you may, I think, have confidence that I - will trust you in everything. Yes, I’ll go.” - </p> - <p> - He had turned away from her. How could he face her when she was talking in - this way about her trust in him? - </p> - <p> - “There has never been trust like yours, my beloved,” said he, - after a pause. “You will never regret it for a moment, my love—never, - never!” - </p> - <p> - “I know it—I know it,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “The fact is, Beatrice,” said he, after another pause, “my - relatives think that if I were to marry Helen Craven I should be doing a - remarkably good stroke of business. They were right: it would be a good - stroke—of business.” - </p> - <p> - “How odd,” cried Beatrice. She had become thoroughly - interested. “I never thought of such a possibility at Castle - Innisfail. She is nice, I think; only she does not know how to dress.” - </p> - <p> - In an instant there came to his memory Mrs. Mowbray’s cynical words - regarding the extent of a woman’s forgiveness. - </p> - <p> - “The question of being nice or of dressing well does not make any - difference so far as my friends are concerned,” said he. “All - that is certain is that Helen Craven has several thousands of pounds a - year, and they think that I should be satisfied with that.” - </p> - <p> - “And so you should,” she cried, with the light of triumph in - her eyes. “I wonder if Mr. Airey knew what the wishes of your - relatives were in this matter. I should like to know that, because I now - recollect that he suggested something in that way when we talked together - about you one evening at the Castle.” - </p> - <p> - “Edmund Airey gave me the strongest possible advice on the subject,” - said Harold. “Yes, he advised me to ask Helen Craven to be my wife. - More than that—I only learnt it a few days ago—so soon as you - appeared at the Castle, and he saw—he sees things very quickly—that - I was in love with you, he thought that if he were to interest you - greatly, and that if you found out that he was wealthy and distinguished, - you might possibly decline to fall in love with me, and so——” - </p> - <p> - “And so fall in love with him?” she cried, starting up from - her chair at the desk. “I see now all that he meant. He meant that I - should be interested in him—I was, too, greatly interested in him—and - that I should be attracted to him, and away from you. But all the time he - had no intention of allowing himself to be attracted by me to the point of - ever asking me to marry him. In short, he was amusing himself at my - expense. Oh, I see it all now. I must confess that, now and again, I - wondered what Mr. Airey meant by placing himself so frequently by my side. - I felt flattered—I admit that I felt flattered. Can you imagine - anything so cruel as the purpose that he set himself to accomplish?” - </p> - <p> - Her face had become pale. This only gave emphasis to the flashing of her - eyes. She was in a passion of indignation. - </p> - <p> - “Edmund Airey and his tricks were defeated,” said Harold in a - low voice. “Yes, we have got the better of him, Beatrice, so much is - certain.” - </p> - <p> - “But the cruelty of it—the cruelty—oh, what does it - matter now?” she cried. Then her paleness vanished into a delicate - roseate flush, as she gave a laugh, and said, “After all, I believe - that my indignation is due only to my wounded vanity. Yes, all girls are - alike, Harold. Our vanity is our dominant quality.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not so with you, Beatrice,” he said. “I know you - truly, my dear. I know that you would be as indignant if you heard of the - same trickery being carried on in respect of another girl.” - </p> - <p> - “I would—I know I would,” she cried. “But what - does it matter? As you say, I—we—have defeated this Mr. Airey, - so that my vanity at least can find sweet consolation in reflecting that - we have been cleverer than he was. I don’t suppose that he could - imagine anyone existing cleverer than himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I think that we have got the better of him,” said - Harold. He was a little surprised to find that she felt so strongly on the - subject of Edmund’s attitude in regard to herself. He did not think - it wise to tell her that that attitude was due to the timely suggestion of - Helen. He could not bring himself to do so. He felt that his doing so - would be to place himself on a level with the man who gives his wife - during the first year of their married life, a circumstantial account of - the many wealthy and beautiful young women who were anxious—to a - point of distraction—to marry him. - </p> - <p> - He felt that there was no need for him to say anything about Helen—he - almost wished that he had said nothing about Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “We got the better of him,” he said a second time. “Never - mind Edmund Airey. You must go to Abbeylands and amuse yourself. You will - most likely meet with Archie Brown there. Archie is the plainest looking - and probably the richest man of his age in England. He is to be made the - subject of an experiment at Abbeylands.” - </p> - <p> - “Is he to be vivisected?” said she. She was now neither pale - nor roseate. She was herself once more. - </p> - <p> - “There’s no need to vivisect poor Archie,” said he. - “Everyone knows that there’s nothing particular about Archie. - No; we are merely trying a new cure for him. He has not been in a very - healthy state lately.” - </p> - <p> - “If he is delicate, I suppose he will be thrown a good deal with us—the - females, the incapables—while the pheasant-shooting is going on.” - </p> - <p> - “You will see how matters are managed at Abbeylands,” said - Harold. “If you find that Archie is attracted toward any girl who is - distinctly nice, you might—how does a girl assist her weaker sister - to make up her mind to look with friendly eyes upon such a one as Archie?” - </p> - <p> - “Let me see,” said she. “Wouldn’t the best way be - for girl number one to look with friendly eyes on him herself?” - </p> - <p> - Harold lay back on his chair and laughed at first; then he gazed at her in - wonder. - </p> - <p> - “You are cleverer than Edmund Airey and Helen Craven when they - combine their wisdom,” said he. “Your woman’s instinct - is worth more than their experience.” - </p> - <p> - “I never knew what the instincts of a woman were before this - morning,” said she. “I never felt that I had any need to - exercise the instinct of defence. I suppose the young seal, though it has - never been in the water, jumps in by instinct should it be attacked. Oh, - yes, I dare say I could swim as well as most girls of my age.” - </p> - <p> - It was only when he had returned to his rooms that he fully comprehended - the force of her parable of the young seal. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0004" id="link2HCCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning - Archie drove one of his many machines round to Harold’s rooms and - broke in upon him before he had finished his breakfast. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo, my tarty chip,” cried Archie; “what’s the - meaning of this?” - </p> - <p> - He threw on the table an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting of - Mrs. Lampson. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the meaning of what?” said Harold. “Have - you got beyond the restraint of Mr. Playdell alcoholically, that you ask - me what’s the meaning of that envelope?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean what does the inside mean?” said Archie. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure you know better than I do, if you’ve read what’s - inside it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you’re like one of the tarty chips in the courts that - cross-examine other tarty chips until their faces are blue,” said - Archie. “There’s no show for that sort of thing here. So just - open the envelope and see what’s inside.” - </p> - <p> - “How can I do that and eat my kidneys?” said Harold. “I - wish to heavens you wouldn’t come here bothering me when I’m - trying to get through a tough kidney and a tougher leading article. What’s - the matter with the letter, Archie, my lad?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s all right,” said Archie. “It’s an - invite from your sister for a big shoot at Abbeylands. What does it mean—that’s - what I’d like to know? Does it mean that decent people are going to - make me the apple of their eye, after all?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think it goes quite so far as that,” said - Harold. “I expect it means that my sister has come to the end of her - discoveries and she’s forced to fall back on you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, is that all?” Archie looked disappointed. “All? Isn’t - it enough?” said Harold. “Why, you’re in luck if you let - her discover you. I knew that her atheists couldn’t hold out. She - used them up too quickly. One should he economical of one’s genuine - atheists nowadays.” - </p> - <p> - “Great Godfrey! does she take me for an atheist?” shouted - Archie. - </p> - <p> - “Did you ever hear of an atheist shooting pheasants?” said - Harold. “Not likely. An atheist is a man that does nothing except - talk, and talks about nothing except himself. Now, you’re asked to - the shoot, aren’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s in the invite anyway.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course. And that shows that you’re not taken for an - atheist.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad of that. I draw the line at atheism,” Archie - replied with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you’ll have a good time among the pheasants.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you suppose that I’ll go?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure you will. I may have thought you a bit of a fool - before I came to know you, Archie—” - </p> - <p> - “And since you heard that I had taken the Legitimate.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, even after that masterpiece of astuteness. But I would - never think that you’d be fool enough to throw away this chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Chance—chance of what?” - </p> - <p> - “Of getting among decent people. I told you that my sister has - nothing but decent people when there’s a shoot—there’s - no Coming Man in anything among the house-party. Yes, it’s sure to - be comfortable. It’s the very thing for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it? I’m not so certain about it. The people there are - pretty sure to allude in a friendly spirit to my red hair.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, I think you may depend upon that. That means that you’ll - get on so well among them that they will take an interest in your - personality. If you get on particularly well with them they may even - allude to the simplicity of your mug. If they do that, you may be certain - that you are a great social success.” - </p> - <p> - Archie mused. - </p> - <p> - It was in this musing spirit that he took in a contemplative way a lump of - sugar out of the sugar bowl, turned it over between his fingers as though - it was something altogether new to him. Then he threw the lump up to the - ceiling, his face became one mouth, and the sugar disappeared. - </p> - <p> - “I think I’ll go,” he said, as he crunched the lump. - “Yes, I’ll be hanged if I don’t go.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s more than probable,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’d like to clear off for a bit from this kennel.” - </p> - <p> - “What kennel?” - </p> - <p> - “This kennel—London. Do you go the length of denying that - London’s a kennel?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t do anything of the sort.” - </p> - <p> - “You’d best not. I was thinking if a run to Australia, or - California, or Timbuctoo would not be healthy just now.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I made up my mind yesterday, that if I don’t have better - hands soon, I’ll chuck up the whole game. That’s the sort of - new potatoes that I am.” - </p> - <p> - “The Legitimate?” - </p> - <p> - “The Legitimate be frizzled! Am I to continue paying for the suppers - that other tarty chips eat? That’s what I want you to tell me. You - know what a square deal is, Wynne, as well as most people.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, you can tell me if I’m to pay for dry champagne - for her guests.” - </p> - <p> - “Whose guests?” - </p> - <p> - “Great Godfrey! haven’t I been telling you? Mrs. Mowbray’s - guests. Who else’s would they be? Do you mean to tell me that, in - addition to giving people free boxes at the Legitimate every night to see - W. S. late of Stratford upon Avon, it’s my business to supply dry - champagne all round after the performance?” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Harold, “to speak candidly to you, I’ve - always been of the opinion that the ideal proprietor of a theatre is one - who supplies really comfortable stalls free, and has really sound - champagne handed round at intervals during the performance. I also frankly - admit that I haven’t yet met with any manager who quite realized my - ideas in this matter. Archie, my lad, the sooner you get down to - Abbeylands the better it will be for yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll go. Mind you, I don’t cry off when I know the - chaps that she asks to supper—I’ll flutter the dimes for - anyone I know; but I’m hanged if I do it for the chaps that chip in - on her invite. They’ll not draw cards from my pack, Wynne. No, I’ll - see them in the port of Hull first. That’s the sort of new potatoes - that I am.” - </p> - <p> - “Give me your hand, Archie,” cried Harold. “I always - thought you nothing better than a millionaire, but I find that you’re - a man after all.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll make things hum at the Legitimate yet,” said - Archie—his voice was fast approaching the shouting stage. “I’ll - send them waltzing round. I thought once upon a time that, when she laid - her hand upon my head and said, ‘Poor old Archie,’ I could go - on for ever—that to see the decimals fluttering about her would be - the loveliest sight on earth for the rest of my life. But I’m tired - of that show now, Wynne. Great Godfrey! I can get my hair smoothed down at - a barber’s for sixpence, and yet I believe that she charged me a - thousand pounds for every time she patted my head. A decimal for a pat—a - pat!” - </p> - <p> - “You could buy the whole Irish nation for less money, according to - some people’s ideas—but they’re wrong,” said - Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Wynne,” said Archie, solemnly. “I’ve been going - it blind for some time. Shakespeare’s a fraud. I’ll shoot - those pheasants.” - </p> - <p> - He had picked up his hat, and in another minute Harold saw him sending his - pair of chestnuts down the street at a pace that showed a creditable - amount of self-restraint on the part of Archie. - </p> - <p> - Three days afterwards Harold got a letter from Mrs. Lampson, giving him a - number of commissions to execute for her—delicate matters that could - not be intrusted to any one except a confidential agent. The postscript - mentioned that Archie Brown had arrived a few days before and had charmed - every one with his shyness. On this account she could scarcely believe, - she said, that he was a millionaire. She added that Lady Innisfail and her - daughter had just arrived at Abbeylands, that the Miss Avon about whom she - had inquired, had accepted her invitation and was coming to Abbeylands on - the next day; and finally, Mrs. Lampson said that her father was dull - enough to make people believe that he was really reformed. He was - inquiring when Miss Avon was coming, and he shared the fate of all men - (and women) who were unfortunate enough to be reformed: he had become - deadly dull. Lady Innisfail had assured her, however, that it was very - rarely that a Hardened Reprobate permanently reformed—even with the - incentive of acute rheumatism—before he was sixty-five, so that it - would be unwise to be despondent about Lord Fotheringay. If this was so—and - Lady Innisfail was surely an authority—Mrs. Lampson said that she - looked forward to such a lapse on the part of her father as would restore - him to the position of interest which he had always occupied in the eyes - of the world. - </p> - <p> - Harold lay back in his chair and laughed heartily at the reference made by - his sister to the shyness of Archie, and also to the fact of Norah - Innisfail’s sitting at the table with the Young Reprobate as well as - the Old. He wondered if the conversation had yet turned upon the - management of the Legitimate Theatre. - </p> - <p> - It was after he had lunched on the next Tuesday that Harold received this - letter—written by his sister the previous day. He had passed an hour - with Beatrice, who was to start by the four-twenty train for Abbeylands - station. He had said goodbye to her for a week, and already he was feeling - so lonely that he was soon pacing his room calling himself a fool for - having elected to remain in town while she was to go. - </p> - <p> - He thought how they might have had countless strolls through the fine park - at Abbeylands—through the picturesque ruins of the old Abbey—on - the banks of the little trout stream. Instead of being by her side among - those interesting scenes, he would have to remain—he had been - foolish enough to make the choice—in the neighbourhood of nothing - more joyous than St. James’s Palace. - </p> - <p> - This was bad enough; but not merely would he be away from the landscapes - at Abbeylands, the elements of life in those landscapes would be - represented by Beatrice and Another. - </p> - <p> - Yes; she would certainly appear with someone at her side—in the - place he might have occupied if he had not been such a fool. - </p> - <p> - An hour had passed before he had got the better of his impulse to call a - hansom and drive to the railway terminus and take a seat beside her in the - train. When the clock had struck four, and it was therefore too late for - him to entertain the idea of going with her, he became more inclined to - take a reasonable view of the situation. - </p> - <p> - “I was right.” he said, as he seated himself in front of the - fire, and stared into the smouldering coals. “Yes, I was right. No - one must suspect that we are—bound to one another”—the - words were susceptible of a sufficiently liberal interpretation. “The - penetration of Edmund Airey will be at fault for the first time, and the - others who had so many suspicions at Castle Innisfail, will find - themselves completely at fault.” - </p> - <p> - He began to think how, though he had been cruelly dealt with by Fate in - some respects—in respect of his own father, for instance, and also - in respect of his own poverty—he had still much to be thankful for. - </p> - <p> - He was beloved by the loveliest woman whom he had ever seen—the only - woman for whom he had ever felt a passion. And the peculiar position which - she occupied, had enabled him to see her every day and to kiss her - exquisite face—there was none to make him afraid. Such obstacles in - the way of a lover’s freedom as the Average Father, the Vigilant - Mother and the Athletic Brother he had never encountered. And then a - curious circumstance—the thought of Beatrice as a part of the - landscapes around Abbeylands caused him to lay special emphasis upon this—had - enabled him to bind the girl to him with a bond which in her eyes at least—yes, - in his eyes too, by heaven, he felt—was not susceptible of being - loosened. - </p> - <p> - Yes, the ways of Providence were wonderful, he felt. If he had not met Mr. - Playdell.... and so forth. - </p> - <p> - But now Beatrice was his own. She might stray through the autumn woods by - the side of Edmund Airey or any man whom she might meet at Abbeylands; she - would feel upon her finger the ring that he had placed there—the - ring that—— - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet with a sudden cry. - </p> - <p> - “Good God! the Ring! the Ring!” - </p> - <p> - He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It pointed to four-seventeen. - </p> - <p> - He pulled out his watch. It pointed to four-twenty-two. - </p> - <p> - He rushed to the sofa where an overcoat was lying. He had it on him in a - moment. He snatched up a railway guide and stuffed it into his pocket. - </p> - <p> - In another minute he was in a hansom, driving as fast as the hansomeer - thought consistent with public safety—a trifle over that which the - police authorities thought consistent with public safety—in the - direction of the Northern Railway terminus. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0005" id="link2HCCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E tried, while in - the hansom, to unravel the mysteries of the system by which passengers - were supposed to reach Brackenshire. He found the four-twenty train from - London indicated in its proper order. This was the train by which he had - invariably travelled to Abbeylands—it was the last train in the day - that carried passengers to Abbeylands Station, for the station was on a - short branch line, the junction being Mowern. - </p> - <p> - On reaching the terminus he lost no time in finding a responsible official—one - whose chastely-braided uniform looked repressful of tips. - </p> - <p> - “I want to get to Mowern Junction before the four-twenty train from - here goes on to Abbeylands. Can I do it?” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Next train to the Junction five-thirty-two, sir,” said the - official. - </p> - <p> - “That’s too late for me,” said Harold. “The train - leaves the Junction for Abbeylands a quarter of an hour after arriving at - Mowern. Is there no local train that I might manage to catch that would - bring me to the Junction?” - </p> - <p> - “None that would serve your purpose, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Harold clearly saw how it was that this company could never get their - dividend over four per cent. - </p> - <p> - “Why is there so long a wait at Mowern?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Waits for Ditchford Mail, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “And at what time does a train start for Ditch-ford?” - </p> - <p> - “Can’t tell, sir. Ditchford is on the Nethershire system—they - have running powers over our line to Mowern.” - </p> - <p> - Harold whipped out his guide, and found Ditch-ford in the index. By an - inspiration he turned at once to the page devoted to the Nethershire - service of trains. He found that, by an exquisite system of timing the - trains, it was possible to reach a station a mile from Ditchford on the - one line, just six minutes after the departure of the last local train to - Ditchford on the other line. It took a little ingenuity, no doubt, on the - part of the Directors of both lines to accomplish this, but still they - managed to do it. - </p> - <p> - “I beg pardon, sir,” said an official wearing a uniform that - suggested tolerance of views in the matter of tips—the more - important official had moved away. “I beg pardon, sir. Why not take - the four-fifty-five to Mindon, and change into the Ditchford local train—that’ll - reach the junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was - stationed at change into the Ditchford local train—that’ll - reach the junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was - stationed at that part of the system.” - </p> - <p> - To glance at the clock, and to perceive that he had time enough to drive - to the Nethershire terminus, and to transfer a coin to the unconscious but - not reluctant hand of the official of the liberal views, occupied Harold - but a moment. At four-fifty-five he was in the Nethershire train on his - way to Mindon. - </p> - <p> - He had not waited to verify the man’s statement as to the trains, - but in the railway carriage he did so, and he found that the beautiful - complications of the two systems were at least susceptible of the - interpretation put on them. - </p> - <p> - For the next two hours Harold felt that he could devote himself, if he had - the mind, to the problem of the ring that had been so suddenly suggested - to him. - </p> - <p> - It did not require him to spend more than the merest fraction of this time - in order to convince him that the impulse upon which he had acted, was one - that he would have been a fool to repress. - </p> - <p> - The ring which he had put on her finger, and which she had worn since, and - would most certainly wear—he had imagined her doing so—at - Abbeylands, could not fail to be recognized both by his father and his - sister. It had belonged to his mother, and it was unique. It had flashed - upon him suddenly that, unless he was content that his father and sister - should learn that he had given her that ring, it would be necessary for - him to prevent Beatrice from wearing it even for an hour at Abbeylands. - </p> - <p> - Apart altogether from the question of the circumstances under which he had - put the ring upon her finger—circumstances which he had good reason - for desiring to conceal—the fact that he had given to her the object - which he valued most highly in the world, and which his father and sister - knew that he so valued, would suggest to both these persons as much as - would ruin him. - </p> - <p> - His father would, he knew, be extremely glad to discover some pretext to - cut off the last penny of his allowance; and assuredly he would regard - this gift of the ring as an ample pretext for adopting such a course of - action. Indeed, Lord Fotheringay had never been at a loss for a pretext - for reducing his son’s allowance; and now that he was posing—with - but indifferent success, as Harold had learned from Mrs. Lampson’s - postscript—as a Reformed Sinner, he would, his son knew, think that, - in cutting off his son’s allowance, he was only acting consistently - with the traditions of Reformed Sinners. - </p> - <p> - The Reformed Sinner is usually a sinner whose capacity to enjoy the - pleasures of sin has become dulled, and thus he is intolerant of the sins - of others, and particularly intolerant of the capacity of others to enjoy - sin. This is why he reduces the allowances of his children. Like the man - who advances to the position of teetotal lecturer, after having served for - some time as the teetotal lecturer’s Example, he knows all about the - evil which he means to combat—to be more exact, which he means his - children to combat. - </p> - <p> - All this Harold knew perfectly well. He knew that the only difference that - the reform of his father would make to him, was that, while his father had - formerly cut down his allowance with a courteously worded apology, he - would now stop it altogether without an apology. - </p> - <p> - How could he have failed to remember, when he put that ring upon her - finger, how great were the chances that it would be seen there by his - father or his sister? - </p> - <p> - This was the question which occupied his thoughts for the first hour of - his journey. He lay back looking out on the gray October landscapes - through which the train rushed—the wood glowing in crimson and brown - like a mighty smouldering furnace—the groups of children picking - blackberries on the embankments—the canal boat moving slowly along - the gray waterway—and he asked himself how he had been such a fool - as to overlook the likelihood of the ring being seen on her hand by his - father or his sister. - </p> - <p> - The truth was, that he had at that time not considered the possibility of - her going to Abbey-lands. He knew that Mrs. Lampson intended inviting her; - but he felt certain that, when she heard that he was not going, she would - not accept the invitation. She would not have accepted it, if it had not - suddenly occurred to him that the fact of her going while he remained in - town would be to his advantage. - </p> - <p> - Would he be in time to prevent the disaster which he foresaw would occur - if she appeared in the drawing-room at Abbeylands wearing the ring? - </p> - <p> - He looked at his watch. The train was three minutes late in reaching - several of the stations on its route, and it was delayed for another three - minutes when there was only a single line of rails. How would it be - possible for the train to make up so great a loss during the remainder of - the journey? - </p> - <p> - He reminded the guard at one of many intolerable stoppages, that the train - was long behind its time. The guard could not agree with him, it was only - about seven minutes late, he assured Harold. - </p> - <p> - On it went, and it seemed as if the engine-driver had a clearer sense of - his responsibilities than the guard, for during the next thirty miles, he - managed to save over two minutes. All this Harold noticed with more - interest than he had ever taken in the details of any railway journey. - </p> - <p> - When at last Mindon was reached, and he left the train to change into the - one which was to carry him on to the Junction, he found that this train - had not yet come up. Here was another point to be considered. Would the - train come up in time? - </p> - <p> - He was not left for long in suspense. The long row of lighted carriages - ran up to the platform before he had been waiting for two minutes, and in - another two minutes the train was steaming away with him. - </p> - <p> - He looked at his watch once more, and then he was able to give himself a - rest, for he saw that unless some accident were to happen, he would be at - Mowern Junction before the train should leave for Abbeylands Station on - the branch line. - </p> - <p> - In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the - branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of - one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment - and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it. - </p> - <p> - “Harold! How on earth—” she began. - </p> - <p> - “I have a rather important message for you,” he said. “Will - you take a turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The - train does not start for six minutes.” - </p> - <p> - She was out of the carriage in a moment. “Mr. Wynne has a message - for me—it is probably from Mrs. Lampson,” she said to her - maid, who was in the same compartment. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0006" id="link2HCCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HAT can be the - matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have travelled by the - same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am so glad to see you. - You have changed your mind—you are coming on with me? Oh, I see it - all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful surprise.” - </p> - <p> - The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm—he - could feel the ring on her finger. - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” said he; “everything remains as it was this - morning. I only wish that I were going on with you. Providentially - something occurred to me when I was sitting alone after lunch. That is why - I came. I managed to catch a train that brought me here just now—the - train I was in ran past this platform and I saw your face.” - </p> - <p> - “What can have occurred to you that you could not tell me in a - letter?” she asked, her face still bearing the look of glad surprise - that had come to it when she had heard the sound of his voice. - </p> - <p> - “We shall have to go into a waiting-room, or—better still—an - empty carriage,” said he. “I see several men whom I know, and—worse - luck! women—they are on their way to Abbeylands, and if they saw us - together in this confidential way, they would never cease chattering when - they arrived. We shall get into a compartment—there is one that - still remains unlighted, it will be the best for our purpose; there will - be no chance of a prying face appearing at the window.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall we have time?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Plenty of time. By getting into the carriage you will run no chance - of being left behind—the worst that can happen is that I may be - carried on with you.” - </p> - <p> - “The worst? Oh, that is the best—the best.” They had - strolled to the end of the platform where it was dimly lighted, and in an - instant, apparently unobserved by anyone, they had got into an unlighted - compartment at the rear of the train, and Harold shut the door quietly, so - as not to attract the attention of the three or four men in knickerbockers - who were stretching their legs on the platform until the train was ready - to start. - </p> - <p> - “We are fortunate,” said he. “Those men outside will be - your fellow-guests for the week. None of them will think of glancing into - a dark carriage; but if one of them does so, he will be nothing the wiser.” - </p> - <p> - “And now—and now,” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “And now, my dearest, you remember the ring that I put upon your - finger?” - </p> - <p> - “This ring? Do you think it likely that I have forgotten it already?” - she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “No, no, dearest; it was I who forgot it,” he said. “It - was I who forgot that my father and my sister are perfectly certain to - recognize that ring if you wear it at Abbeylands: they will be certain to - see it on your linger, and they will question you as to how it came into - your possession.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course they will,” she said, after a pause. “You - told me that it was a ring that belonged to your mother. There can only be - one such ring in the world. Oh, they could not fail to recognize it. The - little chubby wicked Eros surrounded by the rubies—I have looked at - the design every day—every night—sometimes the firelight - gleaming upon the circle of rubies has made them seem to me a band of - blood. Was that the idea of the artist who made the design, I wonder—a - circle of blood with the god Eros in the centre.” - </p> - <p> - She had taken off her glove, and had laid the hand with the ring in one of - his hands. - </p> - <p> - He had never felt her hand so soft and warm before. His hand became hot - through holding hers. His heart was beating as it had never beaten before. - </p> - <p> - The force of his grasp pressed the sharply cut cameo into his flesh. The - image of that wicked little god, the son of Aphrodite, was stamped upon - him. It seemed as if some of his blood would mingle with the blood that - sparkled and beat within the heart of the rubies. - </p> - <p> - He had forgotten the object of his mission to her. Still holding her hand - with the ring, he put his arm under the sealskin coat that reached to her - feet, and held her close to him while he kissed her as he had never before - kissed her. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he seemed to recollect why he was with her. He had not hastened - down from London for the sake of the kiss. - </p> - <p> - “My beloved, my beloved!” he murmured—each word sounded - like a sob—“I should like to remain with you for ever.” - </p> - <p> - She did not say a word. She did not need to say a word. He could feel the - tumult of her heart, and she knew it. - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, Beatrice, let me speak to you,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - It was a strange entreaty. His arm was about her, his hand was holding one - of hers, she was simply passive by his side; and yet he implored of her to - let him speak to her. - </p> - <p> - It was some moments before she could laugh, however; which was also - strange, for the humour of the matter which called for that laugh, was - surely capable of being appreciated by her immediately. - </p> - <p> - She gave a laugh and then a sigh. - </p> - <p> - The carriage was dark, but a stray gleam of light from a side platform now - and again came upon her face, and her features were brought into relief - with the clearness and the whiteness of a lily in a jungle. - </p> - <p> - As she gave that laugh—or was it a sigh?—he started, - perceiving that the expression of her features was precisely that which - the artist in the antique had imparted to the features of the little - chrysoprase Eros in the centre of that blood-red circle of the ring. - </p> - <p> - “Why do you laugh, Beatrice?8 said he. - </p> - <p> - “Did I laugh, Harold?” said she. “No—no—I - think—yes, I think it was a sigh—or was it you who sighed, my - love?” - </p> - <p> - “God knows,” said he. “Oh, the ring—the ring!” - </p> - <p> - “It feels like a band of burning metal,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “It is almost a pain for me to wear it. Have you not heard of the - curious charms possessed by rings, Harold—the strange spells which - they carry with them? The ring is a mystery—a mystic symbol. It - means what has neither beginning nor ending—it means perfection—completeness—it - means love—love’s completeness.” - </p> - <p> - “That is what your ring must mean to us, my beloved,” said he. - “Whether you take it from your finger or let it remain there, it - will still mean the completeness of such love as is ours.” - </p> - <p> - “And I am to take it off, Harold?” - </p> - <p> - “Only so long as you stay at Abbeylands, Beatrice. What does it - matter for one week? You will see, dearest, how my plans—my hopes—must - certainly he destroyed if that ring is seen on your finger by my father or - my sister. It is not for the sake of my plans only that I wish you to - refrain from wearing it for a week; it is for your sake as well.” - </p> - <p> - “Would they fancy that I had stolen it, dear?” she asked, - looking up to his face with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “They might fancy worse things than that, Beatrice,” said he. - “Do not ask me. You may be sure that I am advising you aright—that - the consequences of that ring being recognized on your finger would be - more serious than you could understand.” - </p> - <p> - “Did I not say something to you a few days ago about the - completeness of my trust in you, Harold?” she whispered. “Well, - the ring is the symbol of this completeness also. I trust you implicitly - in everything. I have given myself up to you. I will do whatever you may - tell me. I will not take the ring off until I reach Abbeylands, but I - shall take it off then, and only replace it on my finger every night.” - </p> - <p> - “My darling, my darling! Such love as you have given to me is God’s - best gift to the world.” - </p> - <p> - He had committed himself to an opinion practically to the same effect upon - more than one previous occasion. - </p> - <p> - And now, as then, the expression of that opinion was followed by a long - silence, as their faces came together. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice,” he said, in a tremulous voice. - </p> - <p> - “Harold.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall go on with you to Abbeylands. Come what may, we shall not - now be separated.” - </p> - <p> - But they were separated that very instant. The carriage was flooded with - light—the chastened flood that comes from an oil lamp inserted in a - hollow in the roof—and they were no longer in each others arms. They - heard the sound of the porter’s feet on the roof of the next - carriage. - </p> - <p> - “It is so good of you to come,” said she. - </p> - <p> - There was now perhaps three inches of a space separating them. - </p> - <p> - “Good?” said he. “I’m afraid that’s not the - word. We shall be under one roof.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said slowly, “under one roof.” - </p> - <p> - “Tickets for Ashmead,” intoned a voice at the carriage window. - </p> - <p> - “We are for Abbeylands Station,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Abb’l’ns,” said the guard. “Why, sir, you - know the Abb’l’ns train started six minutes ago.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0007" id="link2HCCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A SYSTEM. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD was out of - the compartment in a moment. Did the guard mean that the train had - actually left for Abbeylands? It had left six minutes before, the guard - explained, and the station-master added his guarantee to the statement. - </p> - <p> - Harold looked around—from platform to platform—as if he - fancied that there was a conspiracy between the officials to conceal the - train. - </p> - <p> - How could the train leave without taking all its carriages with it? - </p> - <p> - It did nothing of the kind, the station-master said, firmly but - respectfully. - </p> - <p> - The guard went on with his business of cutting neat triangles out of the - tickets of the passengers in the carriages that were alongside the - platform—passengers bound for Ashmead. - </p> - <p> - “But I—we—my—my wife and I got into one of the - carriages of the Abbeylands train,” said Harold, becoming indignant, - after the fashion of his countrymen, when they have made a mistake either - on a home or foreign railway. “What sort of management is it that - allows one portion of a train to go in one direction and another part in - another direction?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s our system, sir,” said the official. “You - see, sir, there’re never many passengers for either the Abbeyl’n’s”—being - a station-master he did not do an unreasonable amount of clipping in - regard to the names—“or the Ashm’d branch, so the - Staplehurst train is divided—only we don’t light the lamps in - the Ashm’d portion until we’re ready to start it. Did you get - into a carriage that had a lamp, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve seen some bungling at railway stations before now,” - said Harold, “but bang me if I ever met the equal of this.” - </p> - <p> - “This isn’t properly speaking a station, sir, it’s a - junction,” said the official, mildly, but with the force of a man - who has said the last word. - </p> - <p> - “That simply means that greater bungling may be found at a junction - than at a station,” said Harold. “Is it not customary to give - some notice of the departure of a train at a junction as well as a - station, my good man?” - </p> - <p> - The official became reasonably irritated at being called a good man. - </p> - <p> - “The train left for Abbeyl’n’s according to reg’lation, - sir,” said he. “If you got into a compartment that had no lamp——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I’ve no time for trifling,” said Harold. “When - does the next train leave for Abbey-lands?” - </p> - <p> - “At eight-sixteen in the morning,” said the official. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! You mean to say that there’s no train - to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “You see, if a carriage isn’t lighted, sir, we——” - </p> - <p> - The man perceived the weakness of Harold’s case—from the - standpoint of a railway official—and seemed determined not to lose - sight of it. “Contributory negligence” he knew to be the most - valuable phrase that a railway official could have at hand upon any - occasion. - </p> - <p> - “And how do you expect us to go on to Abbeylands to-night?” - asked Harold. - </p> - <p> - “There’s a very respectable hotel a mile from the junction, - sir,” said the man. “Ruins of the Priory, sir—dates back - to King John, page 84 <i>Tourist’s Guide to Brackenshire</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” said Harold, “this is quite preposterous.” - He went to where Beatrice was seated watching, with only a moderate amount - of interest, the departure of five passengers for Ashmead. - </p> - <p> - “Well, dear?” said she, as Harold came up. - </p> - <p> - “For straightforward, pig-headed stupidity I’ll back a railway - company against any institution in the world,” said he. “The - last train has left for Abbeylands. Did you ever know of such stupidity? - And yet the shareholders look for six per cent, out of such a system.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps,” said she timidly—“perhaps we were in - some degree to blame.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed. It was so like a woman to suggest the possibility of some - blame attaching to the passengers when a railway company could be - indicted. To the average man such an idea is as absurd as beginning to - argue with a person at whom one is at liberty to swear. - </p> - <p> - “It seems that there is a sort of hotel a mile away,” said he. - “We cannot be starved, at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - “And I—you—we shall have to stay there?” said she. - </p> - <p> - He gave a sort of shrug—an Englishman’s shrug—about as - like the real thing as an Englishman’s bow, or a Chinaman’s - cheer. - </p> - <p> - “What can we do?” said he. “When a railway company such - as this—oh, come along, Beatrice. I am hungry—hungry—hungry!” - </p> - <p> - He caught her by the arm. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Harold—husband,” said she. - </p> - <p> - He started. - </p> - <p> - “Husband! Husband!” he said. “I never thought of that. - Oh, my beloved—my beloved!” - </p> - <p> - He stood irresolute for a moment. - </p> - <p> - Then he gave a curious laugh, and she felt his hand tighten upon her arm - for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he whispered. “You heard the words that—that - man said while our hands were together? ‘Whom God hath joined’—God—that - is Love. Love is the bond that binds us together. Every union founded on - Love is sacred—and none other is sacred—in the sight of - heaven.” - </p> - <p> - “And you do not doubt my love,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Doubt it? oh, my Beatrice, I never knew what it was before now.” - They left the station together, after he had written and despatched in her - name a telegram to her maid, directing her to explain to Mrs. Lampson that - her mistress had unfortunately missed the train, but meant to go by the - first one in the morning. - </p> - <p> - By chance a conveyance was found outside, and in it they drove to the - Priory Hotel which, they were amazed to find, promised comfort as well as - picturesqueness. - </p> - <p> - It was a long ivy-covered house, and bore every token of being a portion - of the ancient Priory among the ruins of which it was standing. Great elms - were in front of the house, and on one side there were apple trees, and at - the other there was a garden reaching almost to where a ruined arch was - held together by its own ivy. - </p> - <p> - As they were in the act of entering the porch, a ray of moonlight gleamed - upon the ruins, and showed the trimmed grass plots and neat gravel walks - among the cloisters. - </p> - <p> - Harold pointed out the picturesque effect to Beatrice, and they stood for - some moments before entering the house. - </p> - <p> - The old waiter, whose moderately white shirt front constituted a very - distinctive element of the hall with its polished panels of old oak, did - not bustle forward when he saw them admiring the ruins. - </p> - <p> - “Upon my word,” said Harold, entering, “this is a place - worth seeing. That touch of moonlight was very effective.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said the waiter; “I’m glad you’re - pleased with it. We try to do our best in this way for our patrons. Mrs. - Mark will be glad to know that you thought highly of our moonlight, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The man was only a waiter, but he was as solemn as a butler, as he opened - the door of a room that seemed ready to do duty as a coffee-room. It had a - low groined ceiling, and long narrow windows. - </p> - <p> - An elderly maid was lighting candles in sconces round the walls. - </p> - <p> - “Really,” said Harold, “we may be glad that the bungling - at the junction brought us here.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said the man with waiter-like acquiescence; - “they do bungle things sometimes at that junction.” - </p> - <p> - “We were on our way to Abbeylands,” said Harold, “but - those idiots on the platform allowed us to get into the wrong carriages—the - carriages that were going to Ashmead. We shall stay here for the night. - The station-master recommended us to go here, and I’m much obliged - to him. It’s the only sensible—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir: he’s a brother to Mrs. Mark—Mrs. Mark is our - proprietor,” said the waiter. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Mrs</i>. Mark,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir: she’s our proprietor.” - </p> - <p> - Harold thought that, perhaps, when the owner of an hotel was a woman, she - might reasonably be called the proprietor. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, perhaps a maid might show my—my wife to a room, - while I see what we can get for dinner—supper, I suppose we should - call it.” - </p> - <p> - The middle-aged woman who was lighting the candles came forward smiling, - as she adroitly extinguished the wax taper by the application of her - finger and thumb. With her Beatrice disappeared. - </p> - <p> - Harold quite expected that he was about to come upon the weak element in - the management of this picturesque inn. But when he found that a cold - pheasant as well as some hot fish was available for supper, he admitted - that the place was perfect. There was no wine card, but the old waiter - promised a Champagne for which, he said, Mr. Lampson, of Abbeylands, had - once made an offer. - </p> - <p> - “That will do for us very well,” said Harold. “Mr. - Lampson would not make an offer for anything—wine least of all—of - which he was uncertain.” - </p> - <p> - The waiter went off in the leisurely style that was only consistent with - the management of an establishment that dated back to King John; and in a - few minutes Beatrice appeared, having laid aside her sealskin coat, and - her hat. - </p> - <p> - How exquisite she seemed as she stood for an instant in the subdued light - at the door! - </p> - <p> - And she was his. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0008" id="link2HCCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span> HE was his. - </p> - <p> - He felt the joy of it as she stood at the door in her beautifully fitting - travelling dress. - </p> - <p> - The thought sent an exultant glow through his veins, as he looked at her - from where he was standing at the hearth. (There was no “cosy corner” - abomination.) - </p> - <p> - She was his. - </p> - <p> - He went forward to meet her, and put out both his hands to her. - </p> - <p> - She placed a hand in each of his. - </p> - <p> - “How delightfully warm you are,” she said. “You were - standing at the fire.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said. “I was at the fire; in addition, I was - also thinking that you are mine.” - </p> - <p> - “Altogether yours now,” she said looking at him with that - trustful smile which should have sent him down on his knees before her, - but which did not do more than cause his eyes to look at her throat - instead of gazing straight into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - They seated themselves on one of the old window-seats, and talked face to - face, listlessly watching the old waiter lay a white cloth on a portion of - the black oak table. - </p> - <p> - When they had eaten their fish and pheasant—Harold wondered if the - latter had come from the Abbeylands’ preserves, and if Archie Brown - had shot it—they returned to the window-seat, and there they - remained for an hour. - </p> - <p> - He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to - the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds. - </p> - <p> - She was his. - </p> - <p> - The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom - candlestick with a box of matches. - </p> - <p> - “Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “I require nothing, thank you,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “The candles in the - sconces will burn for another hour. If that will not be long enough—” - </p> - <p> - “It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely - comfortable, and I wish you goodnight,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam.” - </p> - <p> - This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon - the stairs. - </p> - <p> - “At last—at last!” whispered Harold, as he put an arm on - the deep embrasure of the window behind her. - </p> - <p> - She let her shapely head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. Then - she looked up to his face. - </p> - <p> - “Who could have thought it?” she cried. “Who could have - predicted that evening when I stood on the cliffs and sent my voice out in - that wild way across the lough, that we should be sitting here to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “I knew it when I got down to the boat and drew your hands into mine - by that fishing-line,” said he. “When the moon showed me your - face, I knew that I had seen the face for which I had been searching all - my life. I had caught glimpses of that face many times in my life. I - remember seeing it for a moment when a great musician was performing an - incomparable work—a work the pure beauty of which made all who - listened to it weep. I can hear that music now when I look upon your face. - It conveys to me all that was conveyed to me by the music. I saw it again - when, one exquisite dawn, I went into a garden while the dew was - glistening over everything. There came to me the faint scent of violets. I - thought that nothing could be lovelier; but in another moment, the - glorious perfume of roses came upon me like a torrent. The odour of the - roses and the scent of the violets mingled, and before my eyes floated - your face. When the moonlight showed me your face on that night beside the - Irish lough I felt myself wondering if it would vanish.” - </p> - <p> - “It has come to stay,” she whispered, in a way that gave the - sweetest significance to the phrase that has become vulgarized. - </p> - <p> - “It came to stay with me for ever,” he said. “I knew it, - and I felt myself saying, ‘Here by God’s grace is the one maid - for me.’” - </p> - <p> - He did not falter as he looked down upon her face—he said the words - “God’s grace” without the least hesitancy. - </p> - <p> - The moonlight that had been glistening on the ivy of the broken arches of - the ancient Priory, was now shining through the diamond panes of the - window at which they were sitting. As her head lay back it was illuminated - by the moon. Her hair seemed delicate threads of spun glass through which - the light was shining. - </p> - <p> - One of the candles flared up for a moment in its socket, then dwindled - away to a single spark and then expired. - </p> - <p> - “You remember?” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “The seal-cave,” he said. “I have often wondered how I - dared to tell you that I loved you.” - </p> - <p> - “But you told me the truth.” - </p> - <p> - “The truth. No, no; I did not love you then as I regard loving now. - Oh, my Beatrice, you have taught me what ‘tis to love. There is - nothing in the world but love, it is life—it is life!” - </p> - <p> - “And there are none in the world who love as you and I do.” - </p> - <p> - His face shut out the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence before - she said, “It was only when you had parted from me every day that I - knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad - Good-byes—sad Good-nights out of the moonlight from hers. There was - a long silence before she said, “It was only when you had parted - from me every day that I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those - bitter moments! Those sad Good-byes—sad Good-nights!” - </p> - <p> - “They are over, they are over!” he cried. The lover’s - triumph rang through his words. “They are over. We have come to the - night when no more Good-nights shall be spoken. What do I say? No more - Good-nights? You know what a poet’s heart sang—a poet over - whose head the waters of passion had closed? I know the song that came - from his heart—beloved, the pulses of his heart beat in every - line:"= - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “‘Good-night! ah, no, the hour is ill - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That severs those it should unite: - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - Let us remain together still, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Then it will be good night.= - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - ”’ How can I call the lone night good, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Be it not said—thought—understood; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Then it will be good night.= - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “‘To hearts that near each other move - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - From evening close to morning light, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The night is good because, oh, Love, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - They never say Good-night.’”= - </p> - <p> - His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were closed - and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh—a sigh that had - something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his neck, - and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone. - </p> - <p> - How had she gone? - </p> - <p> - Whither had she gone? - </p> - <p> - How long had he been alone? - </p> - <p> - He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room. - </p> - <p> - Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his - arms? Had he been repeating Shelley’s poem in the hearing of no one? - </p> - <p> - He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old - Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch - where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. It - was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one window - above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated. - </p> - <p> - It had no drapery—he could see through it half way into the room - beyond. - </p> - <p> - Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from the - wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved Head - of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies. - </p> - <p> - He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until—until.... - </p> - <p> - There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony. - </p> - <p> - His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling - whiteness beneath the light of the candles. - </p> - <p> - He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which - he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand on - the handle of the door. - </p> - <p> - There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly - watching the struggle. - </p> - <p> - It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul. - </p> - <p> - The man’s fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his - hands across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them. - </p> - <p> - Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started up, - and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled—madly—blindly—away - from the house. - </p> - <p> - Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone—he only - fell upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground. - </p> - <p> - When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot - of an ancient prostrate Cross. - </p> - <p> - He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his - parched lips the cry, “Christ have mercy upon me!” - </p> - <p> - He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp stone. - </p> - <p> - This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward. - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance. - </p> - <p> - She was saved! - </p> - <p> - And he—he had saved his soul alive! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0009" id="link2HCCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NWARD he fled, he - knew not whither; he only knew that he was flying for the safety of his - soul. - </p> - <p> - He passed far beyond the limits of the Priory grounds, but he did not - reach the high road. He crossed a meadow and came upon a trout stream. He - walked beside it for an hour. At the end of that time there was no - moonlight to glitter upon its surface. Clouds had come over the sky and - drops of rain were beginning to fall. - </p> - <p> - He crossed the stream by a little bridge, and reached the border of a - wood. It was now long past midnight. He had been walking for two hours, - but he had no consciousness of weariness. It was not until the rain was - streaming off his hair that he recollected that he had no hat. But on - still he went through the darkness and the rain, as though he were being - pursued, and that every step he took was a step toward safety. - </p> - <p> - He came upon a track that seemed to lead through the wood, and upon this - track he went for several miles. The ground was soft, and at some places - the rain had turned it into a morass. The autumn leaves lay in drifts, - sodden and rotting. Into more than one of these he stumbled, and when he - got upon his feet again, the damp leaves and the mire were clinging to - him. - </p> - <p> - For three more hours he went on by the winding track through the wood. In - the darkness he strayed from it frequently, but invariably found it again - and struggled on, until he had passed right through the wood and reached a - high road that ran beside it. - </p> - <p> - As though he had been all the night wandering in search for this road, so - soon as he saw it he cried, “Thank God, thank God!” - </p> - <p> - But something else may have been in his mind beyond the satisfaction of - coming upon the road. - </p> - <p> - At the border of the wood where the track broadened out, there was a - woodcutter’s rough shed. It was piled up with logs of various sizes, - and with trimmed boughs awaiting the carts to come along the road to carry - them away. He entered the shed, and, overpowered with weariness, sank down - upon a heap of boughs; his head found a resting place in a forked branch - and in a moment he was sound asleep. - </p> - <p> - His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it - might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the - window. - </p> - <p> - True; but his soul was saved. - </p> - <p> - He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him. - </p> - <p> - The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that came - from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with the - smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small - branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices. - </p> - <p> - He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not - realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself. - Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he said, - “Thank God, thank God!” - </p> - <p> - Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held - bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a - constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable. - </p> - <p> - The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They stood - shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high. - </p> - <p> - The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them, - whether in regard to attack or defence. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you’re awake, my gentleman,” said the man with - the truncheon. - </p> - <p> - The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of strength, - aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in the shed. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I believe I’m awake,” said Harold. “Is the - morning far advanced?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s as may be,” said the truncheon-holder, shrewdly, - and after a pause of considerable duration. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not the man to compromise yourself by a hasty - statement,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the man, after another pause. - </p> - <p> - “May I ask what is the meaning of this rather imposing - demonstration?” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, you may, maybe,” replied the man. “But it’s - my business to tell you that—” here he paused and inflated his - lungs and person generally— “that all you say now will be used - as evidence against you.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s very official,” said Harold. “Does it mean - that you’re a constable?” - </p> - <p> - “That it do; and that you’re in my charge now. Close up, - bill-hooks, and stand firm,” the man added to his companions. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t trumle for we,” said one of the billhook-holders. - </p> - <p> - “You see there’s no use broadening vi’lent-like,” - said the truncheon-holder. - </p> - <p> - “That’s clear enough,” said Harold. “Would it be - imprudent for me to inquire what’s the charge against me?” - </p> - <p> - “You know,” said the policeman. - </p> - <p> - “Come, my man,” said Harold; “I’m not disposed to - stand this farce any longer. Can’t you see that I’m no vagrant—that - I haven’t any of your logs concealed about me. What part of the - country is this? Where’s the nearest telegraph office?” - </p> - <p> - “No matter what’s the part,” said the constable; “I’ve - arrested you before witnesses of full age, and I’ve cautioned you - according to the Ack o’ Parliament.” - </p> - <p> - “And the charge?” - </p> - <p> - “The charge is the murder.” - </p> - <p> - “Murder—what murder?” - </p> - <p> - “You know—the murder of the Right Honourable Lord Fotheringay.” - </p> - <p> - “What!” shouted Harold. “Lord—oh, you’re - mad! Lord Fotheringay is my father, and he’s staying at Abbeylands. - What do you mean, you idiot, by coming to me with such a story?” The - policeman winked in by no means a subtle way at the two men with the - bill-hooks; he then looked at Harold from head to foot, and gave a guffaw. - </p> - <p> - “The son of his lordship—the murdered man—you heard - that, friends, after I gave the caution according to the Ack o’ - Parliament?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, ay, we heard—leastways to that effeck,” replied one - of the men. - </p> - <p> - “Then down it goes again him,” said the constable. “He’s - a gentleman-Jack tramp—and that’s the worst sort—without - hat or head gear, and down it goes that he said he was his lordship’s - son.” - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake tell me what you mean by talking of the murder - of Lord Fotheringay,” said Harold. “There can be no truth in - what you said. Oh, why do I wait here talking to this idiot?” He - took a few steps toward one end of the shed. The men raised their - bill-hooks, and the constable made an aggressive demonstration with his - truncheon. - </p> - <p> - Against Stupidity the gods fight in vain, but now and again a man with - good muscles can prevail against it. Harold simply dealt a kick upon the - heavy handle of the bill-hook nearest to him, and it swung round and - caught in the stomach the second man, who immediately dropped his - implement. He needed both hands to press against his injured person. - </p> - <p> - The constable ran to the other end of the shed and blew his whistle. - </p> - <p> - Harold went out in the opposite direction and got upon the high road; but - before he had quite made up his mind which way to go, he heard the clatter - of a horse galloping. He saw that a mounted constable was coming up, and - he also noticed with a certain amount of interest, that he was drawing a - revolver. - </p> - <p> - Harold stood in the centre of the road and held up his hand. - </p> - <p> - One of the few occasions when a man of well developed muscles, if he is - wise, thinks himself no better than the gods, is when Stupidity is in the - act of drawing a revolver. - </p> - <p> - “Are you the sergeant of constabulary?” Harold inquired, when - the man had reined in. He still kept his revolver handy. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’m the sergeant of constabulary. Who are you, and what - are you doing here?” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “He’s the gentleman-Jack tramp that the lads found asleep in - the shed, sergeant,” said the constable, who had hurried forward - with the naked truncheon. “The lads came on him hiding here, when - they were setting about their day’s work. They ran for me, and that’s - why I sent for you. I’ve arrested him and cautioned him. He was nigh - clearing off just now, but I never took an eye off him. Is there a reward - yet, sergeant?” - </p> - <p> - “Officer,” said Harold. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s - son. For God’s sake tell me if what this man says is true—is - Lord Fotheringay dead—murdered?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s dead. You seem to know a lot about it, my gentleman,” - said the sergeant. “You’re charged with his murder. If you - make any attempt at resistance, I’ll shoot you down like a dog.” - </p> - <p> - The man had now his revolver is his right hand. Harold looked first at - him, and then at the foolish man with the truncheon. He was amazed. What - could the men mean? How was it that they did not touch their helmets to - him? He had never yet been addressed by a policeman or a railway porter - without such a token of respect. What was the meaning of the change? - </p> - <p> - This was really his first thought. - </p> - <p> - His mind was not in a condition to do more than speculate upon this point. - It was not capable of grasping the horrible thing suggested by the men. - </p> - <p> - He stood there in the middle of the road, dazed and speechless. It was not - until he had casually looked down and had seen the condition of his feet - and legs and clothes that, passing from the amazed thought of the - insolence of the constables, into the amazement produced by his raggedness—he - was apparently covered with mire from head to foot—the reason of his - treatment flashed upon him; and in another instant every thought had left - him except the thought that his father was dead. His head fell forward on - his chest. He felt his limbs give way under him. He staggered to the low - hank at the side of the road and managed to seat himself. He supported his - head on his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. - </p> - <p> - There he remained, the four men watching him; for the interest which - attaches to a distinguished criminal in the eyes of ignorant rustics, is - almost as great as that which he excites among the leaders of society, who - scrutinize him in the dock through opera glasses, and eat <i>pâté de foie - gras</i> sandwiches beside the judge. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0010" id="link2HCCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>OME minutes had - passed before Harold had sufficiently recovered to be able to get upon his - feet. He could now account for everything that had happened. His father - must have been found dead under suspicious circumstances the previous day, - and information had been conveyed to the county constabulary. The instinct - of the constabulary being to connect all crime with tramps, and his own - appearance, after his night of wandering, as well as the conditions under - which he had been found, suggesting the tramp, he had naturally been - arrested. - </p> - <p> - He knew that he could only suffer some inconvenience for an hour or so. - But what would be the sufferings of Beatrice? - </p> - <p> - “The circumstances under which I am found are suspicious enough to - justify my arrest,” he said to the mounted man. “I am Lord - Fotheringay’s son.” - </p> - <p> - “Gammon! but it’ll be took down,” said the constable - with the truncheon. - </p> - <p> - “Hold your tongue, you fool!” cried the sergeant to his - subordinate. - </p> - <p> - “I can, of course, account for every movement of mine, yesterday and - the day before,” said Harold. “What hour is the crime supposed - to have taken place? It must have been after four o’clock, or I - should have received a telegram from my sister, Mrs. Lampson. I left - London shortly before five last evening.” - </p> - <p> - “If you can prove that, you’re all right,” said the - sergeant. “But you’ll have to give us your right name.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll find it on the inside of my watch,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the sergeant. - </p> - <p> - “You’re a fool!” said the sergeant, looking at the hack - of the watch. “This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It - has a crown over a crest, and arms with supporters.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Harold. “I forgot that it was my - father’s watch before he gave it to me.” The sergeant smiled. - The constable and the two bill-hook men guffawed. - </p> - <p> - “Give me the watch,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve put a rope round your neck this minute,” said - he. “Handcuffs, Jonas.” - </p> - <p> - The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold’s - hands instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his revolver - out of its case. - </p> - <p> - “It has never occurred before this minute,” said the - constable. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean? Where’s the handcuffs?” cried the - sergeant. - </p> - <p> - “Never before,” said the constable, “I took them out to - clean them with sandpaper, sergeant—emery and oil’s - recommended, but give me sandpaper—not too fine but just fine - enough. Is there any man in the county that can show as bright a pair of - handcuffs as myself, sergeant? You know.” - </p> - <p> - “Show them now,” said the sergeant. - </p> - <p> - “You’ll have to come to the house with me, for there they be - to be,” replied the constable. “Ay, but I’ve my - truncheon.” - </p> - <p> - “Which way am I to go with you?” said Harold. “You don’t - think that I’m such a fool as to make the attempt to resist you? I - can’t remain here all day. Every moment is precious.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll be off soon enough, my good man,” said the - sergeant. “Keep alongside my horse, and if you try any game on with - me, I’ll be equal to you.” He wheeled his horse and walked it - in the direction whence he had come. Harold kept up with it, thinking his - thoughts. The man with the truncheon and the two men who had wielded the - billhooks marched in file beside him. Marching in file had something - official about it. - </p> - <p> - It was a strange procession that appeared on the shining wet road, with - the dripping autumn trees on each side, and the gray sodden clouds - crawling up in the distance. - </p> - <p> - How was he to communicate with her? How was he to let Beatrice know that - she was to return to London immediately? - </p> - <p> - That was the question which occupied all his thoughts as he walked with - bowed head along the road. The thought of the position which he occupied—the - thought of the tragic incident which had aroused the vigilance of the - constable—the desire to learn the details of the terrible thing that - had occurred—every thought was lost in that question: - </p> - <p> - “How am I to prevent her from going on to Abbeylands?” - </p> - <p> - Was it possible that she might learn at the hotel early in the morning, - that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered? When the news of the murder had - spread round the country—and it seemed to have done so from the - course that the woodcutters had adopted on coming upon him asleep—it - would certainly be known at the hotel. If so, what would Beatrice do? - </p> - <p> - Surely she would take the earliest train back to London. - </p> - <p> - But if she did not hear anything of the matter, would she then remain at - the hotel awaiting his return? - </p> - <p> - What would she think of him? What would she think of his desertion of her - at that supreme moment? - </p> - <p> - Can a woman ever forgive such an act of desertion? Could Beatrice ever - forgive his turning away from her love? - </p> - <p> - Was he beginning to regret that he had fled away from the loveliest vision - that had ever come before his eyes? - </p> - <p> - Did Saint Anthony ever wish that he had had another chance? - </p> - <p> - If for a single moment Harold Wynne had an unworthy thought, assuredly it - did not last longer than a single moment. - </p> - <p> - “Whatever may happen now—whether she forgives me or forsakes - me—thank God—thank God!” - </p> - <p> - This was what his heart was crying out all the time that he walked along - the road with bowed head. He felt that he had been strong enough to save - her—to save himself. - </p> - <p> - The procession had scarcely passed over more than a quarter of a mile of - the road, when a vehicle appeared some distance ahead. - </p> - <p> - “Steady,” said the sergeant. “It’s the Major in - his trap. I sent a mounted man for him. You’ll be in trouble about - the handcuffs, Jonas, my man.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe the murderer would keep his hands together to oblige us,” - suggested the constable. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll not be a party to deception,” said his superior. - “Halt!” - </p> - <p> - Harold looked up and saw a dog-cart just at hand. It was driven by a - middle-aged gentleman, and a groom was seated behind. Harold had an - impression that he had seen the driver previously, though he could not - remember when or where he had done so. He rather thought he was an officer - whom he had met at some place abroad. - </p> - <p> - The dog-cart was pulled up, and the officials saluted in their own way, as - the gentleman gave the reins to his groom and dismounted. - </p> - <p> - “An arrest, sir,” said the sergeant. “The two - woodcutters came upon him hiding in their shed at dawn, and sent for the - constable. Jonas, very properly, sent for me, and I despatched a man for - you, sir. When arrested, he made up a cock-and-bull story, and a watch, - supposed to be his murdered lordship’s, was found concealed about - his person. It’s now in my possession.” - </p> - <p> - “Good,” said the stranger. Then he subjected Harold to a close - scrutiny. - </p> - <p> - “I know now where I met you,” said Harold. “You are - Major Wilson, the Chief Constable of the County, and you lunched with us - at Abbeylands two years ago.” - </p> - <p> - “What! Mr. Wynne!” cried the man. “What on earth can be - the meaning of this? Your poor father—” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I want to learn,” said Harold eagerly. “Is - it more than a report—that terrible thing?” - </p> - <p> - “A report? He was found at six o’clock last evening by a - keeper on the outskirts of one of the preserves.” - </p> - <p> - “A bullet—an accident? he may have been out shooting,” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “A knife—a dagger.” - </p> - <p> - Harold turned away. - </p> - <p> - “Remain where you are, sergeant,” said Major Wilson. “Let - me have a word with you, Mr. Wynne,” he added to Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly,” said Harold. His voice was shaky. “I wonder - if you chance to have a flask of brandy in your cart. You can understand - that I’m not quite—” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry that I have no brandy,” said Major Wilson. - “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind sitting on the bank with me while - you explain—if you wish—I do not suggest that you should—I - suppose the constables cautioned you.” - </p> - <p> - “Amply,” said Harold. “I find that I can stand. I don’t - suppose that any blame attaches to them for arresting me. I am, I fear, - very disreputable looking. The fact is that I was stupid enough to miss - the train from Mowern junction last night, and I went to the Priory Hotel. - I came out when the night was fine, without my hat, and I—— - had reasons of my own for not wishing to return to the hotel. I got into - the wood and wandered for several hours along a track I found. I got - drenched, and taking shelter in the woodcutters’ shed, I fell - asleep. That is all I have to say. I have not the least idea what part of - the country this is: I must have walked at least twenty miles through the - night.” - </p> - <p> - “You are not a mile from the Priory Hotel,” said Major Wilson. - </p> - <p> - “That is impossible,” cried Harold. “I walked pretty - hard for five hours.” - </p> - <p> - “Through the wood?” - </p> - <p> - “I practically never left the track.” - </p> - <p> - “You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood - instead of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone Woods. - Mr. Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard of or saw - in my life.” - </p> - <p> - “Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I - shall be inconvenienced for long,” said Harold. “It is a - shocking thing for a son to be suspected even for a moment of the murder - of his own father; but sometimes a curious combination of circumstances——” - </p> - <p> - “Of course—of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg - of you. Did you leave London yesterday?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, by the four-fifty-five train.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?” - </p> - <p> - “I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the - collector, the return portion is in my pocket.” - </p> - <p> - He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and - took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it. - </p> - <p> - “Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?” he - then inquired. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the - train to go to Abbeylands without me,” said Harold. “That was - at ten minutes past seven o’clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I - made elaborate inquiries from the railway officials in London between half - past four and the hour of the train’s starting. I also spoke to the - station-master at Mindon, asking him if he was certain that the train - would arrive at the junction in time.” Major Wilson’s face - brightened. Before it had been somewhat overcast. - </p> - <p> - “A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up - everything,” said Major Wilson. “Yes, everything except—wasn’t - that midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Harold, after a pause. “It was extremely - odd. So odd that I know that you will pardon my attempting to explain it—at - least just now. You will, I think, be satisfied if you have evidence that - I was in London yesterday afternoon. I am anxious to go to my sister - without delay. Surely some clue must be forthcoming as to the ruffian who - did the deed.” - </p> - <p> - “The only clue—if it could be termed a clue—is the - sheath of the dagger,” replied Major Wilson. “It is the sheath - of an ordinary belt dagger, such as is commonly worn by the peasantry in - Southern Italy and Sicily. Lord Fotheringay lived a good deal abroad. Do - you happen to know if he became involved in any quarrel in Italy—if - there was any reason to think that his life had been threatened?” - </p> - <p> - Harold shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “My poor father returned from abroad a couple of months ago, and - joined Lady Innisfail’s party in Ireland. I have only seen him once - in London since then. He must have been followed by some one who fancied - that—that—” - </p> - <p> - “That he had been injured by your father?” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I fear. But my father never confided his suspicions—if - he had any on this matter—to me.” - </p> - <p> - They had walked some little way up the road. They now returned slowly and - silently. - </p> - <p> - A one-horse-fly appeared in the distance. When it came near, Harold - recognized it as the one in which he had driven with Beatrice from the - station to the hotel. - </p> - <p> - “If you will allow me,” said Harold to Major Wilson, “I - will send to the hotel for my overcoat and hat.” - </p> - <p> - “Do so by all means,” said Major Wilson. “There is a - decent little inn some distance on the road, where you will be able to get - a brush down—you certainly need one. I’ll give my sergeant - instructions to send some telegrams at the junction.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you will kindly ask him to return to me my watch,” - said Harold. “I don’t suppose that he will need it now.” - </p> - <p> - Harold stopped the fly, and wrote upon a card of his own the following - words, “<i>A shocking thing has happened that keeps me from you. My - poor father is dead. Return to town by first train.</i>” - </p> - <p> - He instructed the driver to go to the Priory Hotel and deliver the card - into the hand of the lady whom he had driven there the previous evening, - and then to pay Harold’s bill, drive the lady to the junction, and - return with the overcoat and hat to the inn on the road. - </p> - <p> - Harold gave the man a couple of sovereigns, and the driver said that he - would be able easily to convey the lady to the junction in time for the - first train. - </p> - <p> - While the sergeant went away to send the Chief Constable’s - telegrams, Major Wilson and Harold drove off together in the dog-cart—the - man with the truncheon and the men who had carried the bill-hooks - respectfully saluted as the vehicle passed. - </p> - <p> - In the course of another half hour, Harold was in the centre of a cloud of - dust, produced by the vigorous action of an athlete at the little inn, who - had been engaged to brush him down. When he caught sight of himself in a - looking-glass on entering the inn, Harold was as much amazed as he had - been when he heard from the Chief Constable that he had been wandering - round the wood all night. He felt that he could not blame the woodcutters - for taking him for a tramp. - </p> - <p> - He managed to eat some breakfast, and then he fly came up with his - overcoat and hat. He spoke only one sentence to the driver. - </p> - <p> - “You brought her to the train?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir.” - </p> - <p> - He handed Harold an envelope. - </p> - <p> - Inside was a sheet of paper. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Dearest—dearest—You have all my sympathy—all - my love. Come to me soon.</i>” - </p> - <p> - These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the bed - and burst into tears. - </p> - <p> - It was ten years since he had wept. - </p> - <p> - Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer. - </p> - <p> - It was ten years since he had prayed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0011" id="link2HCCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL INCIDENT. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HIS is not the - story of a murder. However profitable as well as entertaining it would be - to trace through various mysteries, false alarms, and intricacies the - following up of a clue by the subtle intelligence of a detective, until - the rope is around the neck of the criminal, such profit and entertainment - must be absent from this story of a man’s conquest of the Devil - within himself. Regarding the incident of the murder of Lord Fotheringay - much need not be said. - </p> - <p> - The sergeant appeared at the inn with replies to the telegrams that he had - been instructed to send to the railway officials, and they were found to - corroborate all the statements made by Harold. A ticket of the number of - that upon the one which Harold still retained, had been issued previous to - the departure of the four-fifty-five train from London. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I knew what the replies would be,” said Major - Wilson. “But you can understand my position.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly I can,” said Harold. “It needs no apology.” - </p> - <p> - They drove to the junction together to catch the train to Abbeylands - station. An astute officer from Scotland Yard had been telegraphed for, to - augment the intelligence of the County Constabulary Force in the endeavour - to follow up the only clue that was available, and Major Wilson was to - travel with the London officer to the scene of the crime. - </p> - <p> - In a few minutes the London train came up, and the passengers for the - Abbeylands line crossed to the side platform. Among them Harold perceived - his own servant. The man was dressed in black, and carried a portmanteau - and hat-box. He did not see his master until he had reached the platform. - Then he walked up to Harold, laid down the portmanteau and endeavoured—by - no means unsuccessfully—to impart some emotion—respectful - emotion, and very respectful sympathy, into the act of touching his hat. - </p> - <p> - “I heard the sad news, my lord,” said the man, “and I - took the liberty of packing your lordship’s portmanteau and taking - the first train to Abbeylands. I took it for granted that you would be - there, my lord.” - </p> - <p> - “You acted wisely, Martin,” said Harold. “I will ask you - not to make any change in addressing me for some days, at least.” - </p> - <p> - “Very good, my lord—I mean, sir,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - He had not acquired for more than a minute the new mode of address, and - yet he had difficulty in relinquishing it. - </p> - <p> - Abbeylands was empty of the guests who, up to the previous evening, had - been within its walls. From the mouth of the gamekeeper, who had found the - body of Lord Fotheringay, Harold learned a few more particulars regarding - his ghastly discovery, but they were of no importance, though the astute - Scotland Yard officer considered them—or pretended to consider them—to - be extremely valuable. - </p> - <p> - For a week the detectives were very active, and the newspapers announced - daily that they had discovered a clue, and that an arrest might be looked - for almost immediately. - </p> - <p> - No arrest took place, however; the detectives returned to their - head-quarters, and the mild sensation produced by the heading of a - newspaper column, “The Murder of Lord Fotheringay” was - completely obliterated by the toothsome scandal produced by the appearance - of a music-hall artist as the co-respondent in a Duchess’s divorce - case. It was eminently a case for sandwiches and plovers’ eggs; and - the costumes which the eaters of these portable comestibles wore, were - described in detail by those newspapers which everyone abuses and—reads. - The middle-aged rheumatic butterfly was dead and buried; and though many - theories were started—not by Scotland Yard, however—to account - for his death, no arrests were made. Whoever the murderer was, he remained - undetected. (A couple of years had passed before Harold heard a highly - circumstantial story about the appearance of a foreign gentleman with - extremely dark eyes and hair, in the neighbourhood of Castle Innisfail, - inquiring for Lord Fotheringay a few days after Lord Fotheringay had left - the Castle). - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Lampson, the only daughter of the deceased peer, had received so - severe a shock through the tragic circumstances of her father’s - death, that she found it necessary to take a long voyage. She started for - Samoa with her husband in his steam yacht. It may be mentioned - incidentally, however, that, as the surface of the Bay of Biscay was - somewhat ruffled when the yacht was going southward, it was thought - advisable to change the cruise to one in the Mediterranean. Mrs. Lampson - turned up on the Riviera in the spring, and, after entertaining freely - there for some time, an article appeared above her signature in a leading - magazine deploring the low tone of society at Monte Carlo and on the - Riviera generally. - </p> - <p> - It was in the railway carriage on their way to London from Abbeylands—the - exact time was when Harold was in the act of repeating the stanzas from - Shelley—that Helen Craven and Edmund Airey conversed together, - sitting side by side for the purpose. - </p> - <p> - “He is Lord Fotheringay now,” remarked Miss Craven, - thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - Edmund looked at her with something of admiration in his eyes. The young - woman who, an hour or two after being shocked at the news of a tragedy - enacted at the very door of the house where she had been a guest, could - begin to discuss its social bearing, was certainly a young woman to be - wondered at—that is, to be admired. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Edmund, “he is now Lord Fotheringay, - whatever that means.” - </p> - <p> - “It means a title and an income, does it not?” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, a sort of title and, yes, a sort of income,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Either would be quite enough to marry and live on,” said - Helen. - </p> - <p> - “He contrived to live without either up to the present.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, poorly.” - </p> - <p> - “Not palatially, certainly, but still pleasantly.” - </p> - <p> - “Will he ask her to marry him now, do you think?” - </p> - <p> - “Her?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you know—Beatrice Avon.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh—I think that—that I should like to know what you - think about it.” - </p> - <p> - “I think he will ask her.” - </p> - <p> - “And that she will accept him?” - </p> - <p> - She did not know how much thought he had been giving to this question - during some hours—how eagerly he was waiting her reply. - </p> - <p> - “No.” she said; “I believe that she will not accept him, - because she means to accept you—if you give her a chance.” - </p> - <p> - The start that he gave was very well simulated. Scarcely so admirable from - a standpoint of art was the opening of his eyes accompanied by a little - exclamation of astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Why are you surprised?” she said, as if she was surprised at - his surprise—so subtly can a clever young woman flatter the - cleverest of men. - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I am surprised because I have just heard the most surprising - sentence that ever came upon my ears. That is saying a good deal—yes, - considering how much we have talked together.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should it be surprising?” she said. “Did you not - call upon her in town?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I called upon her,” he replied, wondering how she had - come to know it. (She had merely guessed it.) - </p> - <p> - “That would give her hope.” - </p> - <p> - “Hope?” - </p> - <p> - “Hope. And it was this hope that induced her to accept Mrs. Lampson’s - invitation, although she must have known that Mrs. Lampson’s brother - was not to be of the party. I have often wondered if it was you or Lord - Fotheringay who asked Mrs. Lampson to invite her?” - </p> - <p> - “It was I,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes brightened—so far as it was possible for them to brighten. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if she came to know that,” said Helen musingly. - “It would be something of a pity if she did not know it.” - </p> - <p> - “For that matter, nearly everything that happens is a pity,” - said he. - </p> - <p> - “Not everything,” said she. “But it is certainly a pity - that the person who had the bad taste to stab poor Lord Fotheringay did - not postpone his crime for at least one day. You would in that case have - had a chance of returning by the side of Beatrice Avon instead of by the - side of some one else.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is infinitely cleverer,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - At this point their conversation ended—at least so far as Harold and - Beatrice were concerned. - </p> - <p> - Helen felt, however, that even that brief exchange of opinions had been - profitable. Her first thought on hearing of the ghastly discovery of the - gamekeeper, was that all her striving to win Harold had been in vain—that - all her contriving, by the help of Edmund Airey, had been to no purpose. - Harold would now be free to marry Beatrice Avon—or to ask her to - marry him; which she believed was much the same thing. - </p> - <p> - But in the course of a short time she did not feel so hopeless. She - believed that Edmund Airey only needed a little further flattery to induce - him to resume his old attitude in regard to Beatrice; and the result of - her little chat with him in the train showed her not merely that, in - regard to flattery, he was pretty much as other men, only, of course, he - required it to be subtly administered—but also that he had no - intention of allowing his compact in regard to Beatrice to expire with - their departure from Castle Innisfail. He admitted having called upon her - in London, and this showed Helen very plainly that his attitude in respect - of Beatrice was the result of a rather stronger impulse than the desire to - be of service to her, Helen, in accordance with the suggestions which she - had ventured to make during her first frank interview with him. - </p> - <p> - She made up her mind that he would not require in future to be frequently - reminded of that frank interview. She knew that there exists a more - powerful motive for some men’s actions than a desire to forward the - happiness of their fellow-men. - </p> - <p> - This was her reflection at the precise moment that Harold’s face was - bent down to the face of Beatrice, while he whispered the words that - thrilled her. - </p> - <p> - As for Edmund Airey, he, too, had his thoughts, and, like Helen, he - considered himself quite capable of estimating the amount of importance to - be attached to such an incident as the murder of Lord Fotheringay, as a - factor in the solution of any problem that might suggest itself. A murder - is, of course, susceptible of being regarded from a social standpoint. The - murder of Lord Fotheringay, for instance, had broken up what promised to - be an exceedingly interesting party at Abbeylands. A murder is very - provoking sometimes; and when Edmund Airey heard Lady Innisfail complain - to Archie Brown—Archie had become a great friend of hers—of - the irritating features of that incident—when he heard an - uncharitable man declare that it was most thoughtless of Lord Fotheringay - to get a knife stuck into his ribs just when the pheasants were at their - best, he could not but feel that his own reflections were very plainly - expressed. - </p> - <p> - He had not been certain of himself during the previous two months. For the - first time in his life he did not see his way clearly. It was in order to - improve his vision that he had begged Mrs. Lampson—with infinite - tact, she admitted to her brother—to invite Beatrice to Abbeylands. - He rather thought that, before the visit of Beatrice should terminate, he - would be able to see his way clearly in certain directions. - </p> - <p> - But now, owing to the annoying incident that had occurred, the opportunity - was denied him of improving his vision in accordance with the prescription - which he had prepared to effect this purpose; therefore—— - </p> - <p> - He had reached this point in his reflections when the special train, which - Mr. Lampson had chartered to take his guests back to town, ran alongside - the platform at the London terminus. - </p> - <p> - This was just the moment when Harold looked up to the window from the - Priory grounds and saw that vision of white glowing beauty. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0012" id="link2HCCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CONFESSION. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E stood silent, - without taking a step into the room, when the door had been closed behind - him. - </p> - <p> - With a cry she sprang from her seat in front of the fire and put out her - hands to him. - </p> - <p> - Still he did not move a step toward her. He remained at the door. - </p> - <p> - Something of fear was upon her face as she stood looking at him. He was - pale and haggard and ghostlike. She could not but perceive how strongly - the likeness to his father, who had been buried the previous day, appeared - upon his face now that it was so worn and haggard—much more so than - she had ever seen his father’s face. - </p> - <p> - “Harold—Harold—my beloved!” she cried, and there - was something of fear in her voice. “Harold—husband—” - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, do not say that, Beatrice!” - </p> - <p> - His voice was hoarse and quite unlike the voice that had whispered the - lines of Shelley, with his face within the halo of moonlight that had - clung about her hair. - </p> - <p> - She was more frightened still. Her hands were clasped over her heart—the - lamplight gleamed upon the blood-red circle of rubies on the one ring that - she wore—it had never left her finger. - </p> - <p> - He came into the room. She only retreated one step. - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, Beatrice, do not call me husband! I am not - your husband!” - </p> - <p> - She came toward him; and now the look of fear that she had worn, became - one of sympathy. Her eyes were full of tears as she said, “My poor - Harold, you have all the sympathy—the compassion—the love of - my heart. You know it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, “I know it. I know what is in your - heart. I know its purity—its truth—its sweetness—that is - why I should never have come here, knowing also that I am unworthy to - stand in your presence.” - </p> - <p> - “You are worthy of all—all—that I can give you.” - </p> - <p> - “Worthy of contempt—contempt—worthy of that for which - there is no forgiveness. Beatrice, we have not been married. The form - through which we went in this room was a mockery. The man whom I brought - here was not a priest. He was guilty of a crime in coming here. I was - guilty of a crime in bringing him.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him for a few moments, and then turned away from him. - </p> - <p> - She went without faltering in the least toward the chair that still - remained in front of the fire. But before she had taken more than a few - steps toward it, she looked back at him—only for a second or two, - however; then she reached the chair and seated herself in it with her back - to him. She looked into the fire. - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence before he spoke again. - </p> - <p> - “I think I must have been mad,” he said. “Mad to - distrust you. It was only when I was away from you that madness came upon - me. The utter hopelessness of ever being able to call you mine took - possession of me, body and soul, and I felt that I must bind you to me by - some means. An accident suggested the means to me. God knows, Beatrice, - that I meant never to take advantage of your belief that we were married. - But when I felt myself by your side in the train—when I felt your - heart beating against mine that night—I found myself powerless to - resist. I was overcome. I had cast honour, and truth, yes, and love—the - love that exists for ever without hope of reward—to the winds. Thank - God—thank God that I awoke from my madness. The sight which should - have made me even more powerless to resist, awoke me to a true sense of - the life which I had been living for some hours, and by God’s grace - I was strong enough to fly.” - </p> - <p> - Again there was a long silence. He could see her finely-cut profile as she - sat upright, looking into the fire. He saw that her features had undergone - no change whatever while he was speaking. It seemed as if his recital had - in no respect interested her. - </p> - <p> - The silence was appalling. - </p> - <p> - She put out her hand and took from a small table beside her, the hook - which apparently she had been reading when he had entered. She turned over - the leaves as if searching for the place at which she had been - interrupted. - </p> - <p> - He came beside her. - </p> - <p> - “Have you no word for me—no word of pity—of forgiveness—of - farewell?” he said. - </p> - <p> - She had apparently found her place. She seemed to be reading. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice, Beatrice, I implore of you—one word—one word—any - word!” - </p> - <p> - He had clutched her arm as he fell on his knees passionately beside her. - The book dropped to the floor. She was on her feet at the same instant. - </p> - <p> - “Oh God—oh God, what have I done that I should be the victim - of these men?” she cried, not in a strident voice, but in a low - tone, tremulous with passion. “One man thinks it a good thing to - amuse himself by pretending that I interest him, and another whom I - trusted as I would have trusted my God, endeavours to ruin my life—and - he has done it—he has done it! My life is ruined!” - </p> - <p> - She had never looked at him while he was speaking to her. She had not been - able for some time to comprehend the full force of the revelation he had - made to her; but so soon as she had felt his hand upon her arm, she seemed - in a moment to understand all. - </p> - <p> - Now she looked at him as he knelt at her feet with his head bowed down to - the arm of the chair in which she had been sitting—she looked down - upon him; and then with a cry as of physical pain, she flung herself - wildly upon a sofa, sobbing hysterically. - </p> - <p> - He was beside her in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Beatrice, my love, my love, tell me what reparation I can make,” - he cried. “Beatrice, have pity upon me! Do not say that I have - ruined your life. It was only because I could not bear the thought that - there was a chance of losing you, that I did what I did. I could not face - that, Beatrice!” - </p> - <p> - She still lay there, shaken with sobs. He dared not put his hand upon her. - He dared not touch one of her hands with his. He could only stand there by - her side. Every sob that she gave was like a dagger’s thrust to him. - He suffered more during those moments than his father had done while the - hand of the assassin was upon him. - </p> - <p> - The long silence was broken only by her sobs. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice—Beatrice, you will say one word to me—one - word, Beatrice, for God’s sake!” - </p> - <p> - Some moments had passed while she struggled hard to control herself. - </p> - <p> - It was long before she was successful. - </p> - <p> - “Go—go—go!” she cried, without raising her head - from the satin cushion of the sofa. “Oh, Harold, Harold, go!” - </p> - <p> - “I will go,” he said, after another long pause. “I will - go. But I leave here all that I love in the world—all that I shall - ever love. I was false to myself once—only once; I shall never be so - again. I shall never cease loving you while I live, Beatrice. I never - loved you as I do now.” - </p> - <p> - She made no sign. - </p> - <p> - Even when she heard the door of the room open and close, she did not rise. - </p> - <p> - And the fire burnt itself out, and the lamp burnt itself out, but still - she lay there in her tears. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0013" id="link2HCCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>IS worst - forebodings had come to pass. That was the one feeling which Harold had on - leaving her. - </p> - <p> - He had scarcely ventured to entertain a hope that the result of his - interview with her and of his confession to her would be different. - </p> - <p> - He knew her. - </p> - <p> - That was why he had gone to her without hope. He knew that her nature was - such as made it impossible for her to understand how he could have - practised a fraud upon her; and he knew that understanding is the first - step toward forgiving. - </p> - <p> - Still, there ever pervades the masculine mind an idea that there is no - limit to a woman’s forgiveness. - </p> - <p> - The masculine mind has the best of reasons for holding fast to this idea. - It is the result of many centuries of experience of woman—of many - centuries of testing the limits of woman’s forgiveness. The belief - that there is nothing that a woman will not forgive in a man whom she - loves, is the heritage of man—just as the heritage of woman is to - believe that nothing that is done by a man whom she loves, stands in need - of forgiveness. - </p> - <p> - Thus it is that men and women make (occasionally) excellent companions for - one another, and live together (frequently) in harmony. - </p> - <p> - Thus it was that, in spite of the fact that his reason and his knowledge - of the nature of Beatrice assured him that his confession of the fraud in - which he had participated against her would not be forgiven by her, there - still remained in the mind of Harold Wynne a shadowy hope that she might - yet be as other women, who, understanding much, forgive much. - </p> - <p> - He left her presence, feeling that she was no as other women are. - </p> - <p> - That was the only grain of comfort that remained with him. He loved her - more than he had ever done before, because she was not as other women are. - </p> - <p> - She could not understand how that cold distrust had taken possession of - him. - </p> - <p> - She knew nothing of that world in which he had lived all his life—a - world quite full of worldliness—and therefore she could not - understand how it was that he had sought to bind her to him beyond the - possibility (as he meant her to think) of ever being separated from him. - She had laid all her trust in him. She had not even claimed from him the - privilege of consulting with someone—her father or someone with whom - she might be on more confidential terms—regarding the proposition - which he had made to her. No, she had trusted him implicitly, and yet he - had persevered in regarding her as belonging to the worldly ones among - whom he had lived all his life. - </p> - <p> - He had lost her. - </p> - <p> - He had lost her, and he deserved to lose her. This was his thought as he - walked westward. He had not the satisfaction of feeling that he was badly - treated. - </p> - <p> - The feeling on the part of a man that he has been badly treated by a - woman, usually gives him much greater satisfaction than would result from - his being extremely well treated by the same, or, indeed, by any other - woman. - </p> - <p> - But this blessed consciousness of being badly treated was denied to Harold - Wynne. He had been the ill-treater, not the ill-treated. He reflected how - he had taken advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s - life—upon the absence of her father—upon her own trustful - innocence—to carry out the fraud which he had perpetrated upon her. - Under ordinary circumstances and with a girl of an ordinary stamp, such a - fraud would have been impossible. He was well aware that a girl living - under the conditions to which most girls are subjected, would have laughed - in his face had he suggested the advisability of marrying him privately. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she - enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not cause - him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot. - </p> - <p> - One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was why - he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, “Thank God—thank - God!” - </p> - <p> - He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card. - </p> - <p> - “I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord,” - said Martin. - </p> - <p> - “The lady?” - </p> - <p> - Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come - to him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my lord; Miss Craven,” said Martin, handing him the - card. “But she said that perhaps you would see her.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Only for a minute</i>,” were the words written in pencil - on Miss Craven’s card. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Very good, my lord.” - </p> - <p> - She stood at the door. The light outside was very low; so was the light in - the room. - </p> - <p> - Between two dim lights was where Helen looked her best. A fact of which - she was well aware. - </p> - <p> - She seemed almost pretty as she stood there. - </p> - <p> - She had made up pale, which she considered appropriately sympathetic on - her part. And, indeed, there can scarcely be a difference of opinion on - this point. - </p> - <p> - In delicate matters of taste like this she rarely-made a mistake. - </p> - <p> - “It was so good of you to come,” said he, taking her hand. - </p> - <p> - “I could not help it, Harold,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Mamma is in the brougham; she desired me to convey to you her - deepest sympathy.” - </p> - <p> - “I am indeed touched by her thoughtfulness,” said Harold. - “You will tell her so.” - </p> - <p> - “Mamma is not very strong,” said Helen. “She would not - come in with me. She, too, has suffered deeply. But I felt that I must - tell you face to face how terribly shocked we were—how I feel for - you with all my heart. We have always been good friends—the best of - friends, Harold—at least, I do not know where I should look in the - world for another such friend as you.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we were always good friends, Helen,” said he; “and - I hope that we shall always remain so.” - </p> - <p> - “We shall—I feel that we shall, Harold,” said she. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were overflowing with tears, as she put out a hand to him—a - hand which he took and held between both his own, but without speaking a - word. “I felt that I must go to you if only for a moment—if - only to say to you as I do now, ‘I feel for you with all my heart. - You have all my sympathy.’ That is all I have to say. I knew you - would allow me to see you, and to give you my message. Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “You are so good—so kind—so thoughtful,” said he. - “I shall always feel that you are my friend—my best friend, - Helen.” - </p> - <p> - “And you may always trust in my friendship—my—my—friendship,” - said she. “You will come and see us soon—mamma and me. We - should be so glad. Lady Innisfail wanted me to go with her to Netherford - Hall—several of your sister’s party are going with Lady - Innisfail; but of course I could not think of going. I shall go nowhere - for some time—a long time, I think. We shall be at home whenever you - call, Harold.” - </p> - <p> - “And you may be certain that I shall call soon,” said he. - “Pray tell Mrs. Craven how deeply touched—how deeply grateful - I am for her kindness. And you—you know that I shall never forget - your thoughtfulness, Helen.” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were still glistening as he took her hand and pressed it. She - looked at him through her tears; her lips moved, but no words came. She - turned and went down the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, and then - Martin met her, opened the hall-door, and saw her put into the brougham by - her footman. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said her mother, when the brougham got upon the wood - pavement. “Well, did you find the poor orphan in tears and comfort - him?” Mrs. Craven was not devoid of an appreciation of humour of a - certain form. She had lived in Birmingham for several years of her life. - </p> - <p> - “Dear mamma,” said Helen, “I think you may always trust - to me to know what is right to do upon all occasions. My visit was a - success. I knew that it would be a success. I know Harold Wynne.” - </p> - <p> - “I know one thing,” said Mrs. Craven, “and that is, that - he will never marry you. Whatever Harold Wynne might have done, Lord - Fotheringay will never marry you, my dear. Make up your mind to that.” - </p> - <p> - Her daughter laughed in the way that a daughter laughs at a prophetic - mother clad in sables, with a suspicion of black velvet and beads - underneath. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0014" id="link2HCCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND OTHERS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING the next few - days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot have his father murdered - without attracting a considerable amount of attention to himself. Cards - “<i>With deepest sympathy</i>” were left upon him by the - hundred, and the majority of those sympathizers drove away to say to their - friends at their clubs what a benefactor to society was the person who had - run that knife into the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some suggested that a - presentation should be got up for that man; and when someone asked what - the police meant by taking so much trouble to find the man, another - ventured to formulate the very plausible theory that they were doing so in - order to force him to give sittings to an eminent sculptor for a statue of - himself with the knife in his hand, to be erected by public subscription - outside the House of Lords. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; <i>pour encourager les autres!</i>” said one of the - sympathizers. - </p> - <p> - Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now? - </p> - <p> - It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic - end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated. - </p> - <p> - It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence. - </p> - <p> - The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a - standpoint. - </p> - <p> - They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord - Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of - displaying their ingenuity. - </p> - <p> - They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of - questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his - tastes. - </p> - <p> - They wondered if he had an enemy. - </p> - <p> - They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the - daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy - they would be on the track of the assassin. - </p> - <p> - After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure of - Providence. - </p> - <p> - Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through the - medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered in - order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of - Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective - force. - </p> - <p> - Other newspapers—they were mostly the organs of the Opposition—sneered - at the Home Secretary. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of his - club, that the days of the Government were numbered. - </p> - <p> - Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers; and - as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family than any - of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he was - determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and to do - so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes, as well - as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the result of - his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the trouble - that they entailed. - </p> - <p> - He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve - thousand pounds a year, if he really wished—as he said he did—to - make provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping - in repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county. - </p> - <p> - Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under twelve - hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on twelve - thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so soon as - he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was that, by - his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying this sudden - increase in revenue. - </p> - <p> - If he had only been patient—if he had only been trustful for one - week longer! - </p> - <p> - He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly—his cruelty—his - fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of - individual responsibility. - </p> - <p> - He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise - he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided carrying - out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer puppy—where - would the Evolutionists be without their pointer puppy?—can avoid - pointing. - </p> - <p> - Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done - would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question. - The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of - relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few - persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from - swearing; which seems rather a pity. - </p> - <p> - Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr. - Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing his - sympathy for his friend’s bereavement. His only allusion to the - bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard. - </p> - <p> - Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything, - Harold might depend on his doing it. - </p> - <p> - Harold said, “Thank you, old chap, I don’t think I can - reasonably ask you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of - leases that have yet to run from ten to sixty years.” - </p> - <p> - “Therein the patient must minister to himself,” said Edmund. - “I suppose it is, after all, only a question of administration. If - you want any advice—well, you have asked my advice before now. You - have even gone the length of taking my advice—yes, sometimes. That’s - more than the majority of people do—unless my advice bears out their - own views. Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of - another when he has made up his mind what course to adopt.” - </p> - <p> - “I have always found your counsel good,” said Harold. “You - know men and their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything - about women.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well acquainted - with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that suggested a doubt - of his capacity. - </p> - <p> - “Women—and their motives?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Quite so,” said Harold. “Their motives. You once - assured me that there was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, - assuming that that is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous - to talk of the motives of woman; though it would be reasonable—at - least as reasonable as most talk of women—to speak of the motives of - a woman.” - </p> - <p> - “What woman do you speak of?” said Edmund, quickly. - </p> - <p> - “I speak as a fool—broadly,” said Harold. “I feel - myself to be a fool, when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told - to us by Brian the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the - revenue of the country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the - doorway of an Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both - those stories, and they put all questions of women and their motives out - of our heads while Brian was telling them.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s no doubt about that,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “By the way, didn’t you ask me for my advice on some point - during one of those days on the Irish lough?” - </p> - <p> - “If I did, I’m certain that I received good counsel from you,” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “You did. But you didn’t take it,” said Edmund, with a - laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I told you once that you hadn’t given me time. I tell you so - again,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “You understand women—and their motives,” said Harold. - “Yes, Miss Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have - often wondered why you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an - agreeable addition to the party at Abbeylands.” - </p> - <p> - Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour—not for a second did - his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend. - </p> - <p> - “The fact was,” said he—and he smiled as he spoke—“I - was under the impression that your father—ah, well, if he hadn’t - that mechanical rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the - walking doll and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me - upon one occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was - amused.” - </p> - <p> - “And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am - beginning to understand something of men—and their motives,” - remarked Harold. - </p> - <p> - “If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and - fathom the object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about - Siberia. They are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the - horrors of exile in Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible - for what goes on there. And the worst of it is that they’ll do it, - too. Do you remember Bulgaria?” - </p> - <p> - “Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong - programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m trying to think out something at the present moment. - Well, good-bye. Don’t fail to let me know if I can do anything for - you.” - </p> - <p> - He had been gone some time before Harold smiled—not the smile of a - man who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but - the sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at - fault when he has thought the worst about one of his friends. - </p> - <p> - There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part - of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as much - to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect composure - with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding his motive - in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson—with infinite tact—that Beatrice - Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he had an - interest to know. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey’s acquaintance with men—and women—had led - him to feel sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the - suggestion made by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if - he had any particular reason for making that suggestion. This was - perfectly plain to Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking - about for some time with that answer ready for the question which had just - been put to him. - </p> - <p> - “He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment,” said - Harold, while that bitter smile was still upon his features. - </p> - <p> - And he was right. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0015" id="link2HCCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>R. AIREY had - called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy entertainment at - Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to find her at home. Now, - however, he was more lucky. She had already two visitors with her in the - big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced. - </p> - <p> - He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he entered. - He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so; only he - hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he knew himself - to be. He would not have liked them—whoever they were—-to - leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were - close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider - themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her - quick flush as he entered. - </p> - <p> - He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years. - </p> - <p> - Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of pleasure - made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was so good of - him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush would - increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he quickly - perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his sudden - appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale rather - than roseate. - </p> - <p> - He noticed this when her visitors—they were feeble folk, the head of - a department in the Museum and his sister—had left the house. - </p> - <p> - “It is delightful to be face to face with you once more,” he - said. “I seem to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am - beside you again.” - </p> - <p> - She gave a little laugh—did he detect something of scorn in its - ring?—as she said, “Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater - ocean that we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men - that flows around us.” - </p> - <p> - No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide,” said - he. “I see you with your feet among the purple heather—I - wonder if there was a sprig of white about it—along the shores of - the Irish lough. I see you in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing - from the west, making the green one red.” - </p> - <p> - She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been witnessed - from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond the - headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and pretended - to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know how close the - tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh? - </p> - <p> - “So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan’s views on - the Irish question, I shall be quite satisfied,” said she. “Poor - Mr. Durdan! How he saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the - phenomena of Nature! The sunset—the sea—the clouds—all - had more or less to do with the Irish question.” - </p> - <p> - “And he was not altogether wrong,” said Edmund. “Mr. - Durdan is a man of scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes - stumbles across a truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish - question——” - </p> - <p> - “Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe,” - said she. “Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the - Government are numbered.” - </p> - <p> - “He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of - persons,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we - not?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “We have talked confidently at least.” - </p> - <p> - “And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon.” - </p> - <p> - “All?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, perhaps, I made some reservations.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations - of mine—some day.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not be - overlooked. - </p> - <p> - “And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure.” - </p> - <p> - She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her. - The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face. - </p> - <p> - That was what the effect suggested to him. - </p> - <p> - He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining through - her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before. - </p> - <p> - She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her word, - “confidently.” - </p> - <p> - He repeated the word. - </p> - <p> - “Confidently—confidently;” then he shook his head. - “Alas! no. A man who speaks confidently on the subject of his - aspirations—on the subject of a supreme aspiration—is a fool.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man - was master of his fate,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Did I?” said he. “That must have been when you first - appeared among us at Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since - then.” - </p> - <p> - “For example?” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned,” - he replied, with scarcely a pause. - </p> - <p> - She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely - resembling in its tone her first—that one which caused him to wonder - if there was a touch of scorn in its ripple. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing that - he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on? - </p> - <p> - She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading him - on when at Castle Innis-fail—among the purple heather or the crimson - sunsets about which he had been talking—and yet he had been led on. - He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an - understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of the - slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is when - aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative of every - change—of every motive. - </p> - <p> - “I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you,” - said he, and his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he - had been saying—had he not been announcing an acquirement of - modesty?—“Yes, if you had been with us at Abbeylands you might - have become associated in my mind with the glory of the colour of an - autumn woodland. But it was, of course, fortunate for you that you got the - terrible news in time to prevent your leaving town.” - </p> - <p> - He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the - rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her gown. - The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had said, or - from what she fancied he was about to say? - </p> - <p> - It was a nice question. - </p> - <p> - But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming - that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord - Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without - emotion. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you care for German Opera,” said he. There could - scarcely be even the most subtle connection between this and his last - remark. She looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he - had spoken. Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and - German Opera become apparent. - </p> - <p> - “German Opera, Mr. Airey?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the - Opera House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every - performance, I believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German - Opera—she has even sat out a performance of ‘Parsifal’—and - I know that she is eager to make converts. She would be delighted to call - upon you when she returns from Brighton.” - </p> - <p> - “It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will - be there—I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave of - her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, “You - will be there?” - </p> - <p> - She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases, - “I should love to go. You will be there?” She was looking - critically at the toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make - a thorough examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were - busy tying knots on the girdle of her gown. - </p> - <p> - He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was - conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward silence - by saying—not quite casually, of course, but still in not too - pointed a way, “Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my - devotion will be for German Opera, however.” The words were well - chosen, he felt. They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those - words that she had uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so - charming. Only, of course, being a man, he could choose his words. They - were artificial—the result of a choice; whereas it was plain that - she could not choose but utter the phrases that had come from her. She was - a girl, and so spoke impulsively and from her heart. - </p> - <p> - “Meantime,” said she—she had now herself almost under - control again, and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she - put out her hand to meet his. “Meantime, you will come again to see - me? My father is greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also - would, I know, be very pleased to see you.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope that you will be pleased,” said he. “If so, I - will call—occasionally—frequently.” - </p> - <p> - “Frequently,” said she, and once again—but only for a - moment this time—she scrutinized her foot. - </p> - <p> - “Frequently,” said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could - choose his tones as well as his words. - </p> - <p> - He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him—the - satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken - cleverly, but acted cleverly—which is quite a different thing. - </p> - <p> - Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling upon - her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had been under - the impression that he would do well to see her and make his proposal to - her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The moment that he - had heard of Lord Fotheringay’s death, it had occurred to him that - he would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After due - consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in the - first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to make him - feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry. - </p> - <p> - “<i>I should love to go—you will be there</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence of - the phrases had not been the result of art or thought. - </p> - <p> - He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon an - impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days that - he had passed by her side—carrying out the compact which he had made - with Helen Craven—had produced an impression upon her far more - powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a - space of time. - </p> - <p> - In short, she was his. - </p> - <p> - That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his - resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing his - views on this point. - </p> - <p> - Was he in love with her? - </p> - <p> - He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0016" id="link2HCCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was commonly - reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of publicity that the - days of the Government were numbered. - </p> - <p> - There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before the - month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of Siberia - was spreading through the length and breadth of the land. The active and - observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of England, Scotland, - and perhaps—so far as they allowed themselves to be understood—of - Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the question altogether. - </p> - <p> - Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his - campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an - agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try to - move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings remained - intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are burst that the - British householder will join in any agitation that may be started. The - British farmer invariably turns out the Government after a bad harvest; - and there can be but little doubt that a succession of wet summers would - make England republican. - </p> - <p> - It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the - atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this England - of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years became - the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of great - commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet summer, and - none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the household - water-pipes. - </p> - <p> - The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees - Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the - agitation made itself felt. - </p> - <p> - “The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled,” we - were told. “Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush - down the manhood of England,” we were assured. “The Heart was - still there—it was beating still; and wherever the Heart of an - Englishman beats there was found a foe—a determined, resolute foe—nay, - an irresistible foe, to tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known - that was equal to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble - men and women—women—women—to a living death among the - snows of Siberia? Could any one present form an idea of the horrors of a - Siberian winter?” (Cries of “Yes, yes,” from - householders whose water-pipes had burst.) “Well, in the name of our - common humanity—in the name of our common sympathies—in the - name of England (cheers)—England, mind you, with her fleet, that in - spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part of the Government, - was still the mistress of the main—(loud cheers) England, mind you, - whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity of a Government that had - refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at Woolwich and Aldershot—(tremendous - cheers) in the name of this grand old England of ours let those who were - responsible for Siberia—that blot upon the map of Europe”—(the - agitator is superior to geography)—“let them be told that - their day is over. Let the Government that can look with callous eyes upon - such horrors as are enacted among the frosts and snows of Siberia be told - that its day is over (cheers). Did anyone wish to know something of these - horrors?” (‘Yes, yes!’) “Well, here was a book - written by a correspondent to a New York journal, and which, consequently, - was entitled to every respect”.... and so forth. - </p> - <p> - That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every meeting. - And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed up the - labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the agricultural - question, and several other questions, with the stories of Siberian - horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of the - Government. - </p> - <p> - The friends of the Government were at their wits’ end to know how to - reply to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out that - England was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this - sophistry was too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst, and - those who were responsible for it were hooted on every platform. - </p> - <p> - It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a Dinner - at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully sensible - of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only carrying out - the desire of the people of England, in postponing consideration of this - vast question until a still greater question had been settled. After long - and careful deliberation, Her Majesty’s Ministers had resolved to - submit to the country a programme the first item of which was the - Conversion of the Jews. - </p> - <p> - The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The - friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days they knew - that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a political - factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A Government that - had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be supported by - England—this great Christian England of ours. - </p> - <p> - “My Lords and Gentlemen,” said the Prime Minister, “the - contest on which we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is - a contest of England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My - Lords and Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty’s Ministers will be - on the side of Religion.” - </p> - <p> - It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government. - </p> - <p> - It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were - broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal for - making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon pretty - frequently—much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone in - all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and upon - several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey’s box by the side - of the enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having - remained in her stall from the beginning to the end of “Parsifal.” - Mr. Airey never missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He - missed all the others. - </p> - <p> - Only once did he venture to introduce Harold’s name in her - drawing-room. He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and - then he watched her narrowly as he said, “By the way, I have never - come upon him here. Does he not call upon you?” - </p> - <p> - There was only a little brightening of her eyes—was it scorn?—as - she replied: “Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a - very different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now.” - </p> - <p> - “I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly - changed, poor fellow!” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “Greatly changed—not ill?” she said. - </p> - <p> - He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety—or was - it merely womanly curiosity? - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father’s - death and the circumstances attending it affected him deeply.” - </p> - <p> - “It gave him a title at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer - suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - “You are too hard on him, Beatrice,” said Edmund. She had come - to be Beatrice to him for more than a week—a week in which he had - been twice in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his - opera box. - </p> - <p> - “Too hard on him?” said she. “How is it possible for you - to judge what is hard or the opposite on such a point?” - </p> - <p> - “I have always liked Harold,” said he; “that is why I - must stand up for him.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that is your own kindness of heart,” said she. “I - remember how you used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember - that when you told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter - against the destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others, - not nearly so good, were wealthy.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that. - Oh, yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist - on your not being too hard on him.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed, and so did she—yes, after a little pause. - </p> - <p> - “Come again—soon,” she said, as she gave him her hand, - which he retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes—they - were more than usually lustrous—and said, - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don’t you remember what I - said to you in this room—it seems long ago, we have come to be such - close friends since—what I said about my aspirations—my - supreme aspiration?” - </p> - <p> - “I remember it,” said she—her voice was very low. - </p> - <p> - “I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice,” said he. - </p> - <p> - Then he dropped her hand and was gone. - </p> - <p> - He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the - residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he found - about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large circle. - </p> - <p> - It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of - manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for - him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room—an alcove - that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings. - </p> - <p> - “The advice that I gave to you was good,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Your advice was that I should make no move whatever,” said - she. “That could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to - make any move in my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once, - and then we were out. Have you learned anything?” - </p> - <p> - “I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry - Harold Wynne,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so - apt to rush at conclusions.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process, - though it is the slower.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a confession—crawling! But how have you found out - that she will not marry him?” - </p> - <p> - “He has treated her very badly.” - </p> - <p> - “That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If - women declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of - spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present.” - </p> - <p> - “She will not marry him.” - </p> - <p> - “Will she marry you?” - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and it - was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement. - </p> - <p> - “Will she marry you?” she cried, in a voice that had a - strident ring about it. “Will she marry you?” - </p> - <p> - “I think it highly probable,” said he. - </p> - <p> - She looked at him in silence for a long time. - </p> - <p> - “Let us return to the room,” said she. - </p> - <p> - They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0017" id="link2HCCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was a few days - after Edmund Airey had made his revelation—if it was a revelation—to - Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in the person of Archie - Brown. The second week in January had now come. The season of German Opera - was over, and Parliament was about to assemble; but neither of these - matters was engrossing the attention of Archie. That he was in a state of - excitement anyone could see, and before he had even asked after Harold’s - health, he cried, “I’ve fired out the lot of them, Harry; that’s - the sort of new potatoes I am.” - </p> - <p> - “The lot of what?” asked Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists,” said - Archie. - </p> - <p> - “The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don’t surely expect me - to believe that you possess sufficient political power to influence the - fortunes of a French dynasty.” - </p> - <p> - “French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists—the actors, - the carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare, - and Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I’ve fired out the lot - of them, and be hanged to them!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see; you’ve fired out Shakespeare?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s eternally fired out, so far as I’m concerned. Why - should I end my days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of - hundred years ago—may be more?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve made things hum at the Legitimate this morning”—Archie - had once spent three months in the United States—“and now I’ve - made the lot of them git. I’ve made W. S. git.” - </p> - <p> - “And Mrs. Mowbray?” - </p> - <p> - “She gits too.” - </p> - <p> - “She’ll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you’re not - wanting in courage.” - </p> - <p> - “What courage was there needed for that?”—Archie had - picked up a quill pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to - balance it on the toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. “What - courage is needed to tell a chap that’s got hold of your watch chain - that the time has come for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn’t I - the master of the lot of them? Do you fancy that the manager was my - master? Do you fancy that Mrs. Mowbray was my—I mean, do you think - that I’m quite an ass?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, no,” said Harold—“not quite.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing - out a crowd of navvies when he found that they didn’t pay? Not he. - And do you suppose that I haven’t inherited some of his good - qualities?” - </p> - <p> - “And when does the Legitimate close its doors?” - </p> - <p> - “This day week. Those doors have been open too long already. - Seventy-five pounds for the Widow’s champagne for the Christmas week—think - of that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray’s friends drink nothing but Clicquot. - She expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it Shakespeare. If - you grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained to the tarty - chips at Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he get off? Don’t - you believe it, Harry.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing shall induce me.” - </p> - <p> - “The manager’s only claim to have earned his salary is that he - has been at every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of - people to send orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that - the most valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people - who will accept orders. That’s theatrical enterprise nowadays. They - say it’s the bicycle that has brought it about.” - </p> - <p> - “Anyhow you’ve quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your - hand; Archie. You’re a man.” - </p> - <p> - “Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my - head again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager’s office. - She didn’t pat my head, Harry—the day is past for pats, and so - I told her. The day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She - gave me a look when I said that—if she could give such looks on the - stage she’d crowd the house—and then she cried, ‘Nothing - on earth shall induce me ever to speak to you again.’ ‘I ask - nothing better,’ said I. After that she skipped. I promised Norah - that I’d do it, and I have done it.” - </p> - <p> - “You promised whom?” - </p> - <p> - “Norah. Great Godfrey! you don’t mean to say that you haven’t - heard that Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?” - </p> - <p> - “Norah—Innisfail—and—you—you?” - </p> - <p> - Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced - Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him. - </p> - <p> - “What are you laughing about?” said Archie. “You shouldn’t - laugh, considering that it was you that brought it about.” - </p> - <p> - “I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can’t - for the life of me see how—” - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and - didn’t I meet Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I - fancied that I was getting fond of her mother?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes; I can understand that,” said Harold, who was fully - acquainted with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success. - </p> - <p> - “But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady - Innisfail’s part—so she explained when—ah—later - on. Then I went with her to Lord Innisfail’s place at Netherford and—well, - there’s no explaining these things. Norah is the girl for me! I’ve - felt a better man for knowing her, Harry. It’s not every girl that a - chap can say that of—mostly the other way. Lord Innisfail heard - something about the Legitimate business, and he said that it was about - time I gave it up; I agreed with him, and I’ve given it up.” - </p> - <p> - “Archie,” said Harold, “you’ve done a good morning’s - work. I was going to advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again—never - to grant her an interview—she’s an edged tool—but after - what you’ve done, I feel that it would be a great piece of - presumption on my part to offer you any advice.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what it is?” said Archie, in a low and very - confidential voice: “I’m not quite so sure of her character as - I used to be. I know you always stood up for her.” - </p> - <p> - “I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time,” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Was that seventy-five pound’s worth of the Widow swallowed by - one lover in a week?” asked Archie. “Oh, I’m sick of the - whole concern. Don’t you mention Shakespeare to me again.” - </p> - <p> - “I won’t,” said Harold. “But it strikes me that - Shakespeare is like Madame Roland’s Liberty.” - </p> - <p> - “Whose Liberty?” - </p> - <p> - “Madame Roland’s.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she’s a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They’re - all Madames there. I dare say I’ve got a bill from her to pay with - the rest of them. Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I’m off. - I thought I’d drop in and tell you all that happened, as you’re - accountable for my meeting Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations,” - said Harold. “Accept the same yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn’t - you?” said Archie. “How was it that you didn’t fall in - love with Norah when you were there? That’s what has puzzled me. How - is it that every tarty chip didn’t want to marry her? Oh, I forgot - that you—well, wasn’t there a girl with lovely eyes in - Ireland?” - </p> - <p> - “You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “She had wonderful gray eyes,” said Archie. Harold became - grave. “Oh, yes, Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them - wide open. She told me a good deal about their party in Ireland. She took - it for granted that you—” - </p> - <p> - “Archie,” said Harold, “like a good chap don’t you - ever talk about that to me again.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, I’ll not,” said Archie. “Only, you - see, I thought that you wouldn’t mind now, as everyone says that she’s - going to marry Airey, the M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you’d - be glad to hear that I’d fired out the Legitimate.” - </p> - <p> - “So I am—very glad.” - </p> - <p> - Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to - balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other. - </p> - <p> - He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him gathering - up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into the square. - </p> - <p> - It had fallen—the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund - Airey. - </p> - <p> - Could he blame her? - </p> - <p> - He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the severest - punishment—such punishment as was now in her power to inflict. She - had trusted him with all her heart—all her soul. She had given - herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud. That - was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness. - </p> - <p> - He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any - bitterness—all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of - his own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey’s cleverness. He - did not know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which - he came, after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of - the relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund - Airey’s cleverness was the more abhorrent. - </p> - <p> - But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James’s, drove with his - customary rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to - Norah. - </p> - <p> - Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of Archie - to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this devotion - should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that it absorbed - a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by Archie that no - one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray’s character, yet, like - Harold—perhaps even better than Harold—she knew that Mrs. - Mowbray was an extremely well-dressed woman. She listened with interest to - Archie’s account of how he had accomplished that process of “firing - out” in regard to the Legitimate artists; and when he had told her - all, she could not help wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well - dressed in the future as she had been in the past. - </p> - <p> - Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how - Harold had congratulated him. - </p> - <p> - “You didn’t forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr. - Airey is going to marry Miss Avon?” said Norah. - </p> - <p> - “Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?” - he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Good gracious! You didn’t suggest that you were commissioned - by me to tell him that?” - </p> - <p> - “Not likely. That’s not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was - on the cautious side, and I didn’t even mention the name of the - girl.” He did not think it necessary to say that the reason for his - adoption of this prudent course was that he had forgotten the name of the - girl. “No, but when I told him that Airey was going to marry her, he - gave me a look.” - </p> - <p> - “A look? What sort of a look?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a - surgeon who had just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut - up. Then he turned to me and said as gravely as a parson—a bit - graver than some parsons—that he’d feel obliged to me if I’d - never mention her name again.” - </p> - <p> - “But you hadn’t mentioned her name, you said.” - </p> - <p> - “Neither I had. He didn’t mention it either. I can only give - you an idea of what he said, I won’t take my oath about the exact - words. But I’ll take my oath that he was more knocked down than any - chap I ever came across.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew it,” said Norah. “He’s in love with her - still. Mamma says he’s not; but I know perfectly well that he is. - She doesn’t care a scrap for Mr. Airey.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you know that?” - </p> - <p> - “I know it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0018" id="link2HCCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was early on the - same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received intimation of a visitor—a - lady, the butler said, who gave the name of Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - “I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I’ll see her,” - was the reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home. - </p> - <p> - “Was it possible,” she thought, “that her visitor was - the Mrs. Mowbray whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all - the illustrated papers?” - </p> - <p> - Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at herself - in a mirror—for a girl does not like to appear before a woman of the - highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is consistent - with tradition—her mind was set at rest. There may have been many - Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a figure, - and such a face. - </p> - <p> - She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking for - some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent on the face - of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her visitor. - </p> - <p> - She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray’s set of sables had cost someone—perhaps - even Mrs. Mowbray herself—seven hundred guineas. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, I will not sit down,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I - feel that I must apologize for this call.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no,” said Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes; I should,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I will do - better, however, for I will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss - Avon, I have heard so much about you during the past few months from—from—several - people, I could not help being interested in you—greatly interested - indeed.” - </p> - <p> - “That was very kind of you,” said Beatrice, wondering what - further revelation was coming. - </p> - <p> - “I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used - to know Lady Innisfail long ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?” - asked Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “Well, not exactly,” said Mrs. Mowbray; “but it was some - of Lady Innisfail’s guests—some who were entertained at the - Irish Castle. I used also to know Mrs. Lampson—Lord Fotheringay’s - daughter. How terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her - brother.” - </p> - <p> - “I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since,” said Beatrice, “but—” - </p> - <p> - “You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say - that I hope you have seen him—that you still see him? Do not think - me a gossiping, prying old woman—I suppose I am old enough to be - your mother—for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss - Avon. He is the best man on earth.” - </p> - <p> - Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to - Harold. Her flush had not decreased. - </p> - <p> - “I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord - Fotheringay, Mrs. Mowbray,” said Beatrice, somewhat unequally. - </p> - <p> - “Do not say that,” said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of - pleading tones. “Do not say that. You would make me feel how very - gross has been my effrontery in coming to you.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no; please do not think that,” cried Beatrice, yielding, - as every human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the - gracious manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece - of insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming - from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another woman’s - compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her resources, - both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a young cub such - as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of fascination. She - knew that she would never pat Archie’s red head again. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard - my visit as an insolent intrusion.” - </p> - <p> - Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully - appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that - mellifluous voice—by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes - that were resting upon her face. - </p> - <p> - “He is so fond of you,” Mrs. Mowbray went on. “There is - no lover’s quarrel that will not vanish if looked at straight in the - face. Let me look at yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that - demon of distrust can be exorcised.” Beatrice had become pale. The - word <i>distrust</i> had broken the spell of the Siren. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Mowbray,” said she, “I must tell you again that on - no consideration—on no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord - Fotheringay with you.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not with me, my child?” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Because - I distrust you—no I don’t mean that. I only mean that—that - you have given me no reason to trust you. Why have you come to me in this - way, may I ask you? It is not possible that you came here on the - suggestion of Lord Fotheringay.” - </p> - <p> - “No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is - going to marry,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile. - </p> - <p> - Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs. - Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face. - </p> - <p> - Then she took a step toward the bell rope. “One moment,” said - Mrs. Mowbray. “Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?” - </p> - <p> - Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been - less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled it - gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, “I - shall marry him if I please.” - </p> - <p> - She was feminine. - </p> - <p> - So was Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - “Will you?” she said. “Do you fancy for a moment—are - you so infatuated that you can actually fancy that I—I—Gwendoline - Mowbray, will allow you—you—to take Edmund Airey away from me? - Oh, the child is mad—mad!” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to tell me,” said Beatrice, coming close to her, - “that Edmund Airey is—is—a lover of yours?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, “you do not live in - our world, my child.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I do not,” said Beatrice. “I now see why you have - come to me to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “I told you why.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Has been?</i> My child, it is only when I please that a lover of - mine becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund - Airey to associate with my ‘have beens.’ It was from him that - I learned all about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from - Ireland merely as ‘a gray eye or so.’ You still mean to marry - him?” - </p> - <p> - “I still mean to do what I please,” said Beatrice. She had now - reached the bell rope and she pulled it very gently. - </p> - <p> - “You are an extremely beautiful young person,” said Mrs. - Mowbray. “But you have not been able to keep close to you a man like - Harold Wynne—a man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you - expect—” - </p> - <p> - Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her sentence - to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with a - stranger. - </p> - <p> - Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart at - the door through which her visitor had passed. - </p> - <p> - It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she - retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had - participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray’s sables were incomparably the - finest that she had ever seen. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before the - butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In another - minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a true-hearted - girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry an eligible man, - or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise. - </p> - <p> - “I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice,” - said Norah. “That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the - news.” - </p> - <p> - “I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the - least,” said Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “My news concerns myself,” said Norah. - </p> - <p> - “Then it’s sure to interest me,” cried Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “It’s so funny! But yet it’s very serious,” said - Norah. “The fact is that I’m going to marry Archie Brown.” - </p> - <p> - “Archie Brown?” said Beatrice. “I hope he is the best - man in the world—he should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought perhaps you might have known him,” said Norah. - “I find that there are a good many people still who do not know - Archie Brown, in spite of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done - for Shakespeare.” - </p> - <p> - “The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?” - </p> - <p> - “Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in - Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the - interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the people - had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is very much - disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the Lord - Chamberlain isn’t nearly particular enough in the plays that he - allows to be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the - theatres—they are never sure that something objectionable will not - be played—and go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted. - Archie says he’ll turn the Legitimate into a Music Hall—that - is, if he can’t sell the lease.” - </p> - <p> - “Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my - dearest Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “If you had come down to Abbeylands in time—before that awful - thing happened—you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma - took a great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the - same. At any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He’s such a - good fellow, with red hair—not the sort that the old Venetian - painters liked, but another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features—his - mouth, for instance—are too large, but if you look at him in one - position, when he has his face turned away from you, he’s quite—quite—ah—quite - curious—almost nice. You’ll like him, I know.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure of it,” said Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; and he’s such a friend of Harold Wynne’s,” - continued the artful Norah. “Why, what’s the matter with you, - Beatrice? You are as pale—dearest Beatrice, you and I were always - good friends. You know that I always liked Harold.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not talk about him, Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that.” - </p> - <p> - “He is gone—gone away.” - </p> - <p> - “Not he. He’s too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was - with him to-day, and when he heard that—well, the way some people - are talking about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog—Archie - told me so.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, do not talk of him, Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I not?” - </p> - <p> - “Because—ah, because he’s the only one worth talking - about, and now he’s gone from me, and I’ll never see him again—never, - never again!” Before she had come to the end of her sentence, - Beatrice was lying sobbing on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa—the - same cushion that had absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave - her. - </p> - <p> - “My dearest Beatrice,” whispered Norah, kneeling beside her, - with her face also down a spare corner of the cushion, “I have known - how you were moping here alone. I’ve come to take you away. You’ll - come down with us to our place at Netherford. There’s a lake with - ice on it, and there’s Archie, and many other pretty things. Oh, - yes, you’ll come, and we’ll all be happy.” - </p> - <p> - “Norah,” cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, “Mr. - Airey will be here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say - that he would be here, and I know what he means.” Mr. Airey did call - in half an hour, and he found Beatrice—as he felt certain she should—waiting - to receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved - of. - </p> - <p> - But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together beyond - those just recorded. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0019" id="link2HCCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>DMUND AIREY drank - his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him, and while doing so, he - told her of the progress that was being made by the agitation of the - Opposition and the counter agitation of the Government. There was no - disguising the fact that the country—like the fool that it was—had - been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There was nothing like a - bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of the country. If any cry was - only bitter enough it would succeed. Fortunately, however, the Government, - in its appeal against the Atheism of the Continent, had also struck a - chord that vibrated through the length and breadth of England and - Scotland. The Government orators were nightly explaining that no really - sincere national effort had ever been made to convert the Jews. To be - sure, some endeavours had been made from time to time to effect this great - object—in the days of Isaac of York the gridiron and forceps had - been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring about the conversion of the - Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent agency of drawing-room - meetings and a house-to-house collection had been resorted to; but the - results had been disappointing. Statistics were forthcoming—nothing - impresses the people of Great Britain more than a long array of figures, - Edmund Airey explained—to show that, whereas, on any part of the - West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for one pound sterling - 348 negroes could be converted—the rate was 0.01 where rum was - prohibited—yet for a subscription of five pounds, one could only - depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race—something less than half an adult - Hebrew—being converted. The Government orators were asking how long - so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue, and so - forth. - </p> - <p> - Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days - Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment to - the Address, “That in the opinion of this House no programme of - legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a protest - against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia.” - </p> - <p> - If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to a - Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be compelled - to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of the - political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist - Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, “My sympathies are - certainly with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed in his superior way. - </p> - <p> - “That is so like a girl,” said he. “You are carried away - by your sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any - question.” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say you are right,” said she, smiling. “Our - conscience is not susceptible of those political influences to which you - referred just now.” - </p> - <p> - “‘They are dangerous guides—the feelings’,” - said he, “at least from a standpoint of politics.” - </p> - <p> - “But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which - humanity may be viewed,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “There are,” said he. “And I also join with you in - saying, ‘thank God!’ Do you fancy that I am here to-day—that - I have been here so frequently during the past two months, from a - political motive, Beatrice?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tell,” she replied. “Have you not just said - that the feelings are dangerous guides?” - </p> - <p> - “They lead one into danger,” said he. “There can be no - doubt about that.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever allowed them to lead you?” she asked, with - another smile. - </p> - <p> - “Only once, and that is now,” said he. “With you I have - thrown away every guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have - believed it possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all - things are possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think - it possible that you could marry me.” - </p> - <p> - She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was - not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond - him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A - full minute had passed before she said, “You should not have come to - me with that request, Mr. Airey. - </p> - <p> - “Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other - impulse than that of my feelings?” - </p> - <p> - “How can I tell?” she said, and now she was looking at him. - “How can I tell which you hold dearer—political advancement, - or my love?” - </p> - <p> - “How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?” he said - reproachfully—almost mournfully. “Why am I waiting anxiously - for your acceptance of my offer, if I do not hold your love more precious - than all other considerations in the world?” - </p> - <p> - “Do you so hold it?” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with - Siberia. Vote for the Amendment of the Opposition.” - </p> - <p> - “What can you mean, Beatrice?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me - that you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don’t - make this the price of my love, remember. I don’t make any compact - to marry you if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you - will have proved to me that your words are true—that you hold - something higher than political expediency.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her. - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause. - </p> - <p> - “You are unreasonable. I cannot do it,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye,” said she. - </p> - <p> - He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not take - it. - </p> - <p> - “You really mean me to vote against my party?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party - considerations?” said she. - </p> - <p> - “It would mean self-effacement politically,” said he. “Oh, - you do not appreciate the gravity of the thing.” - </p> - <p> - He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room. - </p> - <p> - She remained silent where he had left her. - </p> - <p> - “I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this,” - he continued, from the fireplace. “You do not understand the - consequences of my voting against my party.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I do not,” said she. “But I have given you to - understand the consequences of not doing so.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we must part,” said he, approaching her. “Good-bye,” - said she, once more. - </p> - <p> - He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then he - dropped it. - </p> - <p> - “Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?” said he. “Do you - really mean to put me to this test?” - </p> - <p> - “I never was more in earnest in my life,” said she. “Think - over the matter—let me entreat of you to think over it,” he - said, earnestly. - </p> - <p> - “And you will think over it also?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to - be carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman,” said she, very - meekly. - </p> - <p> - She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away. - </p> - <p> - And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of - her femininity. - </p> - <p> - And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives. - </p> - <p> - “Papa,” said Beatrice, from the door of the historian’s - study. “Papa, Mr. Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry - him.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s right, my dear,” said the great historian. - “Marry him, or anyone else you please, only run away and play with - your dolls now. I’m very busy.” - </p> - <p> - This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely the - answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such a <i>ménage</i> - as that which prevailed under his roof. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCCH0020" id="link2HCCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next day - Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their home in - Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed its doors, - and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen’s Speech was read, and a - member of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia. The - Debate on the Address began. - </p> - <p> - On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian’s - house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting Lady - Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the debate—the - Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night—he drove in - great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was still in - Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following day. - </p> - <p> - He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram, - gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office. - </p> - <p> - The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail, Netherford - Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following words, - “<i>I will do it. Edmund</i>.” - </p> - <p> - He did it. - </p> - <p> - He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls of - the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the unhappy - wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a Siberian exile, - and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious grounds (ironical - cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment. - </p> - <p> - He went into the lobby with the Opposition. - </p> - <p> - It was an Irish member who yelled out “Judas!” - </p> - <p> - The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a - “scene” in the House. - </p> - <p> - Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst of an - African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons express - themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had been - present upon the occasion of a “scene” in the House of - Commons. He would, from a commanding position in the Strangers’ - Gallery, have learned all that he had set his heart upon acquiring—and - more. - </p> - <p> - It was while the “scene” was being enacted that Edmund Airey - had put into his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his - club. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m</i>.,” were - the words that the hall-porter had written on the back of the form. - </p> - <p> - The next day he drove to the historian’s, and inquired if Miss Avon - had returned. - </p> - <p> - She was in the drawing-room, the butler said. - </p> - <p> - With triumph—a sort of triumph—in his heart, and on his face, - he ascended the staircase. - </p> - <p> - He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely - there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were - more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she had - on a travelling dress. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?” - he cried, exultantly. - </p> - <p> - “Done what?” she inquired. “I have seen no newspaper - to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last - night for the Amendment?” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “I heard nothing,” she replied. - </p> - <p> - “I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, - but it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could - not be sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday, - Beatrice.” - </p> - <p> - “Stop,” she said. “I was married to Harold Wynne an hour - ago.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair. - </p> - <p> - “You have made a fool of me,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said. “I could not do that. If I had got your - telegram in time last evening I would have replied to it, telling you - that, whatever step you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. - Harold Wynne, you see, came to me again. I had promised to marry him when - we were together at that seal-hunt, but—well, something came between - us.” - </p> - <p> - “And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!” - </p> - <p> - “If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey? - Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you - entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a - more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to - make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing with - sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of yours, - Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the terms of - your compact—or is it a contract?—with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I - know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you.” - </p> - <p> - He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her - little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted with - the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred to Mrs. - Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed him. - </p> - <p> - He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination,” - said he, rising. “You have ruined my career.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had - never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled - him—that was how he put it—to take. She had not even had the - interest to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she - had not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were - plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That was - his one comforting thought. - </p> - <p> - She laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, Mr. Airey,” said she. “Your career is not - ruined. Clever men are not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever - man—so clever as to be able to make me clever, if that were - possible.” - </p> - <p> - “You have crushed me,” he said. “Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “If I wished to crush you I should have married you,” said - she. “No woman can crush a man unless she is married to him. - Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - The butler opened the door. “Is my husband in yet?” she asked - of the man. - </p> - <p> - “His lordship has not yet returned, my lady,” said the butler, - who had once lived in the best families—far removed from literature—and - who was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect. - </p> - <p> - “Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I’m - afraid,” she said, turning to Mr. Airey. - </p> - <p> - “I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay.” - </p> - <p> - “I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now. - Good-bye, Mr. Airey.” - </p> - <p> - He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven’s house. It - was the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the - message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits, - pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of - office. - </p> - <p> - Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that - apartment. She understood its lights. - </p> - <p> - He found that she had read the newspapers. - </p> - <p> - She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand. - </p> - <p> - “What on earth did you mean by voting—” she began. - </p> - <p> - “You may well ask,” said he. “I was a fool. I was made a - fool of by that girl. She made me vote against my party.” - </p> - <p> - “And she refuses to marry you now?” - </p> - <p> - “She married Harold Wynne an hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of - news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” resumed Edmund. “She is ill-treated by one man, - but she marries him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn’t that - like a woman? She has ruined my career.” - </p> - <p> - Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very unmusical - laugh—a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about some of - its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears which that - paroxysm of laughter had caused. - </p> - <p> - “You are a fool, indeed!” said she. “You are a fool if - you cannot see that your career is just beginning. People are talking of - you to-day as the Conscientious One—the One Man with a Conscience. - Isn’t the reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in - England?” - </p> - <p> - “Helen,” he cried, “will you marry me? With our combined - money we can make ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?” - </p> - <p> - “I will,” she said. “I will marry you with pleasure—now. - I will marry anyone—now.” - </p> - <p> - “Give me your hand, Helen,” he cried. “We understand one - another—that is enough to start with. And as for that other—oh, - she is nothing but a woman after all!” - </p> - <p> - He never spoke truer words. - </p> - <p> - But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly. - </p> - <p> - Did she? - </p> - <h3> - THE END. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Gray Eye or So, Complete, by -Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO, COMPLETE *** - -***** This file should be named 51947-h.htm or 51947-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/4/51947/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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-
-Project Gutenberg's A Gray Eye or So, Complete, by Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: A Gray Eye or So, Complete
- In Three Volumes--Volume I, II and III: Complete
-
-Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51947]
-Last Updated: November 15, 2016
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO, COMPLETE ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
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-</pre>
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- A GRAY EYE OR SO
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Frank Frankfort Moore
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Author of “I Forbid The Banns,” “Dalreen,” “Sojourners
- Together,” “Highways And High Seas,” Etc.
- </h4>
- <h3>
- Complete: Volume I, II, and III
- </h3>
- <h3>
- Sixth Edition
- </h3>
- <h4>
- London: Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1893
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007a.jpg" alt="0007a " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007a.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007b.jpg" alt="0007b " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007b.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007c.jpg" alt="0007c " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007c.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 1</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I.—ON CERTAIN ABSTRACTIONS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II.—ON A GREAT HOPE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III.—ON HONESTY AND THE WORKING
- MAN. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV.—ON FABLES. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V.—ON A PERILOUS CAUSEWAY. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF AN OCEAN.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A FULL
- MOON. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII.—ON THE ZIG-ZAG TRACK. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX.—ON THE HELPLESSNESS OF WOMAN.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X.—ON SCIENCE AND ART. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI.—ON HEAVEN AND THE LORD
- CHANCELLOR. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII.—ON THE MYSTERY OF MAN. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII.—ON THE ART OF COLOURING. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV.—ON AN IRISH DANCE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV.—ON THE SHRIEK. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI.—ON THE VALUE OF A BAD
- CHARACTER. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII.—ON PROVIDENCE AS A
- MATCH-MAKER. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII.—ON THE PROFESSIONAL
- MORALIST. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX.—ON MODERN SOCIETY. </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HB_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 2</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0001"> CHAPTER XX.—ON AN OAK SETTEE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0002"> CHAPTER XXI.—ON THE ELEMENTS OF PARTY
- POLITICS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0003"> CHAPTER XXII.—ON THE WISDOM OF THE
- MATRONS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0004"> CHAPTER XXIII.—ON THE ATLANTIC. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0005"> CHAPTER XXIV.—ON THE CHANCE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0006"> CHAPTER XXV.—ON THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE
- REPROBATE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0007"> CHAPTER XXVI.—ON FRANKNESS AND FRIENDSHIP.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0008"> CHAPTER XXVII.—ON CIRCUMVENTING A STAG.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0009"> CHAPTER XXVIII.—ON ENJOYING A RESPITE.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0010"> CHAPTER XXIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF READY
- MONEY. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0011"> CHAPTER XXX.—ON THE LEGITIMATE IN ART.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0012"> CHAPTER XXXI.—ON A BLACK SHEEP. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0013"> CHAPTER XXXII.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND SUPPER.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0014"> CHAPTER XXXIII.—ON BLESSING OR DOOM. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0015"> CHAPTER XXXIV.—ON THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0016"> CHAPTER XXXV.—ON THE HOME. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0017"> CHAPTER XXXVI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN
- OF THE WORLD. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0018"> CHAPTER XXXVII.—ON THE DEFECTIVE LINK.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HC_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 3</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0001"> CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE
- WORLD. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0002"> CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0003"> CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0004"> CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A
- CRISIS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0005"> CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0006"> CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0007"> CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A
- SYSTEM. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0008"> CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0009"> CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0010"> CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0011"> CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL
- INCIDENT. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0012"> CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF
- CONFESSION. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0013"> CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0014"> CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND
- OTHERS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0015"> CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND
- FATE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0016"> CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0017"> CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A
- POWER. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0018"> CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE
- BROWN. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0019"> CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0020"> CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- <i>A GRAY EYE OR SO</i>
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I.—ON CERTAIN ABSTRACTIONS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> WAS talking about
- woman in the abstract,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other, whose name was Edmund—his worst enemies had never
- abbreviated it—smiled, lifted his eyes unto the hills as if in
- search of something, frowned as if he failed to find it, smiled a cat’s-paw
- of a smile—a momentary crinkle in the region of the eyes—twice
- his lips parted as if he were about to speak; then he gave a laugh—the
- laugh of a man who finds that for which he has been searching.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Woman in the abstract?” said he. “Woman in the
- abstract? My dear Harold, there is no such thing as woman in the abstract.
- When you talk about Woman enthusiastically, you are talking about the
- woman you love; when you talk about Woman cynically, you are talking about
- the woman who won’t love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe your honours never heard tell of Larry O’Leary?”
- said the Third—for there was a Third, and his name was Brian; his
- duty was to row the boat, and this duty he interpreted by making now and
- again an elaborate pretence of rowing, which deceived no one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That sounds well,” said Harold; “but do you want it to
- be applied? Do you want a test case of the operation of your epigram—if
- it is an epigram?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A test case?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; I have heard you talk cynically about woman upon occasions.
- Does that mean that you have been unloved by many?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again the man called Edmund looked inquiringly up the purple slope of the
- hill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re a wonderful clever gentleman,” said Brian, as if
- communing with himself, “a wonderful gentleman entirely! Isn’t
- he after casting his eyes at the very spot where old Larry kept his still?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Edmund; “I have never spoken cynically of
- women. To do so would be to speak against my convictions. I have great
- hope of Woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; our mothers and sisters are women,” said Harold. “That
- makes us hopeful of women. Now we are back in the wholesome regions of the
- abstract once more, so that we have talked in a circle and are precisely
- where we started, only that I have heard for the first time that you are
- hopeful of Woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s enough for one day,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must know that in the old days the Excise police looked after
- the potheen—the Royal Irish does it now,” said the Third.
- “Well, as I say, in the old days there was a reward of five pounds
- given by the Excisemen for the discovery of a private still. Now Larry had
- been a regular hero at transforming the innocent smiling pratie into the
- drink that’s the curse of the country, God bless it! But he was too
- wary a lad for the police, and he rolled keg after keg down the side of
- Slieve Gorm. At last the worm of his still got worn out—they do wear
- out after a dozen years or so of stiff work—and people noticed that
- Larry was wearing out too, just through thinking of where he’d get
- the three pound ten to buy the new machinery. They tried to cheer him up,
- and the decent boys was so anxious to give him heart that there wasn’t
- such a thing as a sober man to be found in all the country side. But
- though the brave fellows did what they could for him, it was no use. He
- never got within three pound five of the three pound ten that he needed.
- But just as things was at their worst, they mended. Larry was his old self
- again, and the word went round that the boys might get sober by degrees.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now what did our friend Larry do, if you please, but take his old
- worn-out still and hide it among the heather of the hill fornenst us—Slieve
- Glas is its name—and then he goes the same night to the Excise
- officer, in the queer secret way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘I’m in a bad way for money, or it’s not me that
- would be after turning informer,’ says he, when he had told the
- officer that he knew where the still was concealed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘That’s the worst of you all,’ says the officer.
- ‘You’ll not inform on principle, but only because you’re
- in need of money.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘More’s the pity, sir,’ says Larry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘Where’s the still?’ says the officer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘If I bring you to it,’ says Larry, ‘it must be
- kept a dead secret, for the owner is the best friend I have in the world.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘You’re a nice chap to inform on your best friend,’
- says the officer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘I’ll never be able to look at him straight in the face
- after, and that’s the truth,’ says Larry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, your honours, didn’t Larry lead the officer and a
- couple of the Excisemen up the hill in the dark of the early morning, and
- sure enough they came upon the old still, hid among the heather. It was
- captured, and Larry got the five pound reward, and was able to buy a
- brand-new still with the money, besides having thirty shillings to the
- good in his pocket. After that, was it any wonder that he became one of
- the greatest informers in the country? By the Powers, he made a neat thing
- out of the business of leading the officers to his own stills and
- pocketing the reward. He was thirty shillings to the good every time. Ah,
- Larry was a boy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I judge,” said the man called Edmund, with an unaffected
- laugh—he had studied the art of being unaffected. “But you
- see, it was not of the Man but of the Woman we were talking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s why I thought that the change would be good for your
- honours,” remarked Brian. “When gentlemen that I’ve out
- in this boat with me, begin to talk together in a way that has got no
- sense in it at all, I know that they’re talking about a woman, and I
- tell them the story of Larry O’Leary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Neither the man called Edmund, nor the man called Harold, talked any more
- that day upon Woman as a topic.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II.—ON A GREAT HOPE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> THINK you
- remarked that you had great hope of Woman,” said Harold, the next
- day. The boat had drifted once again into the centre of the same scene,
- and there seemed to be a likelihood of at least two of the boat’s
- company drifting back to the topic of the previous afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you certainly admitted that you had great hope of Woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so I have. Woman felt, long ago; she is beginning to feel
- again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t think that feeling is being educated out of her? I
- certainly have occasional suspicions that this process is going on. Why,
- just think of the Stafford girl. She can tell you at a moment’s
- notice the exact difference between an atheist, an infidel, an agnostic, a
- freethinker, and the Honest Doubter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has been reading modern fiction—that’s all. No, I
- don’t think that what is called education makes much difference to a
- woman. After all, what does this thing called education mean? It simply
- means that a girl can read all the objectionable passages of the ancient
- poets without the need of a translation. I have hope of Woman because she
- is frequently so intensely feminine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe you never heard tell of how the Widdy MacDermott’s
- cabin came to be a ruin,” said the Third.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Feeling and femininity will, shall I say, transform woman into our
- ideal?” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Transform is too strong a word,” said Edmund. “And as
- for our ideal, well, every woman is the ideal of some man for a time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that truth shows not only how lowly is the ideal of some men,
- but also how unwise it is to attempt to speak of woman in the abstract. I
- begin to think that what you said yesterday had a grain of truth in it,
- though it was an epigram.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Widdy MacDermott—oh, the Widdy Mac-Dermott,” said
- the Third, as though repeating the burden of a ballad. “They made a
- pome about her in Irish, that was near as full of nonsense as if it had
- been in the English. You see when Tim, her husband, went to glory he left
- the cow behind him, taking thought for the need of his widdy, though she
- hadn’t been a widdy when he was acquainted with her. Well, your
- honours, the byre was a trifle too near the edge of the bog hole, so that
- when one end fell out, there wasn’t much of the mud walls that
- stood. Then one blessed morning the childer came running into the cabin to
- tell their mother that the cow was sitting among the ruins of its home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A Marius of the farmyard,” remarked Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Likely enough, sir. Anyhow, there she sat as melancholy as if she
- was a Christian. Of course, as the winter was well for’ard it wouldn’t
- do to risk her life by leaving her to wander about the bogs, so they drove
- her into the cabin—it was a tight fit for her, passing through the
- door—she could just get in and nothing to spare; but when she was
- inside it was warm and comfortable that the same cow made the cabin, and
- the childer were wondering at the end of a month how they could have been
- such fools as to shiver through the winter while the cow was outside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In another month some fine spring days came, and the cabin was a
- bit close and stuffy with the cow inside, and the widdy herself turned the
- animal’s head to the door and went to drive her out for exercise and
- ventilation. But the way the beast had been fed and petted told upon her,
- and by the Powers, if she didn’t stick fast in the doorway.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They leathered her in the cabin and they coaxed her from outside,
- but it was all of no use. The craythur stood jammed in the door, while the
- childer crawled in and out of the cabin among her hind legs—the fore
- legs was half a cow’s length outside. That was the situation in the
- middle of the day, and all the neighbours was standing round giving
- advice, and calling in to the widdy herself—who, of course, was a
- prisoner in the cabin—not to lose heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘It’s not heart I’m afeard of losing—it’s
- the cow,’ says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, your honours, the evening was coming on, but no change in the
- situation of affairs took place, and the people of the country-side was
- getting used to the appearance of the half cow projecting beyond the door
- of the cabin, and to think that maybe, after all, it was nothing outside
- the ordinary course of events, when Barney M’Bratney, who does the
- carpentering at the Castle, came up the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He took in the situation with the glance of the perfessional man,
- and says he, ‘By the Powers, its a case of the cow or the cabin.
- Which would ye rather be after losing, Widdy?’
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘The cabin by all means,’ says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘You’re right, my good woman,’ says he. ‘Come
- outside with you.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, your honours, the kindly neighbours hauled the widdy outside
- over the back of the cow, and then with a crowbar Barney attacked the
- walls on both sides of the door. In ten minutes the cow was free, but the
- cabin was a wreck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course his lardship built it up again stronger than it ever was,
- but as he wouldn’t make the door wide enough to accommodate the cow—he
- offered to build a byre for her, but that wasn’t the same—he
- has never been so respected as he was before in the neighbourhood of
- Ballyboreen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all very well as a story,” said Edmund; “but
- you see we were talking on the subject of the advantages of the higher
- education of woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “True for you, sir,” said Brian. “And if the Widdy
- MacDermott had been born with eddication would she have let her childer to
- sleep with the cow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold,” said Edmund, “there are many side lights upon
- the general question of the advantages of culture in women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the story of the Widdy MacDermott is one of them?” said
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I notice that gentlemen that come out in the boat with me
- begin to talk on contentious topics, I tell them the story of how the
- Widdy MacDermott’s cabin was wrecked,” said Brian.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III.—ON HONESTY AND THE WORKING MAN.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>ON’T you
- think,” remarked Edmund, the next day, as the boat drifted under the
- great cliffs, and Brian was discharging with great ability his normal duty
- of resting on his oars. “Don’t you think that you should come
- to business without further delay?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come to business?” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Two days ago you lured me out in this coracle to make a
- communication to me that I judged would have some bearing upon your future
- course of life. You began talking of Woman with a touch of fervour in your
- voice. You assured me that you were referring only to woman in the
- abstract, and when I convinced you—I trust I convinced you—that
- woman in the abstract has no existence, you got frightened—as
- frightened as a child would be, if the thing that it has always regarded
- as a doll were to wink suddenly, suggesting that it had an individuality,
- if not a distinction of its own—that it should no longer be included
- among the vague generalities of rags and bran. Yesterday you began rather
- more boldly. The effects of education upon the development of woman, the
- probability that feeling would survive an intimate acquaintance with Plato
- in the original. Why not take another onward step today? In short, who is
- she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold laughed—perhaps uneasily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not without ambition,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that. What form does your ambition take? A colonial
- judgeship, after ten years of idleness at the bar? A success in literature
- that shall compensate you for the favourable criticisms of double that
- period? The ownership of the Derby winner? An American heiress, moving in
- the best society in Monte Carlo? A co-respondency in brackets with a
- Countess? All these are the legitimate aspirations of the modern man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Co-respondency as a career has, no doubt, much to recommend it to
- some tastes,” said Harold. “It appears to me, however, that it
- would be easy for an indiscreet advocate to over-estimate its practical
- value.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You haven’t been thinking about it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, I haven’t yet met the countess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, then, in heaven’s name do you hope for?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I would say Parliament, if I could be sure that that came
- within the rather narrow restrictions which you assigned to my reply. You
- said ‘in heaven’s name.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Parliament! Parliament! Great Powers! is it so bad as that with
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t say that it is. I may be able to get over this
- ambition as I’ve got over others—the stroke oar in the Eight,
- for instance, the soul of Sarasate, the heart of Miss Polly Floss of the
- Music Halls. Up to the present, however, I have shown no sign of parting
- with the surviving ambition of many ambitions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t say that you’re a fool,” said the man
- called Edmund. He did not speak until the long pause, filled up by the
- great moan of the Atlantic in the distance and the hollow fitful plunge of
- the waters upon the rocks of the Irish shore, had become awkwardly long.
- “I can’t say that you’re a fool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s very good of you, old chap.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I can’t conscientiously say that you’re a fool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Again? This is becoming cloying. If I don’t mistake, you
- yourself do a little in the line I suggest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What would be wisdom—comparative wisdom—on my part,
- might be idiotcy—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Comparative idiotcy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sheer idiotcy, on yours. I have several thousands a year, and I can
- almost—not quite—but I affirm, almost, afford to talk honestly
- to the Working man. No candidate for Parliament can quite afford to be
- honest to the Working man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the Working man returns the compliment, only he works it off on
- the general public,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other man smiled pityingly upon him—the smile of the professor
- of anatomy upon the student who identifies a thigh bone—the smile
- which the <i>savant</i> allows himself when brought in contact with a
- discerner of the obvious.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No woman is quite frank in her prayers—no politician is quite
- honest with the Working man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well. I am prepared to be not quite honest with him too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may believe yourself equal even to that; but it’s not so
- easy as it sounds. There is an art in not being quite honest. However,
- that’s a detail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I humbly venture so to judge it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The main thing is to get returned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The main thing is, as you say, to get the money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I should have said the woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The woman? the money? Ah, that brings us round again in the same
- circle that we traversed yesterday, and the day before. I begin to
- perceive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had hope that you would—in time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn’t wonder if we heard the Banshee after dark,”
- said the Third.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are facing things boldly, my dear Harold,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the use of doing anything else?” inquired
- Harold. “You know how I am situated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know your father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is enough. He writes to me that he finds it impossible to
- continue my allowance on its present scale. His expenses are daily
- increasing, he says. I believe him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too many people believe in him,” said Edmund. “I have
- never been among them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you can easily believe that his expenses are daily increasing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, I am easily credulous on that point. Does he go the length
- of assigning any reason for the increase?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s perfectly preposterous—he has no notion of the
- responsibilities of fatherhood—of the propriety of its limitations
- so far as an exchange of confidences is concerned. Why, if it were the
- other way—if I were to write to tell him that I was in love, I would
- feel a trifle awkward—I would think it almost indecent to quote
- poetry—Swinburne—something about crimson mouths.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say; but your father—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He writes to tell me that he is in love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, with some—well, some woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some woman? I wonder if I know her husband.” There was a
- considerable pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brian pointed a ridiculous, hooked forefinger toward a hollow that from
- beneath resembled a cave, half-way up the precipitous wall of cliffs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s where she comes on certain nights of the year. She
- stands at the entrance to that cave, and cries for her lover as she cried
- that night when she came only to find his dead body,” said Brian,
- neutralizing the suggested tragedy in his narrative by keeping exhibited
- that comical crook in his index finger. “Ay, your honours, it’s
- a quare story of pity.” Both his auditors looked first at his face,
- then at the crook in his finger, and laughed. They declined to believe in
- the pity of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is preposterous,” said Harold. “He writes to me that
- he never quite knew before what it was to love. He knows it now, he says,
- and as it’s more expensive than he ever imagined it could be, he’s
- reluctantly compelled to cut down my allowance. Then it is that he begins
- to talk of the crimson mouth—I fancy it’s followed by
- something about the passion of the fervid South—so like my father,
- but like no other man in the world. He adds that perhaps one day I may
- also know ‘what’tis to love.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At present, however, he insists on your looking at that form of
- happiness through another man’s eyes? Your father loves, and you are
- to learn—approximately—what it costs, and pay the expenses.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s the situation of the present hour. What am I to do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Marry Helen Craven.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s brutally frank, at any rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, you’re not a working man with a vote. I can afford
- to be frank with you. Of course, that question which you have asked me is
- the one that was on your mind two days ago, when you began to talk about
- what you called ‘woman in the abstract.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say it was. We have had two stories from Brian in the
- meantime.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Harold, your case is far from being unique. Some of its
- elements may present new features, but, taken as a whole, it is
- commonplace. You have ambition, but you have also a father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So far I am in line with the commonplace.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You cannot hope to realize your aims without money, and the only
- way by which a man can acquire a large amount of money suddenly, is by a
- deal on the Stock Exchange or at Monte Carlo, or by matrimony. The last is
- the safest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s no doubt about that. But—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know what’s in your mind. I’ve read the scene
- between Captain Absolute and his father in ‘The Rivals’—I
- read countless fictions up to the point where the writers artlessly
- introduce the same scene, then I throw away the books. With the examples
- we have all had of the success of the <i>mariage de convenance</i> and of
- the failure of the <i>mariage d’amour</i> it is absurd to find fault
- with the Johnsonian dictum about marriages made by the Lord Chancellor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose not,” said Harold. “Only I don’t quite
- see why, if Dr. Johnson didn’t believe that marriages were made in
- heaven, there was any necessity for him to run off to the other extreme.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He merely said, I fancy, that a marriage arranged by the Lord
- Chancellor was as likely to turn out happily as one that was—well,
- made in heaven, if you insist on the phrase. Heaven, as a match-maker, has
- much to learn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it’s settled,” said Harold, with an affectation of
- cynicism that amused his friend and puzzled Brian, who had ears. “I’ll
- have to sacrifice one ambition in order to secure the other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that you’re right,” said Edmund. “You’re
- not in love just now—so much is certain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing could be more certain,” acquiesced Harold, with a
- laugh. “And now I suppose it is equally certain that I never shall
- be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing of the sort. That cynicism which delights to suggest that
- marriage is fatal to love, is as false as it is pointless. Let any man
- keep his eyes open and he will see that marriage is the surest guarantee
- that exists of the permanence of love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just as an I O U is a guarantee—it’s a legal form. The
- money can be legally demanded.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a trifle obscure in your parallel,” remarked Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I merely suggested that the marriage ceremony is an I O U for the
- debt which is love. Oh, this sort of beating about a question and making
- it the subject of phrases can lead nowhere. Never mind. I believe that, on
- the whole, the grain of advice which I have acquired out of your bushel of
- talk, is good, and is destined to bear good fruit. I’ll have my
- career in the world, that my father may learn ‘what’tis to
- love.’ My mind is made up. Come, Brian, to the shore!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not till I tell your honour the story of the lovely young Princess
- Fither,” said the boatman, assuming a sentimental expression that
- was extremely comical.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brian, Prince of Storytellers, let it be brief,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s to his honour I’m telling this story, not to your
- honour, Mr. Airey,” said Brian. “You’ve a way of
- wrinkling up your eyes, I notice, when you speak that word ‘love,’
- and if you don’t put your tongue in your cheek when anyone else
- comes across that word accidental-like, you put your tongue in your cheek
- when you’re alone, and when you think over what has been said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, you’re a student of men as well as an observer of
- nature, O Prince,” laughed Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I’ve only eyes and ears,” said Brian, in a
- deprecating tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And a certain skill in narrative,” said Harold. “What
- about the beauteous Princess Fither? What dynasty did she belong to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She belonged to Cashelderg,” replied Brian. “A few
- stones of the ruin may still be seen, if you’ve any imagination, on
- the brink of the cliff that’s called Carrigorm—you can just
- perceive its shape above the cove where his lordship’s boathouse is
- built.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; I see the cliff—just where a castle might at one time
- have been built. And that’s the dynasty that she belonged to?”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The same, sir. And on our side you may still see—always
- supposing that you have the imagination—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, nothing imaginary can be seen without the aid of the
- imagination.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may see the ruins of what might have been Cashel-na-Mara, where
- the Macnamara held his court—Mac na Mara means Son of the Waves, you
- must know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a matter of notoriety,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Macnamaras and the Casheldergs were the deadliest of enemies,
- and hardly a day passed for years—maybe centuries—without some
- one of the clan getting the better of the other. Maybe that was how the
- surplus population was kept down in these parts. Anyhow there was no talk,
- so far as I’ve heard, of congested districts in them days. Well,
- sir, it so happened that the Prince of the Macnamaras was a fine,
- handsome, and brave young fellow, and the Princess Fither of Cashelderg
- was the most beautiful of Irish women, and that’s saying a good
- deal. As luck would have it, the young people came together. Her boat was
- lost in a fog one night and drifting upon the sharp rocks beyond the
- headland. The cries of the poor girl were heard on both sides of the Lough—the
- blessed Lough where we’re now floating—but no one was brave
- enough to put out to the rescue of the Princess—no one, did I say?
- Who is it that makes a quick leap off the cliffs into the rolling waters
- beneath? He fights his way, strong swimmer that he is! through the surge,
- and, unseen by any eye by reason of the fog, he reaches the Princess’s
- boat. Her cries cease. And a keen arises along the cliffs of Carrigorm,
- for her friends think that she has been swallowed up in the cruel waves.
- The keen goes on, but it’s sudden changed into a shout of joy; for a
- noble young figure appears as if by magic on the cliff head, and places
- the precious burden of her lovely daughter in the arms of her weeping
- mother, and then vanishes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so the feud was healed, and if they didn’t live happy, we
- may,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all you know about the spirit of an ancient Irish
- family quarrel,” said Brian pityingly. “No, sir. The brave
- deed of the young Prince only made the quarrel the bitterer. But the young
- people had fallen in love with each other, and they met in secret in that
- cave that you see there just above us—the Banshee’s Cave, it’s
- called to this day. The lovely Princess put off in her boat night after
- night, and climbed the cliff face—there was no path in them days—to
- where her lover was waiting for her in the cave. But at last some wretch
- unworthy of the name of a man got to learn the secret and told it to the
- Princess’s father. With half-a-dozen of the clan he lay in wait for
- the young Prince in the cave, and they stabbed him in twelve places with
- their daggers. And even while they were doing the murder, the song of the
- Princess was heard, telling her lover that she was coming. She climbed the
- face of the cliff and with a laugh ran into the trysting-place. She
- stumbled over the body of her lover. Her father stole out of the darkness
- of the cave and grasped her by the wrist. Then there rang out over the
- waters the cry, which still sounds on some nights from a cave—the
- cry of the girl when she learned the truth—the cry of the girl as,
- with a superhuman effort, she released herself from her father’s
- iron grasp, and sprang from the head of the cliff you see there above,
- into the depths of the waters where we’re now floating.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause before Edmund remarked, “Your story of the
- Montague-Macnamaras and the Capulet-Casheldergs is a sad one, Brian. And
- you have heard the cry of the young Princess with your own ears, I dare
- say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That I have, your honour. And it’s the story of the young
- Princess Fither and her lover that I tell to gentlemen that put their
- tongues in their cheeks when they’re alone, and thinking of the way
- the less knowing ones talk of love and the heart of a woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Both Edmund and Harold began to think that perhaps the Irish boatman was a
- shrewder and a more careful listener than they had given him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV.—ON FABLES.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">V</span>ERY amusing indeed
- was Edmund’s parody of the boatman’s wildly-romantic story.
- The travesty was composed for the benefit of Miss Craven, and the time of
- its communication was between the courses of the very excellent dinner
- which Lord Innisfail had provided for his numerous guests at his
- picturesque Castle overlooking Lough Suangorm—that magnificent fjord
- on the West Coast of Ireland. Lord Innisfail was a true Irishman. When he
- was away from Ireland he was ever longing to be back in it, and when he
- was in Ireland he was ever trying to get away from it. The result of his
- patriotism was a residence of a month in Connaught in the autumn, and the
- rest of the year in Connaught Square or Monte Carlo. He was accustomed to
- declare—in England—that Ireland and the Irish were
- magnificent. If this was his conviction, his self-abnegation, displayed by
- carefully avoiding both, except during a month every year, was all the
- greater.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet no one ever gave him credit for possessing the virtue of
- self-abnegation.
- </p>
- <p>
- He declared—in England—that the Irish race was the finest on
- the face of the earth, and he invariably filled his Castle with
- Englishmen.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was idolized by his Irish tenantry, and they occasionally left a few
- birds for his guests to shoot on his moors during the latter days of
- August.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Innisfail was a man of about fifty years of age. His wife was forty
- and looked twenty-five: their daughter was eighteen and looked
- twenty-four.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey, who was trying to amuse Miss Craven by burlesquing the
- romance of the Princess Fither, was the representative in Parlament of an
- English constituency. His father had been in business—some people
- said on the Stock Exchange, which would be just the opposite. He had,
- however, died leaving his son a considerable fortune extremely well
- invested—a fact which tended strongly against the Stock Exchange
- theory. His son showed no desire to go on the turf or to live within reach
- to the European gaming-table. If there was any truth in the Stock Exchange
- theory, this fact tended to weaken the doctrine of heredity.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never blustered on the subject of his independence of thought or
- action. He had attached himself unobtrusively to the Government party on
- entering Parlament, and he had never occasioned the Whips a moment’s
- anxiety during the three years that had elapsed since the date of his
- return. He was always found in the Government Lobby in a division, and he
- was thus regarded by the Ministers as an extremely conscientious man. This
- is only another way of saying that he was regarded by the Opposition as an
- extremely unscrupulous man.
- </p>
- <p>
- His speeches were brief, but each of them contained a phrase which told
- against the Opposition. He was wise enough to refrain from introducing
- into any speech so doubtful an auxiliary as argument, in his attempts to
- convince the Opposition that they were in the wrong. He had the good sense
- to perceive early in his career that argument goes for nothing in the
- House of Commons, but that trusted Governments have been turned out of
- office by a phrase. This power of perception induced him to cultivate the
- art of phrase-making. His dexterity in this direction had now and again
- made the Opposition feel uncomfortable; and as making the Opposition feel
- uncomfortable embodies the whole science of successful party-government in
- England, it was generally assumed that, if the Opposition could only be
- kept out of power after the General Election, Edmund Airey would be
- rewarded by an Under-Secretaryship.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was a year or two under forty, tall, slender, and so
- distinguished-looking that some people—they were not his friends—were
- accustomed to say that it was impossible that he could ever attain to
- political distinction.
- </p>
- <p>
- He assured Miss Craven that, sitting in the stern sheets of the boat, idly
- rocking on the smooth swell that rolled through the Lough from the
- Atlantic, was by far the most profitable way of spending two hours of the
- afternoon. Miss Craven doubted if this was a fact. “Where did the
- profit come in except to the boatman?” she inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Airey, who knew that Miss Craven was anxious to know if Harold had
- been of the profitable boating-party, had no idea of allowing his powers
- of travesty to be concealed by the account, for which the young woman was
- longing, of Harold and the topics upon which he had conversed. He assured
- her that it was eminently profitable for anyone interested in comparative
- mythology, to be made acquainted with the Irish equivalent to the Mantuan
- fable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fable!” almost shrieked Miss Craven. “Mantuan fable! Do
- you mean to suggest that there never was a Romeo and Juliet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On the contrary, I mean to say that there have been several,”
- said Mr. Airey. “They exist in all languages. I have come
- unexpectedly upon them in India, then in Japan, afterwards they turned up,
- with some delicate Maori variations, in New Zealand when I was there. I
- might have been prepared for them at such a place as this You know how the
- modern melodramas are made, Miss Craven?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have read somewhere, but I forget. And you sat alone in the boat
- smoking, while the boatman droned out his stories?” remarked the
- young woman, refusing a cold <i>entrée</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will tell you how the melodramas are made,” said Mr. Airey,
- refusing to be led up to Harold as a topic. “The artist paints
- several effective pictures of scenery and then one of the collaborateurs—the
- man who can’t write, for want of the grammar, but who knows how far
- to go with the public—invents the situation to work in with the
- scenery. Last of all, the man who has grammar—some grammar—fills
- in the details of the story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really! How interesting! And that’s how Shakespeare wrote
- ‘Romeo and Juliet’? What a fund of knowledge you have, Mr.
- Airey!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Airey, by the method of his disclaimer, laid claim to a much larger
- fund than any that Miss Craven had attributed to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only meant to suggest that traditional romance is evolved on the
- same lines,” said he, when his deprecatory head-shakes had ceased.
- “Given the scenic effects of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ the
- romance on the lines of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ will be
- forthcoming, if you only wait long enough. When you pay a visit to any
- romantic glen with a torrent—an amateurish copy of an unknown
- Salvator Rosa—ask for the ‘Lover’s Leap’ and it
- will be shown to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll try to remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Given, as scenic details, the ruin of a Castle on one side of the
- Lough, the ruin of a Castle on the other, and the names of the hereditary
- enemies, the story comes naturally—quite as naturally—not to
- say overmuch about it—as the story of the melodrama follows the
- sketch of the scenic effects in the theatre. The transition from Montague
- to Macnamara—from Capulet to Cashelderg is easy, and there you are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And here we are,” laughed Miss Craven. “How delightful
- it is to be able to work out a legend in that way, is it not, Mr. Durdan?”
- and she turned to a man sitting at her left.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s quite delightful, I’m sure,” said Mr.
- Durdan. “But Airey is only adapting the creed of his party to
- matters of everyday life. What people say about his party is that they
- make a phrase first and then look out for a policy to hang upon it.
- Government by phrase is what the country is compelled to submit to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Durdan was a prominent member of the Opposition.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V.—ON A PERILOUS CAUSEWAY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ISS CRAVEN laughed
- and watched Mr. Airey searching for a reply beneath the frill of a
- Neapolitan ice. She did not mean that he should find one. Her aim was that
- he should talk about Harold Wynne. The dinner had reached its pianissimo
- passages, so to speak. It was dwindling away into the <i>marrons glacés</i>
- and <i>fondants</i> stage, so she had not much time left to her to find
- out if it was indeed with his friend Edmund Airey that Harold had
- disappeared every afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey knew what her aim was. He was a clever man, and he
- endeavoured to frustrate it. Ten minutes afterwards he was amazed to find
- that he had told her all that she wanted to know, and something over, for
- he had told her that Harold was at present greatly interested in the
- question of the advisability of a man’s entering public life by the
- perilous causeway—the phrase was Edmund Airey’s—of
- matrimony.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he chose a cigar for himself—for there was a choice even among
- Lord Innisfail’s cigars—he was actually amazed to find that
- the girl’s purpose had been too strong for his resolution. He
- actually felt as if he had betrayed his friend to the enemy—he
- actually put the matter in this way in his moment of self-reproach.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before his cigar was well alight, however, he had become more reasonable
- in his censorship of his own weakness. An enemy? Why, the young woman was
- the best friend that Harold Wynne could possibly have. She was young—that
- is, young enough—she was clever—had she not got the better of
- Edmund Airey?—and, best of all, she was an heiress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The perilous causeway of matrimony”—that was the phrase
- which had come suddenly into his mind, and, in order to introduce it, he
- had sent the girl away feeling that she was cleverer than he was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The perilous causeway of matrimony,” he repeated. “With
- a handrail of ten thousand a year—there is safety in that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked down the long dining-hall, glistening with silver, to where
- Harold stood facing the great window, the square of which framed a dim
- picture of a mountain slope, purple with heather, that had snared the last
- light of the sunken sun. The sea horizon cut upon the slope not far from
- its summit, and in that infinity of Western distance there was a dash of
- drifting crimson.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold Wynne stood watching that picture of the mountain with the Atlantic
- beyond, and Edmund watched him.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a good deal of conversation flying about the room. The smokers
- of cigarettes talked on a topic which they would probably have called Art.
- The smokers of pipes explained in a circumstantial way, that carried
- suspicion with it to the ears of all listeners, their splendid failures to
- secure certain big fish during the day. The smokers of cigars talked of
- the Horse and the House—mostly of the Horse. There was a rather
- florid judge present—he had talked himself crimson to the
- appreciative woman who had sat beside him at dinner, on the subject of the
- previous racing-season, and now he was talking himself purple on the
- subject of the future season. He had been at Castle Innisfail for three
- days, and he had steadily refused to entertain the idea of talking on any
- other subject than the Horse from the standpoint of a possible backer.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the judge, who, during the hearing of a celebrated case a few
- months before—a case that had involved a reference to an event known
- as the City and Suburban, inquired if that was the name of a Railway
- Company. Hearing that it was a race, he asked if it was a horse race or a
- dog race.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold remained on his feet in front of the window, and Edmund remained
- watching him until the streak of crimson had dwindled to a flaming Rahab
- thread. The servants entered the room with coffee, and brought out many
- subtle gleams from the old oak by lighting the candles in the silver
- sconces.
- </p>
- <p>
- Every time that the door was opened, the sound of a human voice (female)
- trying, but with indifferent success, to scale the heights of a song that
- had been saleable by reason of its suggestions of passion—drawing-room
- passion—saleable passion—fought its way through the tobacco
- smoke of the dining-hall. Hearing it fitfully, such men as might have felt
- inclined to leave half-smoked cigars for the sake of the purer atmosphere
- of the drawingroom, became resigned to their immediate surroundings.
- </p>
- <p>
- A whisper had gone round the table while dinner was in progress, that Miss
- Stafford had promised—some people said threatened—to recite
- something in the course of the evening. Miss Stafford was a
- highly-educated young woman. She spoke French, German, Italian and
- Spanish. This is only another way of saying that she could be
- uninteresting in four languages. In addition to the ordinary
- disqualifications of such young women, she recited a little—mostly
- poems about early childhood, involving a lisp and a pinafore. She wished
- to do duty as an object lesson of the possibility of combining with an
- exhaustive knowledge of mathematical formulæ, the strongest instincts of
- femininity. Mathematics and motherhood were not necessarily opposed to one
- another, her teachers had assured the world, through the medium of
- magazine articles. Formulæ and femininity went hand in hand, they
- endeavoured to prove, through the medium of Miss Stafford’s
- recitations; so she acquired the imaginary lisp of early childhood, and
- tore a pinafore to shreds in the course of fifteen stanzas.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was generally understood among men that one of these recitations amply
- repaid a listener for a careful avoidance of the apartment where it took
- place.
- </p>
- <p>
- The threat that had been whispered round the dinner-table formed an excuse
- for long tarrying in front of the coffee cups and Bénédictine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Boys,” at length said Lord Innisfail, endeavouring to put on
- an effective Irish brogue—he thought it was only due to Ireland to
- put on a month’s brogue. “Boys, we’ll face it like men.
- Shall it be said in the days to come that we ran away from a lisp and a
- pinafore?” Then suddenly remembering that Miss Stafford was his
- guest, he became grave. “Her father was my friend,” he said.
- “He rode straight. What’s the matter with the girl? If she
- does know all about the binomial-theorem and German philosophy, has she
- not some redeeming qualities? You needn’t tell me that there’s
- not some good in a young woman who commits to memory such stuff as that—that
- what’s its name—the little boy that’s run over by a
- ‘bus or something or other and that lisps in consequence about his
- pap-pa. No, you needn’t argue with me. It’s extremely kind of
- her to offer to recite, and I will stand up for her, confound her! And if
- anyone wants to come round with the Judge and me to the stables while she’s
- reciting, now’s the time. Will you take another glass of claret,
- Wynne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, thank you,” said Harold. “I’m off to the
- drawing-room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He followed the men who were straggling into the great square hall where a
- billiard table occupied an insignificant space. The skeleton of an ancient
- Irish elk formed a rather more conspicuous object in the hall, and was
- occasionally found handy for the disposal of hats, rugs, and overcoats.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is greatly interested in the Romeo and Juliet story,”
- remarked Edmund, strolling up to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She—who?” asked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The girl—the necessary girl. The—let us say,
- alternative. The—the handrail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The handrail?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Oh, I forgot: you were not within hearing. There was something
- said about the perilous causeway of matrimony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that suggested the handrail idea to you? No better idea ever
- occurred even to you, O man of many ideas, and of still more numerous
- phrases.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is responsive—she is also clever—she is uncommonly
- clever—she got the better of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say no more about her cleverness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will say no more about it. A man cannot go a better way about
- checking an incipient passion for a young woman than by insisting on her
- cleverness. We do not take to the clever ones. Our ideal does not include
- a power of repartee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Incipient passion!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a suspicion of bitterness in Harold’s voice, as he
- repeated the words of his friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Incipient passion! I think we had better go into the drawing-room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They went into the drawing-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF AN OCEAN.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ISS CRAVEN was
- sitting on a distant sofa listening, or pretending to listen, which is
- precisely the same thing, with great earnestness to the discourse of Mr.
- Durdan, who, besides being an active politician, had a theory upon the
- question of what Ibsen meant by his “Master Builder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold said a few words to Miss Innisfail, who was trying to damp her
- mother’s hope of getting up a dance in the hall, but Lady Innisfail
- declined to be suppressed even by her daughter, and had received promises
- of support for her enterprise in influential quarters. Finding that her
- mother was likely to succeed, the girl hastened away to entreat one of her
- friends to play a “piece” on the pianoforte.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that she might safely depend upon the person to whom she applied
- for this favour, to put a stop to her mother’s negotiations. The
- lady performed in the old style. Under her hands the one instrument
- discharged the office of several. The volume of sound suggested that
- produced by the steam orchestra of a switchback railway.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold glanced across the room and perceived that, while the performer was
- tearing notes by the handful and flinging them about the place—up in
- the air, against the walls—while her hands were worrying the bass
- notes one moment like rival terrier puppies over a bone, and at other
- times tickling the treble rather too roughly to be good fun—Miss
- Craven’s companion had not abandoned the hope of making himself
- audible if not intelligible. He had clearly accepted the challenge thrown
- down by the performer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold perceived that a man behind him had furtively unlatched one of the
- windows leading to the terrace, and was escaping by that means, and not
- alone. From outside came the hearty laughter of the judge telling an
- open-air story to his host. People looked anxiously toward the window.
- Harold shook his head as though suggesting that that sort of interruption
- must be put a stop to at once, and that he was the man to do it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went resolutely out through the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘Which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the
- court,’” said Edmund, in the ear of Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke too soon. The judge’s laugh rolled along like the breaking
- of a tidal wave. It was plain that Harold had not gone to remonstrate with
- the judge.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not. He had merely strolled round the terrace to the entrance hall.
- Here he picked up one of the many caps which were hanging there, and
- putting it on his head, walked idly away from the castle, hearing only the
- floating eulogy uttered by the judge of a certain well-known jockey who
- was, he said, the kindliest and most honourable soul that had ever pulled
- the favourite.
- </p>
- <p>
- A longing had come to him to hurry as far as he could from the Castle and
- its company—they were hateful to him just at that instant. The
- shocking performance of the woman at the pianoforte, the chatter of his
- fellow-guests, the delicate way in which his friend Edmund Airey made the
- most indelicate allusions, the <i>nisi prius</i> jocularity of the judge—he
- turned away from all with a feeling of repulsion.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet Lord Innisfail’s cook was beyond reproach as an artist.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold Wynne had accepted the invitation of Lady Innisfail in cold blood.
- She had asked him to go to Castle Innisfail for a few weeks in August,
- adding, “Helen Craven has promised to be among our party. You like
- her, don’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Immensely,” he had replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew it,” she had cried, with an enthusiasm that would have
- shocked her daughter. “I don’t want a discordant note at our
- gathering. If you look coldly on Helen Craven I shall wish that I hadn’t
- asked you; but if you look on her in—well, in the other way, we
- shall all be happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew exactly what Lady Innisfail meant to convey. It had been hinted to
- him before that, as he was presumably desirous of marrying a girl with a
- considerable amount of money, he could not do better than ask Miss Craven
- to be his wife. He had then laughed and assured Lady Innisfail that if
- their happiness depended upon the way he looked upon Miss Craven, it would
- be his aim to look upon her in any way that Lady Innisfail might suggest.
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, he had come to Castle Innisfail, and for a week he had given himself
- up to the vastness of the Western Cliffs—of the Atlantic waves—of
- the billowy mountains—of the mysterious sunsets. It was impossible
- to escape from the overwhelming influence of the Atlantic in the region of
- Castle Innisfail. Its sound seemed to go out to all the ends of the earth.
- At the Castle there was no speech or language where its voice was not
- heard. It was a sort of background of sound that had to be arranged for by
- anyone desirous of expressing any thought or emotion in that region. Even
- the judge had to take it into consideration upon occasions. He never took
- into consideration anything less important than an ocean.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a week the influence of the Atlantic had overwhelmed Harold. He had
- given himself up to it. He had looked at Miss Craven neither coldly nor in
- the other way—whatever it was—to which Lady Innisfail had
- referred as desirable to be adopted by him. Miss Craven had simply not
- been in his thoughts. Face to face with the Infinite one hesitates to give
- up one’s attention to a question of an income that may be indicated
- by five figures only.
- </p>
- <p>
- But at the end of a week, he received a letter from his father, who was
- Lord Fotheringay, and this letter rang many changes upon the
- five-figure-income question. The question was more than all the Infinities
- to Lord Fotheringay, and he suggested as much in writing to his son.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Craven is all that is desirable,” the letter had said.
- “Of course she is not an American; but one cannot expect everything
- in this imperfect world. Her money is, I understand, well invested—not
- in land, thank heaven! She is, in fact, a CERTAINTY, and certainties are
- becoming rarer every day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the letter went on to refer to some abstract questions of the opera
- in Italy—it was to the opera in Italy that Lord Fotheringay w as,
- for the time being, attached. The progress made by one of its ornaments—gifted
- with a singularly flexible soprano—interested him greatly, and
- Harold had invariably found that in proportion to the interest taken by
- his father in the exponents of certain arts—singing, dancing, and
- the drama—his own allowance was reduced. He knew that his father was
- not a rich man, for a peer. His income was only a trifle over twelve
- thousand a year; but he also knew that only for his father’s
- weaknesses, this sum should be sufficient for him to live on with some
- degree of comfort. The weaknesses, however, were there, and they had to be
- calculated on. Harold calculated on them; and after doing the sum in
- simple subtraction with the sound of the infinite ocean around him, he had
- asked his friend Edmund Airey to pass a few hours in the boat with him.
- Edmund had complied for three consecutive afternoons, with the result
- that, with three ridiculous stories from the Irish boatman, Harold had
- acquired a certain amount of sound advice from the friend who was in his
- confidence.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had made up his mind that, if Miss Craven would marry him, he would
- endeavour to make her the wife of a distinguished man.
- </p>
- <p>
- That included everything, did it not?
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that he might realize the brilliant future predicted for him by
- his friends when he was the leader of the party of the hour at Oxford. The
- theory of the party was—like everything that comes from Oxford—eminently
- practical. The Regeneration of Humanity by means of Natural Scenery was
- its foundation. Its advocates proved to their own satisfaction that, in
- every question of morality and the still more important question of
- artistic feeling, heredity was not the dominant influence, but natural
- scenery.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the party Harold was regarded as the long-looked-for Man—what the
- world wanted was a Man, they declared, and he was destined to be the Man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had travelled a good deal on leaving the University, and in a year he
- had forgotten that he had ever pretended that he held any theory. A theory
- he had come to believe to be the paper fortress of the Immature. But the
- Man—that was a different thing. He hoped that he might yet prove
- himself to be a man, so that, after all, his friends—they had also
- ceased to theorize—might not have predicted in vain.
- </p>
- <p>
- Like many young men without experience, he believed that Parliament was a
- great power. If anyone had told him that the art of gerrymandering is
- greater than the art of governing, he would not have known what his
- informant meant.
- </p>
- <p>
- His aspirations took the direction of a seat in the House of Commons. In
- spite of the fact of his being the son of Lord Fotheringay, he believed
- that he might make his mark in that Assembly. The well-known love of the
- Voter for social purity—not necessarily in Beer—and his
- intolerance of idleness—excepting, of course, when it is paid for by
- an employer—had, he knew, to be counted on. Lord Fotheringay was
- not, he felt, the ideal of the Working man, but he hoped he might be able
- to convince the Working man—the Voter—that Lord Fotheringay’s
- most noted characteristics had not descended to his son.
- </p>
- <p>
- From his concern on this point it will be readily understood how striking
- a figure was the Voter, in his estimation.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is not so easy to understand how, with that ideal Voter—that
- stern unbending moralist—before his eyes, he should feel that there
- was a great need for him to be possessed of money before offering himself
- to any constituency. The fact remained, however, that everyone to whom he
- had confided his Parliamentary aspirations, had assured him at the outset
- that money had to be secured before a constituency could be reckoned on.
- His friend Edmund Airey had still further impressed upon him this fact;
- and now he had made up his mind that his aspirations should not be
- discouraged through the lack of money.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would ask Helen Craven that very night if she would have the goodness
- to marry him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A FULL MOON.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HY the fact of his
- having made up his mind to ask Miss Craven who, without being an American,
- still possessed many qualities which are generally accepted as tending to
- married happiness, should cause him to feel a great longing to leave
- Castle Innisfail, its occupants, and its occupations behind him for
- evermore, it is difficult to explain on any rational grounds. That feeling
- was, however, upon him, and he strode away across the billowy moorland in
- the direction of the cliffs of the fjord known as Lough Suangorm.
- </p>
- <p>
- The moon was at its full. It had arisen some little way up the sky and was
- showering its red gold down the slopes of the two cone-shaped mountains
- that guard the pass of Lamdhu; the deep glen was flooded with moonlight—Harold
- could perceive in its hollows such objects as were scarcely visible on the
- ordinary gray days of the West of Ireland. Then he walked until he was on
- the brink of the great cliffs overhanging the lough. From the high point
- on which he stood he could follow all the curves of the lough out to the
- headlands at its entrance seven miles away. Beyond those headlands the
- great expanse of sea was glittering splendidly in the moonlight, though
- the moon had not risen high enough to touch the restless waters at the
- base of the cl iffs on which he stood. The waters were black as they
- struggled within their narrow limits and were strangled in the channel.
- Only a white thread of surf marked the breaking place of the waves upon
- the cliffs.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went down the little track, made among the rocks of the steep slope,
- until he reached the natural cavern that bore the name of the Banshee’s
- Cave.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was scarcely half-way up the face of the cliff. From that hollow in the
- rocks the descent to the waters of the lough was sheer; but the cave was
- easily accessible by a zig-zag path leading up from a small ledge of rocks
- which, being protected by a reef that started up abruptly half a dozen
- yards out in the narrow channel, served as a landing place for the fishing
- boats, of which there were several owned in the tiny village of Carrigorm.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood at the entrance to the cavern, thinking, not upon the scene
- which, according to the boatman’s story, had been enacted at the
- place several hundreds—perhaps thousands (the chronology of Irish
- legends is vague)—of years before, but upon his own prospects.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is done,” he said, looking the opposite cliffs straight in
- the face, as though they were Voters—(candidates usually look at the
- Voters straight in the face the first time they address them). “It
- is done; I cast it to the winds—to the seas, that are as indifferent
- to man’s affairs as the winds. I must be content to live without it.
- The career—that is enough!”
- </p>
- <p>
- What it was that he meant to cast to the indifference of the seas and the
- winds was nothing more than a sentiment—a vague feeling that he
- could not previously get rid of—a feeling that man’s life
- without woman’s love was something incomplete and unsatisfactory.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had had his theory on this subject as well as on others long ago—he
- had gone the length of embodying it in sonnets.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it now to go the way of the other impracticable theories?
- </p>
- <p>
- He had cherished it for long. If it had not been dear to him he would not
- have subjected himself to the restriction of the sonnet in writing about
- it. He would have adopted the commonplace and facile stanza. But a sonnet
- is a shrine.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had felt that whatever might happen to him, however disappointed he
- might become with the world and the things of the world, that great and
- splendid love was before him, and he felt that to realize it would be to
- forget all disappointments—to forget all the pangs which the heart
- of man knows when its hour of disillusion comes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Love was the reward of the struggle—the deep, sweet draught that
- refreshes the heart of the toiler, he felt. In whatever direction illusion
- may lie, love was not in that direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- That had been his firm belief all his life, and now he was standing at the
- entrance to the cavern—the cavern that was associated with a story
- of love stronger than death—and he had just assured himself that he
- had flung to the seas and the winds all his hopes of that love which had
- been in his dreams.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is gone—it is gone!” he cried, looking down at that
- narrow part of the lough where the boat had been tumbling during the
- afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- What had that adviser of his said? He remembered something of his words—something
- about marriage being a guarantee of love.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold laughed grimly as he recalled the words. He knew better. The love
- that he had looked for was not such as was referred to by his friend Mr.
- Airey. It was——
- </p>
- <p>
- But what on earth was the good of trying to recall what it was? The
- diamonds that Queen Guinevere flung into the river, made just the same
- splash as common stones would have done under the same circumstances: and
- the love which he had cherished was, when cast to the winds, no more
- worthy of being thought precious than the many other ideas which he had
- happily rid himself of in the course of his walk through the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was how he repressed the thought of his conversation with his friend;
- and after a while the recollections that he wished to suppress yielded to
- his methods.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more the influences of the place—the spectacle of the infinite
- mountains, the voice of the infinite sea—asserted themselves as they
- had done during the first week of his arrival at the Castle. The story of
- the legendary Prince and Princess came back to him as though it were the
- embodiment of the influences of the region of romance in the midst of
- which he was standing.
- </p>
- <p>
- What had Brian the boatman said? The beautiful girl had crossed the narrow
- channel of the lough night after night and had climbed the face of the
- cliffs to her lover at their dizzy trysting-place—the place where he
- was now standing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even while he thought upon the details, as carefully narrated by the
- boatman, the moon rose high enough to send her rays sweeping over the full
- length of the lough. For a quarter of an hour a single thin crag of the
- Slieve Gorm mountains had stood between the moon and the narrowing of the
- lough. The orb rose over the last thin peak of the crag. The lough through
- all its sinuous length flashed beneath his eyes like a Malayan crease, and
- in the waters just below the cliffs which a moment before had been black,
- he saw a small boat being rowed by a white figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is the lovely Princess of the story,” said he. “She
- is in white—of course they are all in white, these princesses. It’s
- marvellous what a glint of moonlight can do. It throws a glamour over the
- essentially commonplace, the same way that—well, that that fancy
- known as love does upon occasions, otherwise the plain features of a woman
- would perish from the earth and not be perpetuated. The lumpy daughter of
- the village who exists simply to show what an artist was Jean François
- Millet, appears down there to float through the moonlight like the
- restless spirit of a princess. Is she coming to meet the spirit of her
- lover at their old trysting-place? Ah, no, she is probably about to convey
- a pannikin of worms for bait to one of the fishing boats.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII.—ON THE ZIG-ZAG TRACK.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD WYNNE was in
- one of those moods which struggle for expression through the medium of
- bitter phrases. He felt that he did well to be cynical. Had he not
- outlived his belief in love as a necessity of life?
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched with some degree of interest the progress of the tiny boat
- rowed by the white figure. He had tried to bring himself to believe that
- the figure was that of a rough fisher-girl—the fisher-girls are not
- rough, however, on that part of the coast, and he knew it, only his mood
- tended to roughness. He tried to make himself believe that a coarse jest
- shrieked through the moonlight to reach the ears of an appreciatively
- coarse fisherman, would not be inconsistent with the appearance of that
- white figure. He felt quite equal to the act of looking beneath the glory
- and the glamour of the moonlight and of seeing there only the commonplace.
- He was, he believed, in a mood to revel in the disillusion of a man.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he watched the progress of the boat through the glittering waters,
- without removing his eyes from it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The white figure in the boat was so white as to seem the centre of the
- light that flashed along the ripples and silvered the faces of the cliffs—so
- much was apparent to him in spite of his mood. As the boat approached the
- landing-place at the ledge of rock a hundred feet below him, he also
- perceived that the rower handled her oars in a scientific way unknown to
- the fisher-girls; and the next thing that he noticed was that she wore a
- straw hat and a blouse of a pattern that the fisher-girls were powerless
- to imitate, though the skill was easily available to the Mary Anns and the
- Matilda Janes who steer (indifferently) perambulators through the London
- parks. He was so interested in what he saw, that he had not sufficient
- presence of mind to resume his cynical mutterings, or to inquire if it was
- possible that the fashion of the year as regards sailor hats and blouses,
- was a repetition of that of the period of the Princess Fither.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was more than interested—he was puzzled—as the boat was
- skilfully run alongside the narrow landing ledge at the foot of the
- cliffs, and when the girl—the figure was clearly that of a girl—landed—-she
- wore yachting shoes—carrying with her the boat’s painter,
- which she made fast in a business-like way to one of the iron rings that
- had been sunk in the face of the cliff for the mooring of the fishing
- boats, he was more puzzled still. In another moment the girl was toiling
- up the little zig-zag track that led to the summit of the cliffs.
- </p>
- <p>
- The track passed within a yard or two of the entrance to the cavern. He
- thought it advisable to step hack out of the moonlight, so that the girl
- should not see him. She was doubtless, he thought, on her way to the
- summit of the cliffs, and she would probably be startled if he were to
- appear suddenly before her eyes. He took a step or two back into the
- friendly shadow of the cavern, and waited to hear her footsteps on the
- track above him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited in vain. She did not take that zigzag track that led to the
- cliffs above the cave. He heard her jump—it was almost a feat—from
- the track by which she had ascended, on to a flat rock not a yard from the
- entrance to the cavern. He shrunk still further back into the darkness,
- and then there came before the entrance the most entrancing figure of a
- girl that he had ever seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood there delightfully out of breath, with the moonlight bringing
- out every gracious curve in her shape. So he had seen the limelight reveal
- the graces of a breathless <i>danseuse</i>, when taking her “call.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Prince,” said the girl, with many a gasp. “You
- have treated me very badly. It’s a pull—undeniably a pull—up
- those rocks, and for the third time I have kept my tryst with you, only to
- be disappointed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed, and putting a shapely foot—she was by no means careful
- to conceal her stocking above the ankle—upon a stone, she quietly
- and in a matter-of-fact way, tied the lace of her yachting shoe.
- </p>
- <p>
- The stooping was not good for her—he felt that, together with a few
- other matters incidental to her situation. He waited for the long breath
- he knew she would draw on straightening herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- It came. He hoped that her other shoe needed tying; but it did not.
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched her as she stood there with her back to him. She was sending
- her eyes out to the Western headlands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, my Prince; on the whole I’m not disappointed,” she
- said. “That picture repays me for my toil by sea and land. What a
- picture! But what would it be to be here with—with—love!”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was all she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought it was quite enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood there like a statue of white marble set among the black rocks.
- She was absolutely motionless for some minutes; and then the sigh that
- fluttered from her lips was, he knew, a different expression altogether
- from that which had come from her when she had straightened herself on
- fastening her shoe.
- </p>
- <p>
- His father was a connoisseur in sighs; Harold did not profess to have the
- same amount of knowledge on the subject, but still he knew something. He
- could distinguish roughly on some points incidental to the sigh as a
- medium of expression.
- </p>
- <p>
- After that little gasp which was not quite a gasp, she was again silent;
- then she whispered, but by no means gently, the one word “Idiot!”
- and in another second she had sent her voice into the still night in a
- wild musical cry—such a cry as anyone gifted with that imaginative
- power which Brian had declared to be so necessary for archæological
- research, might attribute to the Banshee—the White Lady of Irish
- legends.
- </p>
- <p>
- She repeated the cry an octave higher and then she executed what is
- technically known as a “scale” but ended with that same weird
- cry of the Banshee.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once again she was breathless. Her blouse was turbulent just below her
- throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Brian does not cross himself until he feels more fatigue than he
- would after a pretence at rowing, I’ll never play Banshee again,”
- said the girl. “<i>Ta, ta, mon Prince; a rivederci</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched her poise herself for the leap from the rock where she was
- standing, to the track—her grace was exquisite—it suggested
- that of the lithe antelope. The leap took her beyond his sight, and he did
- not venture immediately to a point whence he could regain possession of
- her with his eyes. But when he heard the sound of her voice singing a
- snatch of song—it was actually “<i>L’amour est un oiseau
- rebelle</i>”—the Habanera from “Carmen”—he
- judged that she had reached the second angle of the zig-zag downward, and
- he took a step into the moonlight.
- </p>
- <p>
- There she went, lilting the song and keeping time with her feet, until she
- reached the ledge where the boat was moored. She unfastened the painter,
- hauled the boat close, and he heard the sound of the plunge of the bows as
- she jumped on one of the beams, the force of her jump sending the boat far
- from shore.
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat for some minutes on the beam amidship, listlessly allowing the
- boat to drift away from the rocks, then she put out her hands for the
- oars. Her right hand grasped one, but there was none for the left to
- grasp. Harold perceived that one of the oars had disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was the boat twenty yards from the rock drifting away beyond the
- control of the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX.—ON THE HELPLESSNESS OF WOMAN.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE girl had shown
- so much adroitness in the management of the little craft previously, he
- felt—with deep regret—that she would be quite equal to her
- present emergency. He was mistaken. She had reached the end of her
- resources in navigation when she had run the boat alongside the landing
- place. He saw—with great satisfaction—that with only one oar
- she was helpless.
- </p>
- <p>
- What should he do?
- </p>
- <p>
- That was what he asked himself when he saw her dip her remaining oar into
- the water and paddle a few strokes, making the boat describe an awkward
- circle and bringing it perilously close to a jagged point of the reef that
- did duty as a natural breakwater for the mooring place of the boats. He
- came to the conclusion that if he allowed her to continue that sort of
- paddling, she would run the boat on the reef, and he would be morally
- responsible for the disaster and its consequences, whatever they might be.
- He had never felt more conscientious than at that moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- He ran down the track to the landing ledge, but before he had reached the
- latter, the girl had ceased her efforts and was staring at him, her hands
- still resting on the oar.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had an uneasy feeling that he was scarcely so picturesquely breathless
- as she had been, and this consciousness did not tend to make him fluent as
- he stood upon the rocky shelf not a foot above the ridges of the silver
- ripples.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found himself staring at her, just as she was staring at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Quite a minute had passed before he found words to ask her if he could be
- of any help to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know,” she replied, in a tone very different
- from that in which she had spoken at the entrance to the cavern. “I
- don’t really know. One of the oars must have gone overboard while
- the boat was moored. I scarcely know what I am to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid you’re in a bad way!” said he, shaking
- his head. The change in the girl’s tone was very amusing to him. She
- had become quite demure; but previously, demureness had been in the
- background. “Yes, I’m afraid your case is a very bad one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So bad as that?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, perhaps not quite, but still bad enough,” said he.
- “What do you want to do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To get home as soon as possible,” she replied, without the
- pause of a second.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her tone was expressive. It conveyed to him the notion that she had just
- asked if he thought that she was an idiot. What could she want to do if
- not to go home?
- </p>
- <p>
- “In that case,” said he, “I should advise you to take
- the oar to the sculling place in the centre of the stern. The boat is a
- stout one and will scull well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I don’t know how to scull,” said she, in a tone of
- real distress; “and I don’t think I can begin to learn just
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s something in that,” said he. “If I were
- only aboard I could teach you in a short time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But—”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had begun her reply without the delay of a second, but she did not get
- beyond the one word. He felt that she did not need to do so: it was a
- sentence by itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said he, “as you say, I’m not aboard. Shall
- I get aboard?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How could you?” she inquired, brightening up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can swim,” he replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The situation is not so desperate as that,” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- He also laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- They both laughed together.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stopped suddenly and looked up the cliffs to the Banshee’s Cave.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was she wondering if he had been within hearing when she had been—and
- not in silence—at the entrance to the cave?
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that he had never seen so beautiful a girl. Even making a liberal
- allowance for that glamour of the moonlight, which he had tried to assure
- himself was as deceptive as the glamour of love, she was, he felt, the
- most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- He crushed down every suggestion that came to him as to the best way of
- helping her out of her difficulty. It was his opportunity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she turned her eyes from the cliff and looked at him again.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something imploring in her look.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Keep up your heart,” said he. “Whose boat is that, may
- I ask?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It belongs to a man named Brian—Brian something or other—perhaps
- O’Donal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In that case I think it almost certain that you will find a fishing
- line in the locker astern—a fishing line and a tin bailer—the
- line will help you out of the difficulty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he had quite done speaking she was in the stern sheets, groping
- with one hand in the little locker.
- </p>
- <p>
- She brought out, first, a small jar of whiskey, secondly, a small pannikin
- that served a man’s purpose when he wished to drink the whiskey in
- unusually small quantities, and was also handy in bailing out the boat,
- and, thirdly, a fishing line-wound about a square frame.
- </p>
- <p>
- She held up the last-named so that Harold might see it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought it would be there,” said he. “Now if you can
- only cast one end of that line ashore, I will catch it and the boat will
- be alongside the landing-place in a few minutes. Can you throw?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent. She examined the hooks on the whale-bone cross-cast.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed again, for he perceived that she was reluctant to boast of the
- possession of a skill which was denied to all womankind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll explain to you what you must do,” he said. “Cut
- away the cast of hooks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I have no knife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I’ll throw mine into the bottom of your boat. Look out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Being a man, he was able to make the knife alight within reasonable
- distance of the spot at which he aimed. He saw her face brighten as she
- picked up the implement and, opening it, quickly cut away the cast of
- hooks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now make fast the leaden sinker to the end of the fishing line,
- unwind it all from the frame, and then whirl the weight round and sling it
- ashore—anywhere ashore.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She followed his instructions implicitly, and the leaden weight fled
- through the air, with the sound of a shell from a mortar.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well thrown!” he cried, as it soared above his head; and it
- was well thrown—so well that it carried overboard every inch of the
- line and the frame to which it was attached.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How stupid of me!” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of me, you mean,” said he. “I should have told you to
- make it fast. However, no harm is done. I’ll recover the weight and
- send it back to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had no trouble in effecting his purpose. He threw the weight as gently
- as possible into the bow of the boat, she picked it up, and the line was
- in her hands as he took in the slack and hauled the boat alongside the
- shelf of rock.
- </p>
- <p>
- It cannot have escaped notice that the system of hauling which he adopted
- had the result of bringing their hands together. They scarcely touched,
- however.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” said she, with profound coldness, when the boat
- was alongside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your case was not so desperate, after all,” he remarked, with
- just a trifle less frigidity in his tone, though he now knew that she was
- the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had talked of the glamour of
- moonlight. How could he have been so ridiculous?
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, my case was not so very desperate,” she said. “Thank
- you so much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Did she mean to suggest that he should now walk away?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t go, you know, until I am satisfied that your <i>contretemps</i>
- is at an end,” said he. “My name is Wynne—Harold Wynne.
- I am a guest of Lord Innisfail’s. I dare say you know him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she replied. “I know nobody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nobody?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nobody here. Of course I daily hear something about Lord Innisfail
- and his guests.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know Brian—he is somebody—the historian of the
- region. Did you ever hear the story of the Banshee?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him, but he flattered himself that his face told her nothing
- of what she seemed anxious to know.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, after a pause. “I do believe that I
- heard the story of the Banshee—a princess, was she not—a sort
- of princess—an Irish princess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Strictly Irish. It is said that the cry of the White Lady is
- sometimes heard even on these nights among the cliffs down which the
- Princess flung herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really?” said she, turning her eyes to the sea. “How
- strange!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Strange? well—perhaps. But Brian declares that he has heard
- the cry with his own ears. I have a friend who says, very coarsely, that
- if lies were landed property Brian would be the largest holder of real
- estate in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your friend does not understand Brian.” There was more than a
- trace of indignation in her voice. “Brian has imagination—so
- have all the people about here. I must get home as soon as possible. I
- thank you very much for your trouble. Goodnight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have had no trouble. Good-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took off his cap, and moved away—to the extent of a single step.
- She was still standing in the boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the way,” he said, as if the thought had just occurred to
- him; “do you intend going overland?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The glamour of the moonlight failed to conceal the troubled look that came
- to her eyes. He regained the step that he had taken away from her, and
- remarked, “If you will be good enough to allow me, I will scull you
- with the one oar to any part of the coast that you may wish to reach. It
- would be a pleasure to me. I have nothing whatever to do. As a matter of
- fact, I don’t see that you have any choice in the matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have not,” she said gravely. “I was a fool—such
- a fool! But—the story of the Princess—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray don’t make any confession to me,” said he. “If
- I had not heard the story of the Princess, should I be here either?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My name,” said she, “is Beatrice Avon. My father’s
- name you may have heard—most people have heard his name, though I’m
- afraid that not so many have read his books.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I have met your father,” said he. “If he is Julius
- Anthony Avon, I met him some years ago. He breakfasted with my tutor at
- Oxford. I have read all his hooks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come into the boat,” she cried with a laugh. “I
- feel that we have been introduced.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so we have,” said he, stepping upon the gunwale so as to
- push off the boat. “Now, where is your best landing place?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pointed out to him a white cottage at the entrance to a glen on the
- opposite coast of the lough, just below the ruins—they could be seen
- by the imaginative eye—of the Castle of Carrigorm. The cottage was
- glistening in the moonlight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is where we have been living—my father and I—for
- the past month,” said she. “He is engaged on a new work—a
- History of Irish Patriotism, and he has begun by compiling a biographical
- dictionary of Irish Informers. He is making capital progress with it. He
- has already got to the end of the seventh volume and he has very nearly
- reached the letter C—oh, yes, he is making rapid progress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why is he at this place? Is he working up the Irish legends as
- well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems that the French landed here some time or other, and that
- was the beginning of a new era of rebellions. My father is dealing with
- the period, and means to have his topography strictly accurate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Harold, “if he carefully avoids everything
- that he is told in Ireland his book may tend to accuracy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X.—ON SCIENCE AND ART.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> BOAT being urged
- onwards—not very rapidly—by a single oar resting in a hollow
- in the centre of the stern, and worked from side to side by a man in
- evening dress, is not a sight of daily occurrence. This may have suggested
- itself to the girl who was seated on the midship beam; but if she was
- inclined to laugh, she succeeded in controlling her impulses.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found that he was more adroit at the science of marine propulsion than
- he had fancied he was. The boat was making quite too rapid progress for
- his desires, across the lough.
- </p>
- <p>
- He asked the girl if she did not think it well that she should become
- acquainted with at least the scientific principle which formed the basis
- of the marine propeller. It was extremely unlikely that such an emergency
- as that which had lately arisen should ever again make a demand upon her
- resources, but if such were ever to present itself, it might be well for
- her to be armed to overcome it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, she said, it was extremely unlikely that she should ever again be so
- foolish, and she hoped that her father would not be uneasy at her failure
- to return at the hour at which she had told him to expect her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stopped rocking the oar from side to side in order to assure her that
- she could not possibly be delayed more than a quarter of an hour through
- the loss of the oar.
- </p>
- <p>
- She said that she was very glad, and that she really thought that the boat
- was making more rapid progress with his one oar than it had done in the
- opposite direction with her two oars.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to perceive that his opportunities of making her acquainted with
- the science of the screw propeller were dwindling. He faced the oar
- boldly, however, and he felt that he had at least succeeded in showing her
- how effective was the application of a scientific law to the achievement
- of his end—assuming that that end was the driving of the boat
- through the waters.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not a fool. He knew very well that there is nothing which so
- appeals to the interest of a woman as seeing a man do something that she
- cannot do.
- </p>
- <p>
- When, after five minutes’ work, he turned his head to steer the
- boat, he found that she was watching him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had previously been watching the white glistening cottage, with the
- light in one window only.
- </p>
- <p>
- The result of his observation was extremely satisfactory to him. He
- resumed his toil without a word.
- </p>
- <p>
- And this was how it happened that the boat made so excellent a passage
- across the lough.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until the keel grated upon the sand that the girl spoke. She
- made a splendid leap from the bows, and, turning, asked him if he would
- care to pay a visit to her father.
- </p>
- <p>
- He replied that he feared that he might jeopardize the biography of some
- interesting informer whose name might occur at the close of the letter B.
- He hoped that he would be allowed to borrow the boat for his return to the
- cliffs, and to row it back the next day to where it was at the moment he
- was speaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- His earnest sculling of the boat had not made all thought for the morrow
- impracticable. He had been reflecting through the silence, how he might
- make the chance of meeting once more this girl whose face he had seen for
- the first time half an hour before.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had already given him an absurd amount of trouble, she said. The boat
- was one that she had borrowed from Brian, and Brian could easily row it
- across next morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he happened to know that Brian was to be in attendance on Mr. Durdan
- all the next day. Mr. Durdan had come to the West solely for the purpose
- of studying the Irish question on the spot. He had, consequently, spent
- all his time, deep-sea fishing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you perceive that there’s nothing for it but for me to
- bring back the boat, Miss Avon,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do it so well,” she said, with a tone of enthusiasm in
- her voice. “I never admired anything so much—your sculling, I
- mean. And perhaps I may learn something about—was it the scientific
- principle that you were kind enough to offer to teach me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The scientific principle,” said he, with an uneasy feeling
- that the girl had seen through his artifice to prolong the crossing of the
- lough. “Yes, you certainly should know all about the scientific
- principle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I feel so, indeed. Good-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-night,” said he, preparing to push the boat off the sand
- where it had grounded. “Goodnight. By the way, it was only when we
- were out with Brian in the afternoon that he told us the story of the
- Princess and her lover. He added that the cry of the White Lady would
- probably be heard when night came.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you may hear it yet,” said she. “Goodnight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had run up the sandy beach, before he had pushed off the boat, and she
- never looked round.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood with one foot on the gunwale of the boat in act to push into deep
- water, thinking that perhaps she might at the last moment look round.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not.
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught another glimpse of her beyond the furze that crowned a ridge of
- rocks. But she had her face steadfastly set toward the white cottage.
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw all his weight upon the oar which he was using as a pole, and out
- the boat shot into the deep water.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens!” said Edmund Airey. “Where have you been
- for the past couple of hours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where?” repeated Miss Craven in a tone of voice that should
- only be assumed when the eyes, of the speaker are sparkling. But Miss
- Craven’s eyes were not sparkling. Their strong point was not in that
- direction. “I’m afraid you must give an account of yourself,
- Mr. Wynne,” she continued. She was standing by the side of Edmund
- Airey, within the embrace of the mighty antlers of the ancient elk in the
- hall. The sound of dance music was in the air, and Miss Craven’s
- face was flushed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To give an account of myself would be to place myself on a level of
- dulness with the autobiographers whose reminiscences we yawn over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then give us a chance of yawning,” cried Miss Craven.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not need one,” said he. “Have you not been for
- some time by the side of a Member of Parliament?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has been over the cliffs,” suggested the Member of
- Parliament. He was looking at Harold’s shoes, which bore tokens of
- having been ill-treated beyond the usual ill-treatment of shoes with bows
- of ribbon above the toes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Harold. “Over the cliffs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At the Banshee’s Cave, I’m certain,” said Miss
- Craven.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, at the Banshee’s Cave.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How lovely! And you saw the White Lady?” she continued.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I saw the White Lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you heard her cry at the entrance to the cave?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I heard her cry at the entrance to the cave.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense!” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Utter nonsense!” said he. “I must ask Lady Innisfail to
- dance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He crossed the hall to where Lady Innisfail was seated. She was fanning
- herself and making sparkling replies to the inanities of Mr. Durdan, who
- stood beside her. She had been engaged in every dance, Harold knew, from
- the extra gravity of her daughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does he mean?” Miss Craven asked of Edmund Airey in a
- low—almost an anxious, tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mean? Why, to dance with Lady Innisfail. He is a man of
- determination.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does he mean by that nonsense about the Banshee’s Cave?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it nonsense?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it is. Does anyone suppose that the legend of the White
- Lady is anything but nonsense? Didn’t you ridicule it at dinner?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At dinner; oh, yes: but then you must remember that no one is
- altogether discreet at dinner. That cold <i>entrée</i>—the Russian
- salad—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A good many people are discreet neither at dinner nor after it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Our friend Harold, for instance? Oh, I have every confidence in
- him. I know his mood. I have experienced it myself. I, too, have stood in
- a sculpturesque attitude and attire, on a rock overhanging a deep sea, and
- I have been at the point of dressing again without taking the plunge that
- I meant to take.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that he—that he—oh, I don’t know what
- you mean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean that if he had been so fortunate as to come upon you
- suddenly at the Banshee’s Cave or wherever he was to-night, he would
- have—well, he would have taken the plunge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw the girl’s face become slightly roseate in spite of the fact
- of her being the most self-controlled person whom he had ever met. He
- perceived that she appreciated his meaning to a shade.
- </p>
- <p>
- He liked that. A man who is gifted with the power of expressing his ideas
- in various shades, likes to feel that his power is appreciated. He knew
- that there are some people who fancy that every question is susceptible of
- being answered by yea or nay. He hated such people.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The plunge?” said Miss Craven, with an ingenuousness that
- confirmed his high estimate of her powers of appreciation. “The
- plunge? But the Banshee’s Cave is a hundred feet above the water.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But men have taken headers—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They have,” said she, “and therefore we should finish
- our waltz.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They did finish their waltz.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI.—ON HEAVEN AND THE LORD CHANCELLOR.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>R. DURDAN was
- explaining something—he usually was explaining something. When he
- had been a member of the late Government his process of explaining
- something was generally regarded as a fine effort at mystification. In
- private his explanations were sometimes intelligible. As Harold entered
- the room where a straggling breakfast was proceeding—everything
- except dinner had a tendency to be straggling at Castle Innisfail—Mr.
- Dur dan was explaining how Brian had been bewildered.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a profitable theme, especially for a man who fondly believed that
- he had the power of reproducing what he imagined to be the Irish brogue of
- the boatman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold gathered that Mr. Durdan had already had a couple of hours of
- deep-sea fishing in the boat with Brian—the servants were all the
- morning carrying into the dining-room plates of fish of his catching
- (audibly sneered at by the fly-fishers, who considered their supreme
- failures superior to the hugest successes of the deep-sea fishers).
- </p>
- <p>
- But the fishing was not to the point. What Mr. Durdan believed to be very
- much to the point were the “begorras,” the “acushlas,”
- the “arrahs” which he tried to make his auditors believe the
- boatman had uttered in telling him how he had been awakened early in the
- night by hearing the cry of the Banshee.
- </p>
- <p>
- Every phrase supposed to have been employed by the boatman was reproduced
- by the narrator; and his auditors glanced meaningly at one another. It
- would have required a great deal of convincing to make them fancy for a
- moment that the language of Brian consisted of an imaginary Irish
- exclamation preceding a purely Cockney—occasionally Yorkshire—idiom.
- But the narrator continued his story, and seemed convinced that his voice
- was an exact reproduction of Brian’s brogue.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold thought that he would try a little of something that was not fish—he
- scarcely minded what he had, provided it was not fish, he told the
- servant. And as there was apparently some little-difficulty in procuring
- such a comestible, Harold drank some coffee and listened to Mr. Durdan’s
- story—he recommenced it for everyone who entered the breakfast-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, Brian had distinctly heard the cry of the Banshee, he said; but a
- greater marvel had happened, for he found one of his boats that had been
- made fast on the opposite shore of the lough in the early part of the
- night, moored at the landing-ledge at the base of the cliffs beneath the
- Banshee’s Cave. By the aid of many a gratuitous “begorra,”
- Mr. Durdan indicated the condition of perplexity in which the boatman had
- been all the time he was baiting the lines. He explained that the man had
- attributed to “herself”—meaning, of course, the White
- Lady—the removal of the boat from the one side of the lough to the
- other. It was plain that the ghost of the Princess was a good oarswoman,
- too, for a single paddle only was found in the boat. It was so like a
- ghost, he had confided to Mr. Durdan, to make a cruise in a way that was
- contrary—the accent on the second syllable—to nature.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has put another oar aboard and is now rowing the boat back to
- its original quarters,” said Mr. Durdan, in conclusion. “But
- he declares that, be the Powers!”—here the narrator assumed
- once more the hybrid brogue—“if the boat was meddled with by
- ‘herself’ again he would call the priest to bless the craft,
- and where would ‘herself’ be then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where indeed?” said Lord Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold said nothing. He was aware that Edmund was looking at him intently.
- Did he suspect anything, Harold wondered.
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave no indication of being more interested in the story than anyone
- present, and no one present seemed struck with it—no one, except
- perhaps, Miss Craven, who had entered the room late, and was thus
- fortunate enough to obtain the general drift of what Mr. Durdan was
- talking about, without having her attention diverted by his loving
- repetition of the phrases of local colour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven heard the story, laughed, glanced at her plate, and remarked
- with some slyness that Mr. Durdan was clearly making strides in his
- acquaintance with the Irish question. She then glanced—confidentially—at
- Edmund Airey, and finally—rather less confidentially—at
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was eating of that which was not fish, and giving a good deal of
- attention to it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven thought he was giving quite too much attention to it. She
- suspected that he knew more about the boat incident than he cared to
- express, or why should he be giving so much attention to his plate?
- </p>
- <p>
- As for Harold himself, he was feeling that it would be something of a
- gratification to him if a fatal accident were to happen to Brian.
- </p>
- <p>
- He inwardly called him a meddlesome fool. Why should he take it upon him
- to row the boat across the lough, when he, Harold, had been looking
- forward during the sleepless hours of the night, to that exercise? When he
- had awakened from an early morning slumber, it was with the joyous feeling
- that nothing could deprive him of that row across the lough.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he had been deprived of it, therefore he felt some regret that,
- the morning being a calm one, Brian’s chances of disaster when
- crossing the lough were insignificant.
- </p>
- <p>
- All the time that the judge was explaining in that lucid style which was
- the envy of his brethren on the Bench, how impossible it would be for the
- Son of Porcupine to purge himself of the contempt which was heaped upon
- him owing to his unseemly behaviour at a recent race meeting—the
- case of the son of so excellent a father as Porcupine turning out badly
- was jeopardizing the future of Evolution as a doctrine—Harold was
- trying to devise some plan that should make him independent of the
- interference of the boatman. He did not insist on the plan being
- legitimate or even reasonable; all that he felt was that he must cross the
- lough.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought of the girl whom he had seen in that atmosphere of moonlight;
- and somehow he came to think of her as responsible for her exquisite
- surroundings. There was nothing commonplace about her—that was what
- he felt most strongly as he noticed the excellent appetites of the young
- women around him. Even Miss Stafford, who hoped to be accepted as an
- Intellect embodied in a mere film of flesh—she went to the extreme
- length of cultivating a Brow—tickled her trout with the point of her
- fork much less tenderly than the fisherman who told her the story—with
- an impromptu bravura passage or two—of its capture, had done.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the girl whom he had seen in the moonlight—whom he was yearning
- to see in the sunlight—was as refined as a star. “As refined
- as a star,” he actually murmured, when he found himself with an
- unlighted cigar between his fingers on that part of the terrace which
- afforded a fine view of the lough—the narrow part as well—his
- eyes were directed to the narrow part. “As refined as a star—a—”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned himself round with a jerk. “A star?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His father’s letter was still in his pocket. It contained in the
- course of its operatic clauses some references to a Star—a Star,
- who, alas! was not refined—who, on the contrary, was expensive.
- </p>
- <p>
- He struck a match very viciously and lit his cigar.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven had just appeared on the terrace.
- </p>
- <p>
- He dropped his still flaming match on the hard gravel walk and put his
- foot upon it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A star!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was very vicious.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is not a particularly good talker, but she is a most
- fascinating listener,” said Edmund Airey, who strolled up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have noticed so much—when you have been the talker,”
- said Harold. “It is only to the brilliant talker that the
- fascinating listener appeals. By the way, how does ‘fascinated
- listener’ sound as a phrase? Haven’t I read somewhere that the
- speeches of an eminent politician were modelled on the principle of
- catching birds by night? You flash a lamp upon them and they may be
- captured by the score. The speeches were compared to the lantern and the
- public to the birds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gulls,” said Edmund. “My dear Harold, I did not come
- out here to exchange opinions with you on the vexed question of
- vote-catching or gulls—it will be time enough to do so when you have
- found a constituency.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite. And meantime I am to think of Miss Craven as a fascinating
- listener? That’s what you have come to impress upon me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean that you should give yourself a fair chance of becoming
- acquainted with her powers as a listener—I mean that you should talk
- to her on an interesting topic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would to heaven that I had your capacity of being interesting on
- all topics.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The dullest man on earth when talking to a woman on love as a
- topic, is infinitely more interesting to her than the most brilliant man
- when talking to her on any other topic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You suggest a perilous way to the dull man of becoming momentarily
- interesting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I know the phrase which, in spite of being the
- composition of a French philosopher, is not altogether devoid of truth—yes,
- ‘<i>Qui parle d’amour fait l’amour’’</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only that love is born, not made.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! have you learned that—that, with your father’s
- letter next your heart?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you fancy that I have forgotten your conversation in the boat
- yesterday?” said he. “Heaven on one side and the Lord
- Chancellor on the other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you have come to the conclusion that you are on the side of
- heaven? You are in a perilous way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your logic is a trifle shaky, friend. Besides, you have no right to
- assume that I am on the side of heaven.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is a suggestion of indignation in your voice that gives me
- hope that you are not in so evil a case as I may have suspected. Do you
- think that another afternoon in the boat—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would make me on the side of the Lord Chancellor? I doubt it. But
- that is not equivalent to saying that I doubt the excellence of your
- advice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yesterday afternoon I flattered myself that I had given you such
- advice as commended itself to you, and yet now you tell me that love is
- born, not made. The man who believes that is past being advised. It is, I
- say, the end of wisdom. What has happened since yesterday afternoon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing has happened to shake my confidence in the soundness of
- your advice,” said Harold, but not until a pause had occurred—a
- pause of sufficient duration to tell his observant friend that something
- had happened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If nothing has happened—Miss Craven is going to sketch the
- Round Tower at noon,” said Edmund—the Round Tower was some
- distance through the romantic Pass of Lamdhu.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Round Tower will not suffer; Miss Craven is not one of the
- landscape libellers,” remarked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then Miss Innisfail hurried up with a face lined with anxiety.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Innisfail was the sort of girl who always, says, “It is I.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Mr. Airey,” she cried, “I have come to entreat of
- you to do your best to dissuade mamma from her wild notion—the
- wildest she has ever had. You may have some restraining influence upon
- her. She is trying to get up an Irish jig in the hall after dinner—she
- has set her heart on it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can promise you that if Lady Innisfail asks me to be one of the
- performers I shall decline,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, she has set her heart on bringing native dancers for the
- purpose,” cried the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That sounds serious,” said Edmund. “Native dances are
- usually very terrible visitations. I saw one at Samoa.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew it—yes, I suspected as much,” murmured the girl,
- shaking her head. “Oh, we must put a stop to it. You will help me,
- Mr. Airey?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am always on the side of law and order,” said Mr. Airey.
- “A mother is a great responsibility, Miss Innisfail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Innisfail smiled sadly, shook her head again, and fled to find
- another supporter against the latest frivolity of her mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Edmund turned about from watching her, he saw that his friend Harold
- Wynne had gone off with some of the yachtsmen—for every day a
- yachting party as well as deep-sea-fishing, and salmon-fishing parties—shooting
- parties and even archæological parties were in the habit of setting-out
- from Castle Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it possible that Harold intended spending the day aboard the cutter,
- Edmund asked himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold’s mood of the previous evening had been quite intelligible to
- him—he had confessed to Miss Craven that he understood and even
- sympathized with him. He was the man who was putting off the plunge as
- long as possible, he felt.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he knew that that attitude, if prolonged, not only becomes ridiculous,
- but positively verges on the indecent. It is one thing to pause for a
- minute on the brink of the deep water, and quite another to remain
- shivering on the rock for half a day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold Wynne wanted money in order to realize a legitimate ambition. But
- it so happened that he could not obtain that money unless by marrying Miss
- Craven—that was the situation of the moment. But instead of asking
- Miss Craven if she would have the goodness to marry him, he was wandering
- about the coast in an aimless way.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail was the most finished artist in matchmaking that Edmund had
- ever met. So finished an artist was she that no one had ever ventured to
- suggest that she was a match-maker. As a matter of fact, her reputation
- lay in just the opposite direction. She was generally looked upon as a
- marrer of matches. This was how she had achieved some of her most
- brilliant successes. She was herself so fascinating that she attracted the
- nicest men to her side; but, somehow, instead of making love to her as
- they meant to do, they found themselves making love to the nice girls with
- whom she surrounded herself. When running upon the love-making track with
- her, she switched them on, so to speak, to the nice eligible girls, and
- they became engaged before they quite knew what had happened.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was her art, Edmund knew, and he appreciated it as it deserved.
- </p>
- <p>
- She appreciated him as he deserved, he also acknowledged; for she had
- never tried to switch him on to any of her girls. By never making love to
- her he had proved himself to be no fit subject for the exercise of her
- art.
- </p>
- <p>
- If a man truly loves a woman he will marry anyone whom she asks him to
- marry.
- </p>
- <p>
- This, he knew, was the precept that Lady Innisfail inculcated upon the
- young men—they were mostly very young men—who assured her that
- they adored her. It rarely failed to bring them to their senses, she had
- admitted to Edmund in the course of a confidential lapse.
- </p>
- <p>
- By bringing them to their senses she meant inducing them to ask the right
- girls to marry them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund felt that it was rather a pity that his friend Harold had never
- adored Lady Innisfail. Harold had always liked her too well to make love
- to her. This was rather a pity, Edmund felt. It practically disarmed Lady
- Innisfail, otherwise she would have taken care that he made
- straightforward love to Miss Craven.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for Harold, he strolled off with the yachtsmen, giving them to
- understand that he intended sailing with them. The cutter was at her
- moorings in the lough about a mile from the Castle, and there was a narrow
- natural dock between the cliffs into which the dingey ran to carry the
- party out to the yacht.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was at this point that Harold separated himself from the yachtsmen—not
- without some mutterings on their part and the delivery of a few reproaches
- with a fresh maritime flavour about them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was he up to at all?” they asked of one another.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could scarcely have told these earnest inquirers what he was up to. But
- his mood would have been quite intelligible to them had they known that he
- had, within the past half hour made up his mind to let nothing interfere
- with his asking Helen Craven if she would be good enough to marry him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII.—ON THE MYSTERY OF MAN.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E meant to ask her
- at night. He had felt convinced, on returning after his adventure in his
- dinner dress, that nothing could induce him to think of Miss Craven as a
- possible wife. While sitting at breakfast, he had felt even more confident
- on this point; and yet now his mind was made up to ask her to marry him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It must be admitted that his mood was a singular one, especially as, with
- his mind full of his resolution to ask Miss Craven to marry him, he was
- wandering around the rugged coastway, wondering by what means he could
- bring himself by the side of the girl with whom he had crossed the lough
- on the previous night.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mood will be intelligible to such persons as have had friends who
- occasionally have found it necessary to their well-being to become
- teetotallers. It is well known that the fascination of the prospect of
- teetotalism is so great for such persons that the very thought of it
- compels them to rush off in the opposite direction. They indulge in an
- outburst of imbibing that makes even their best friends stand aghast, and
- then they ‘take the pledge’ with the cheerfulness of a child.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold Wynne felt inclined to allow his feelings an outburst, previous to
- entering upon a condition in which he meant his feelings to be kept in
- subjection.
- </p>
- <p>
- To engage himself to marry Miss Craven was, he believed, equivalent to
- taking the pledge of the teetotaller so far as his feelings were
- concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meantime, however, he remained unpledged and with an unbounded sense of
- freedom.
- </p>
- <p>
- And this was why he laughed loud and long when he saw in the course of his
- stroll around the cliffs, a small oar jammed in a crevice of the rocks a
- hundred feet below where he was walking.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed again when he had gone—not so cautiously as he might have
- done—down to the crevice and released the oar.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was, he knew, the one that had gone adrift from the boat the previous
- night.
- </p>
- <p>
- He climbed the cliff to the Banshee’s Cave and deposited the piece
- of timber in the recesses of that place. Then he lay down on the coarse
- herbage at the summit of the cliff until it was time to drift to the
- Castle for lunch. Life at the Castle involved a good deal of drifting. The
- guests drifted out in many directions after breakfast and occasionally
- drifted back to lunch, after which they drifted about until the dinner
- hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- While taking lunch he was in such good spirits as made Lady Innisfail
- almost hopeless of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey had told her the previous night that Harold intended asking
- Miss Craven to marry him. Now, however, perceiving how excellent were his
- spirits, she looked reproachfully across the table at Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was mutely asking him—and he knew it—how it was possible
- to reconcile Harold’s good spirits with his resolution to ask Helen
- Craven to marry him? She knew—and so did Edmund—that high
- spirits and the Resolution are rarely found in association.
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour after lunch the girl with the Brow entreated Harold’s
- critical opinion on the subject of a gesture in the delivery of a certain
- poem, and the discussion of the whole question occupied another hour. The
- afternoon was thus pretty far advanced before he found himself seated
- alone in the boat which had been at the disposal of himself and Edmund
- during the two previous afternoons. The oar that he had picked up was
- lying at his feet along the timbers of the boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sun was within an hour of setting when Brian appeared at the Castle
- bearing a letter for Lady Innisfail. It had been entrusted to him for
- delivery to her ladyship by Mr. Wynne, he said. Where was Mr. Wynne? That
- Brian would not take upon him to say; only he was at the opposite side of
- the lough. Maybe he was with Father Conn, who was the best of good
- company, or it wasn’t a bit unlikely that it was the District
- Inspector of the Constabulary he was with. Anyhow it was sure that the
- gentleman had took a great fancy to the queer places along the coast, for
- hadn’t he been to the thrubble to give a look in at the Banshee’s
- Cave, the previous night, just because he was sthruck with admiration of
- the story of the Princess that he, Brian, had told him and Mr. Airey in
- the boat?
- </p>
- <p>
- The letter that Lady Innisfail received and glanced at while drinking tea
- on one of the garden seats outside the Castle, begged her ladyship to
- pardon the writer’s not appearing at dinner that night, the fact
- being that he had unexpectedly found an old friend who had taken
- possession of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was very nice of him to write, wasn’t it, my dear?”
- Lady Innisfail remarked to her friend Miss Craven, who was filtering a
- novel by a popular French author for the benefit of Lady Innisfail.
- “It was very nice of him to write. Of course that about the friend
- is rubbish. The charm of this neighbourhood is that no old friend ever
- turns up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t think that—that—perhaps—”
- suggested Miss Craven with the infinite delicacy of one who has been
- employed in the filtration of Paul Bourget.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all—not at all,” said Lady Innisfail, shaking
- her head. “If it was his father it would be quite another matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lord Fotheringay is too great a responsibility even for me, and I
- don’t as a rule shirk such things,” said Lady Innisfail.
- “But Harold is—well, I’ll let you into a secret, though
- it is against myself: he has never made love even to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is inexcusable,” remarked Miss Craven, with a little
- movement of the eyebrows. She did not altogether appreciate Lady Innisfail’s
- systems. She had not a sufficient knowledge of dynamics and the
- transference of energy to be able to understand the beauty of the “switch”
- principle. “But if he is not with a friend—or—or—the
- other—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The enemy—our enemy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where can he be—where can he have been?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heaven knows! There are some things that are too wonderful for me.
- I fancied long ago that I knew Man. My dear Helen, I was a fool. Man is a
- mystery. What could that boy mean by going to the Banshee’s Cave
- last night, when he might have been dancing with me—or you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Romance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Romance and rubbish mean the same thing to such men as Harold
- Wynne, Helen—you should know so much,” said Lady Innisfail.
- “That is, of course, romance in the abstract. The flutter of a human
- white frock would produce more impression on a man than a whole army of
- Banshees.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet the boatman said that Mr. Wynne had spent some time last
- night at the Cave,” said Miss Craven. “Was there a white dress
- in the question, do you fancy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail turned her large and luminous eyes upon her companion. So
- she was accustomed to turn those orbs upon such young men as declared that
- they adored her. The movement was supposed to be indicative of infinite
- surprise, with abundant sympathy, and a trace of pity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen Craven met the luminous gaze with a smile, that broadened as she
- murmured, “Dearest Lilian, we are quite alone. It is extremely
- unlikely that your expression can be noticed by any of the men. It is
- practically wasted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is the natural and reasonable expression of the surprise I feel
- at the wisdom of the—the—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Serpent?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not quite. Let us say, the young matron, lurking beneath the
- harmlessness of the—the—let us say the <i>ingenue</i>. A white
- dress! Pray go on with ‘<i>Un Cour de Femme’.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven picked up the novel which had been on the ground, flattened
- out in a position of oriental prostration and humility before the wisdom
- of the women.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII.—ON THE ART OF COLOURING.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE people of the
- village of Ballycruiskeen showed themselves quite ready to enter into the
- plans of their pastor in the profitable enterprise of making entertainment
- for Lady Innisfail and her guests. The good pastor had both enterprise and
- imagination. Lady Innisfail had told him confidentially that day that she
- wished to impress her English visitors with the local colour of the region
- round about. Local colour was a phrase that she was as fond of as if she
- had been an art critic; but it so happened that the pastor had never heard
- the phrase before; he promptly assured her, however, that he sympathized
- most heartily with her ladyship’s aspirations in this direction.
- Yes, it was absolutely necessary that they should be impressed with the
- local colour, and if, with this impression, there came an appreciation of
- the requirements of the chapel in the way of a new roof, it would please
- him greatly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The roof would certainly be put on before the winter, even if the work had
- to be carried out at the expense of his Lordship, Lady Innisfail said with
- enthusiasm; and if Father Constantine could only get up a wake or a dance
- or some other festivity for the visitors, just to show them how
- picturesque and sincere were the Irish race in the West, she would take
- care that the work on the roof was begun without delay.
- </p>
- <p>
- Father Constantine—he hardly knew himself by that name, having
- invariably been called Father Conn by his flock—began to have a
- comprehensive knowledge of what was meant by the phrase “local
- colour.” Did her ladyship insist on a wake, he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her ladyship said she had no foolish prejudices in the matter. She was
- quite willing to leave the whole question of the entertainment in the
- hands of his reverence. He knew the people best and he would be able to
- say in what direction their abilities could be exhibited to the greatest
- advantage. She had always had an idea, she confessed, that it was at a
- wake they shone; but, of course, if Father Constantine thought differently
- she would make no objection, but she would dearly like a wake.
- </p>
- <p>
- The priest did not even smile for more than a minute; but he could not
- keep that twinkle out of his eyes even if the chapel walls in addition to
- the roof depended on his self-control.
- </p>
- <p>
- He assured her ladyship that she was perfectly right in her ideas. He
- agreed with her that the wake was the one festivity that was calculated to
- bring into prominence the varied talents of his flock. But the unfortunate
- thing about it was its variableness. A wake was something that could not
- be arranged for beforehand—at least not without involving a certain
- liability to criminal prosecution. The elements of a wake were simple
- enough, to be sure, but simple and all as they were, they were not always
- forthcoming.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail thought this very provoking. Of course, expense was no
- consideration—she hoped that the pastor understood so much. She
- hoped he understood that if he could arrange for a wake that night she
- would bear the expense.
- </p>
- <p>
- The priest shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, then, if a wake was absolutely out of the question—she didn’t
- see why it should be, but, of course, he knew best—why should he not
- get up an eviction? She thought that on the whole the guests had latterly
- heard more about Irish evictions than Irish wakes. There was plenty of
- local colour in an eviction, and so far as she could gather from the
- pictures she had seen in the illustrated papers, it was extremely
- picturesque—yes, when the girls were barefooted, and when there was
- active resistance. Hadn’t she heard something about boiling water?
- </p>
- <p>
- The twinkle had left the priest’s eyes as she prattled away. He had
- an impulse to tell her that it was the class to which her ladyship
- belonged and not that to which he belonged, who had most practice in that
- form of entertainment known as the eviction. But thinking of the chapel
- roof, he restrained himself. After all, Lord Innisfail had never evicted a
- family on his Irish estate. He had evicted several families on his English
- property, however; but no one ever makes a fuss about English evictions.
- If people fail to pay their rent in England they know that they must go.
- They have not the imagination of the Irish.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll tell your ladyship what it is,” said Father Conn,
- before she had quite come to the end of her prattle: “if the ladies
- and gentlemen who have the honour to be your ladyship’s guests will
- take the trouble to walk or drive round the coast to the Curragh of Lamdhu
- after supper—I mean dinner—to-night, I’ll get up a
- celebration of the Cruiskeen for you all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How delightful!” exclaimed her ladyship. “And what
- might a celebration of the Cruiskeen be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was at this point that the imagination of the good father came to his
- assistance. He explained, with a volubility that comes to the Celt only
- when he is romancing, that the celebration of the Cruiskeen was a
- prehistoric rite associated with the village of Ballycruiskeen. Cruiskeen
- was, as perhaps her ladyship had heard, the Irish for a vessel known to
- common people as a jug—it was, he explained, a useful vessel for
- drinking out of—when it held a sufficient quantity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course Lady Innisfail had heard of a jug—she had even heard of a
- song called “The Cruiskeen Lawn”—did that mean some sort
- of jug?
- </p>
- <p>
- It meant the little full jug, his reverence assured her. Anyhow, the
- celebration of the Cruiskeen of Ballycruiskeen had taken place for
- hundreds—most likely thousands—of years at the Curragh of
- Lamdhu—Lamdhu meaning the Black Hand—and it was perhaps the
- most interesting of Irish customs. Was it more interesting than a wake?
- Why, a wake couldn’t hold a candle to a Cruiskeen, and the display
- of candles was, as probably her ladyship knew, a distinctive feature of a
- wake.
- </p>
- <p>
- Father Conn, finding how much imaginary archæology Lady Innisfail would
- stand without a protest, then allowed his imagination to revel in the
- details of harpers—who were much more genteel than fiddlers, he
- thought, though his flock preferred the fiddle—of native dances and
- of the recitals of genuine Irish poems—probably prehistoric. All
- these were associated with a Cruiskeen, he declared, and a Cruiskeen her
- ladyship and her ladyship’s guests should have that night, if there
- was any public spirit left in Ballycruiskeen, and he rather thought that
- there was a good deal still left, thank God!
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail was delighted. Local colour! Why, this entertainment was a
- regular Winsor and Newton Cabinet.
- </p>
- <p>
- It included everything that people in England were accustomed to associate
- with the Irish, and this was just what the guests would relish. It was
- infinitely more promising than the simple national dance for which she had
- been trying to arrange.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook Father Conn heartily by the hand, but stared at him when he made
- some remark about the chapel roof—she had already forgotten all
- about the roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- The priest had not.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God forgive me for my romancing!” he murmured, when her
- ladyship had departed and he stood wiping his forehead. “God forgive
- me! If it wasn’t for the sake of the slate or two, the ne’er a
- word but the blessed truth would have been forced from me. A Cruiskeen!
- How was it that the notion seized me at all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He hurried off to an ingenious friend and confidential adviser of his,
- whose name was O’Flaherty, and who did a little in the horse-dealing
- line—a profession that tends to develop the ingenuity of those
- associated with it either as buyers or sellers—and Mr. O’Flaherty,
- after hearing Father Conn’s story, sat down on the side of one of
- the ditches, which are such a distinctive feature of Ballycruiskeen and
- the neighbourhood, and roared with laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye’ve done it this time, and no mistake, Father Conn,”
- he cried, when he had partially recovered from his hilarity. “I
- always said you’d do it some day, and ye’ve done it now. A
- Cruiskeen! Mother of Moses! A Cruiskeen! Oh, but it’s yourself has
- the quare head, Father Conn!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give over your fun, and tell us what’s to be done—that’s
- what you’re to do if there’s any good in you at all,”
- said the priest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, by my soul, ye’ll have to carry out the enterprise in
- your own way, my brave Father Conn,” said Mr. O’Flaherty.
- “A Cruiskeen! A——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Phinny O’Flaherty,” said the priest solemnly, “if
- ye don’t want to have the curse of the Holy Church flung at that red
- head of yours, ye’ll rise and put me on the way of getting up at
- least a jig or two on the Curragh this night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After due consideration Mr. O’Flaherty came to the conclusion that
- it would be unwise on his part to put in motion the terrible machinery of
- the Papal Interdict—if the forces of the Vatican were to be
- concentrated upon him he might never again be able to dispose of a “roarer”
- as merely a “whistler” to someone whose suspicions were
- susceptible of being lulled by a brogue. Mr. Phineas O’Flaherty
- consequently assured Father Conn that he would help his reverence, even if
- the act should jeopardize his prospects of future happiness in another
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV.—ON AN IRISH DANCE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ADY INNISFAIL’S
- guests—especially those who had been wandering over the mountains
- with guns all day—found her rather too indefatigable in her search
- for new methods of entertaining them. The notion of an after-dinner stroll
- of a few miles to the village of Ballycruiskeen for the sake of witnessing
- an entertainment, the details of which Lady Innisfail was unable to do
- more than suggest, and the attractions of which were rather more than
- doubtful, was not largely relished at the Castle.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Innisfail announced his intention of remaining where he had dined;
- but he was one of the few men who could afford to brave Lady Innisfail’s
- disdain and to decline to be chilled by her cold glances. The other men
- who did not want to be entertained on the principles formulated by Lady
- Innisfail, meanly kept out of her way after dinner. They hoped that they
- might have a chance of declaring solemnly afterwards, that they had been
- anxious to go, but had waited in vain for information as to the hour of
- departure, the costume to be worn, and the password—if a password
- were needed—to admit them to the historic rites of the Cruiskeen.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the women declined to go, on the ground that, so far as she could
- gather, the rite was not evangelical. Her views were evangelical.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the men—he was an Orangeman from Ulster—boldly refused
- to attend what was so plainly a device planned by the Jesuits for the
- capture of the souls—he assumed that they had souls—of the
- Innisfail family and their guests.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven professed so ardently to be looking forward to the
- entertainment, that Mr. Airey, with his accustomed observance of the
- distribution of high lights in demeanour as well as in conversation. felt
- certain that she meant to stay at the Castle.
- </p>
- <p>
- His accuracy of observation was proved when the party were ready to set
- out for Ballycruiskeen. MIss Craven’s maid earned that lady’s
- affectionate regards to her hostess; she had been foolish enough to sit in
- the sun during the afternoon with that fascinating novel, and as she
- feared it would, her indiscretion had given her a headache accompanied by
- dizziness. She would thus be unable to go with the general party to the
- village, but if she possibly could, she would follow them in an hour—perhaps
- less.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey smiled the smile of the prophet who lives to see his
- prediction realized—most of the prophets died violent deaths before
- they could have that gratification.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it was undoubtedly an indiscretion,” he murmured.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sitting in the sun?” said Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Reading Paul Bourget,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” said Lady Innisfail. “Talking of
- indiscretions, has anyone seen—ah, never mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is quite possible that the old friend whom you say he wrote
- about, may be a person of primitive habits—he may be inclined to
- retire early,” said Mr. Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail gave a little puzzled glance at him—the puzzled
- expression vanished in a moment, however, before the ingenuousness of his
- smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a fool I am becoming!” she whispered. “I really
- never thought of that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was because you never turned your attention properly to the
- mystery of the headache,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then they set off in the early moonlight for their walk along the cliff
- path that, in the course of a mile or so, trended downward and through the
- Pass of Lamdhu, with its dark pines growing half-way up the slope on one
- side. The lower branches of the trees stretched fantastic arms over the
- heads of the party walking on the road through the Pass. In the moonlight
- these fantastic arms seemed draped. The trees seemed attitudinizing to one
- another in a strange pantomime of their own.
- </p>
- <p>
- The village of Ballycruiskeen lay just beyond the romantic defile, so that
- occasionally the inhabitants failed to hear the sound of the Atlantic
- hoarsely roaring as it was being strangled in the narrow part of the
- lough. They were therefore sometimes merry with a merriment impossible to
- dwellers nearer the coast.
- </p>
- <p>
- It did not appear to their visitors that this was one of their merry
- nights. The natives were commanded by their good priest to be merry for
- “the quality,” under penalties with which they were well
- acquainted. But merriment under a penalty is no more successful than the
- smile which is manufactured in a photographer’s studio.
- </p>
- <p>
- Father Conn made the mistake of insisting on all the members of his flock
- washing their faces. They had washed all the picturesqueness out of them,
- Mr. Airey suggested.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Curragh of Ballycruiskeen was a somewhat wild moorland that became
- demoralized into a bog at one extremity. There was, however, a
- sufficiently settled portion to form a dancing green, and at one side of
- this patch the shocking incongruity of chairs—of a certain sort—and
- even a sofa—it was somewhat less certain—met the eyes of the
- visitors.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mind this, ye divils,” the priest was saying in an
- affectionate way to the members of his flock, as the party from the Castle
- approached. “Mind this, it’s dancing a new roof on the chapel
- that ye are. Every step ye take means a slate, so it does.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was clearly the peroration of the pastor’s speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- The speech of Mr. Phineas O’Flaherty, who was a sort of
- unceremonious master of the ceremonies, had been previously delivered,
- fortunately when the guests were out of hearing.
- </p>
- <p>
- At first the entertainment seemed to be a very mournful one. It was too
- like examination day at a village school to convey an idea of spontaneous
- mirth. The “quality” sat severely on the incongruous chairs—no
- one was brave enough to try the sofa—and some of the “quality”
- used double eye-glasses with handles, for the better inspection of the
- performers. This was chilling to the performers.
- </p>
- <p>
- In spite of the efforts of Father Conn and his stage manager, Mr. O’Flaherty,
- the members of the cast for the entertainment assumed a huddled appearance
- that did themselves great injustice. They declined to group themselves
- effectively, but suggested to Mr. Durdan—who was not silent on the
- subject—one of the illustrations to Foxe’s Book of Martyrs—a
- scene in which about a score of persons about to be martyred are shown to
- be awaiting, with an aspect of cheerful resignation that deceived no one,
- their “turn” at the hands of the executioner.
- </p>
- <p>
- The merry Irish jig had a depressing effect at first. The priest was
- well-meaning, but he had not the soul of an artist. When a man has devoted
- all his spare moments for several years to the repression of unseemly
- mirth, he is unwise to undertake, at a moment’s notice, the duties
- of stimulating such mirth. Under the priest’s eye the jig was robbed
- of its jiguity, so to speak. It was the jig of the dancing class.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. O’Flaherty threatened to scandalize Father Conn by a few
- exclamations about the display of fetlocks—the priest had so little
- experience of the “quality” that he fancied a suggestion of
- slang would be offensive to their ears. He did not know that the hero of
- the “quality” in England is the costermonger, and that a few
- years ago the hero was the cowboy. But Edmund Airey, perceiving with his
- accustomed shrewdness, how matters stood, managed to draw the priest away
- from the halfhearted exponents of the dance, and so questioned him on the
- statistics of the parish—for Father Conn was as hospitable with his
- statistics as he was with his whiskey punch upon occasions—that half
- an hour had passed before they returned together to the scene of the
- dance, the priest with a five-pound note of Mr. Airey’s pressed
- against his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Murder alive! what’s this at all at all?” cried Father
- Conn, becoming aware of the utterance of whoop after whoop by the dancers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s the jig they’re dancin’ at last, an’
- more power to thim!” cried Phineas O’Flaherty, clapping his
- hands and giving an encouraging whoop or two.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was right. The half dozen couples artistically dishevelled, and rapidly
- losing the baleful recollections of having been recently tidied up to meet
- the “quality”—rapidly losing every recollection of the
- critical gaze of the “quality”—of the power of speech
- possessed by the priest—of everything, clerical and lay, except the
- strains of the fiddle which occupied an intermediate position between
- things lay and clerical, being wholly demoniac—these half dozen
- couples were dancing the jig with a breadth and feeling that suggested the
- youth of the world and the reign of Bacchus.
- </p>
- <p>
- Black hair flowing in heavy flakes over shoulders unevenly bare—shapely
- arms flung over heads in an attitude of supreme self-abandonment—a
- passionate advance, a fervent retreat, then an exchange of musical cries
- like wild gasps for breath, and ever, ever, ever the demoniac music of the
- fiddle, and ever, ever, ever the flashing and flying from the ground like
- the feet of the winged Hermes—flashing and flashing with the
- moonlight over all, and the fantastic arms of the hill-side pines
- stretched out like the fringed arms of a grotesque Pierrot—this was
- the scene to which the priest returned with Edmund Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw up his hands and was about to rush upon the half-frenzied
- dancers, when Edmund grasped him by the arm, and pointed mutely to the
- attitude of the “quality.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail and her friends were no longer sitting frigidly on their
- chairs—the double eye-glasses were dropped, and those who had held
- them were actually joining in the whoops of the dancers. Her ladyship was
- actually clapping her hands in the style of encouragement adopted by Mr. O’Flaherty.
- </p>
- <p>
- The priest stood in the attitude in which he had been arrested by the
- artful Edmund Airey. His eyes and his mouth were open, and his right hand
- was pressed against the five-pound note that he had just received. There
- was a good deal of slate-purchasing potentialities in a five-pound note.
- If her ladyship and her guests were shocked—as the priest, never
- having heard of the skirt dance and its popularity in the drawing-room—believed
- they should be, they were not displaying their indignation in a usual way.
- They were almost as excited as the performers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Father Conn seated himself without a word of protest, in one of the chairs
- vacated by the Castle party. He felt that if her ladyship liked that form
- of entertainment, the chapel roof was safe. The amount of injury that
- would be done to the Foul Fiend by the complete re-roofing of the chapel
- should certainly be sufficient to counteract whatever sin might be
- involved in the wild orgy that was being carried on beneath the light of
- the moon. This was the consolation that the priest had as he heard whoop
- after whoop coming from the dancers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Six couples remained on the green dancing-space. The fiddler was a
- wizened, deformed man with small gleaming eyes. He stood on a stool and
- kept time with one foot. He increased the time of the dance so gradually
- as to lead the dancers imperceptibly on until, without being aware of it,
- they had reached a frenzied pitch that could not be maintained for many
- minutes. But still the six couples continued wildly dancing, the moonlight
- striking them aslant and sending six black quivering shadows far over the
- ground. Suddenly a man dropped out of the line and lay gasping on the
- grass. Then a girl flung herself with a cry into the arms of a woman who
- was standing among the onlookers. Faster still and faster went the
- grotesquely long arms of the dwarf fiddler—his shadow cast by the
- moonlight was full of horrible suggestions—and every now and again a
- falsetto whoop came from him, his teeth suddenly gleaming as his lips
- parted in uttering the cry.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two couples, who now remained facing one another, changing feet with a
- rapidity that caused them to appear constantly off the ground, were
- encouraged by the shouts and applause of their friends. The air was full
- of cries, in which the spectators from the Castle joined. Faster still the
- demoniac music went, every strident note being clearly heard above the
- shouts. But when one of the two couples staggered wildly and fell with
- outstretched arms upon the grass, the shriek of the fiddle sounded but
- faintly above the cries.
- </p>
- <p>
- The priest could restrain himself no longer. He sprang to his feet and
- kicked the stool from under the fiddler, sending the misshapen man
- sprawling in one direction and his instrument with an unearthly shriek in
- another.
- </p>
- <p>
- Silence followed that shriek. It lasted but a few seconds, however. The
- figure of a man—a stranger—appeared running across the open
- space between the village and the Curragh, where the dance was being held.
- </p>
- <p>
- He held up his right hand in so significant a way, that the priest’s
- foot was arrested in the act of implanting another kick upon the stool,
- and the fiddler sat up on the ground and forgot to look for his instrument
- through surprise at the apparition.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s dancin’ at the brink of the grave, ye are,”
- gasped the man, as he approached the group that had become suddenly
- congested in anticipation of the priest’s wrath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, it’s only Brian the boatman, after all,” said Lady
- Innisfail. “Great heavens! I had such a curious thought as he
- appeared. Oh, that dancing! He did not seem to be a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is no doubt part of the prehistoric rite,” said Mr.
- Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How simply lovely!” cried Miss Stafford.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In God’s name, man, tell us what you mean,” said the
- priest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s herself,” gasped Brian. “It’s the one
- that’s nameless. Her wail is heard over all the lough—I heard
- it with my ears and hurried here for your reverence. Don’t we know
- that she never cries except for a death?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He means the Banshee,” said Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The people, I’ve heard, think it unlucky to utter her name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So lovely! Just like savages!” said Miss Stafford.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say the whole thing is only part of the ceremony of the
- Cruiskeen,” said Mr. Durdan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brian O’Donal,” said the priest; “have you come
- here to try and terrify the country side with your romancin’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the sacred Powers, your reverence, I heard the cry of her
- myself, as I came by the bend of the lough. If it’s not the truth
- that I’m after speaking, may I be the one that she’s come for.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doesn’t he play the part splendidly?” said Lady
- Innisfail. “I’d almost think that he was in earnest. Look how
- the people are crossing themselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Stafford looked at them through her double eye-glasses with the long
- handle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How lovely!” she murmured. “The Cruiskeen is the
- Oberammergau of Connaught.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God forgive us all for this night!” said the priest. “Sure,
- didn’t I think that the good that would come of getting on the
- chapel roof would cover the shame of this night! Go to your cabins, my
- children. You were not to blame. It was me and me only. My Lady”—he
- turned to the Innisfail party—“this entertainment is over. God
- knows I meant it for the best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But we haven’t yet heard the harper,” cried Lady
- Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the native bards,” said Miss Stafford. “I should so
- much like to hear a bard. I might even recite a native poem under his
- tuition.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Stafford saw a great future for native Irish poetry in English
- drawing-rooms. It might be the success of a season.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The entertainment’s over,” said the priest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s that romancer Brian, that’s done it all,”
- cried Phineas O’Flaherty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. O’Flaherty, if it’s not the truth may I—oh,
- didn’t I hear her voice, like the wail of a girl in distress?”
- cried Brian.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like what?” said Mr. Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you don’t believe anything—we all know that, sir,”
- said Brian.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A girl in distress—I believe in that, at any rate,”
- said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now!” said Miss Stafford, “don’t you think that I
- might recite something to these poor people?” She turned to Lady
- Innisfail. “Poor people! They may never have heard a real recitation—‘The
- Dove Cote,’ ‘Peter’s Blue Bell’—something
- simple.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a movement among her group.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The sooner we get back to the Castle the better it will be for all
- of us,” said Lady Innisfail. “Yes, Father Constantine, we
- distinctly looked for a native bard, and we are greatly disappointed. Who
- ever heard of a genuine Cruiskeen without a native bard? Why, the thing’s
- absurd!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A Connaught Oberammergau without a native bard! <i>Oh, Padre mio—Padre
- mio!</i>” said Miss Stafford, daintily shaking her double
- eye-glasses at the priest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My lady,” said he, “you heard what the man said. How
- would it be possible for us to continue this scene while that warning
- voice is in the air?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you give us a chance of hearing the warning voice, we’ll
- forgive you everything, and say that the Cruiskeen is a great success,”
- cried Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If your ladyship takes the short way to the bend of the lough you
- may still hear her,” said Brian.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God forbid,” said the priest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take us there, and if we hear her, I’ll give you half a
- sovereign,” cried her ladyship, enthusiastically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If harm comes of it don’t blame me,” said Brian.
- “Step out this way, my lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We may still be repaid for our trouble in coming so far,”
- said one of the party. “If we do actually hear the Banshee, I, for
- one, will feel more than satisfied.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Stafford, as she hurried away with the party led by Brian, wondered
- if it might not be possible to find a market for a Banshee’s cry in
- a London drawing-room. A new emotion was, she understood, eagerly awaited.
- The serpentine dance and the costermonger’s lyre had waned. It was
- extremely unlikely that they should survive another season. If she were to
- be first in the field with the Banshee’s cry, introduced with a few
- dainty steps of the jig incidental to a poem with a refrain of “Asthore”
- or “Mavourneen,” she might yet make a name for herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV.—ON THE SHRIEK.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N a space of time
- that was very brief, owing to the resolution with which Lady Innisfail
- declined to accept the suggestion of short cuts by Brian, the whole party
- found themselves standing breathless at the beginning of the line of
- cliffs. A mist saturated with moonlight had drifted into the lough from
- the Atlantic. It billowed below their eyes along the surface of the water,
- and crawled along the seared faces of the cliffs, but no cold fingers of
- the many-fingered mist clasped the higher ridges. The sound of the
- crashing of the unseen waves about the bases of the cliffs filled the air,
- but there was no other sound.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Impostor!” said Edmund Airy, turning upon Brian. “You
- heard no White Lady to-night. You have jeopardized our physical and your
- spiritual health by your falsehood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall get no half sovereign from me,” said Lady
- Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it me that’s accountable for her coming and going?”
- cried Brian, with as much indignation as he could afford. Even an Irishman
- cannot afford the luxury of being indignant with people who are in the
- habit of paying him well, and an Irishman is ready to sacrifice much to
- sentiment. “It’s glad we should all be this night not to hear
- the voice of herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail looked at him. She could afford to be indignant, and she
- meant to express her indignation; but when it came to the point she found
- that it was too profound to be susceptible of expression.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come away,” she said, after looking severely at Brian for
- nearly a minute.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Lady Innisfail,” said Mr. Durdan, “I know that you
- feel indignant, fancying that we have been disappointed. Pray do not let
- such an idea have weight with you for a moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, no,” said Miss Stafford, who liked speaking in public
- quite as well as Mr. Durdan. “Oh, no, no; you have done your best,
- dear Lady Innisfail. The dance was lovely; and though, of course, we
- should have liked to hear a native bard or two, as well as the Banshee—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yet bards and Banshees we know to be beyond human control,”
- said Mr. Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We know that if it rested with you, we should hear the Banshee
- every night,” said Mr. Durdan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we all know your kindness of heart, dear Lady Innisfail,”
- resumed Miss Stafford.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed you should hear it, and the bard as well,” cried Lady
- Innisfail. “But as Mr. Airey says—and he knows all about bard
- and Banshees and such like things Great heaven! We are not disappointed
- after all, thank heaven!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail’s exclamation was uttered after there floated to the
- cliffs where she and her friends were standing, from the rolling white
- mist that lay below, the sound of a long wail. It was repeated, only
- fainter, when she had uttered her thanksgiving, and it was followed by a
- more robust shout.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn’t it lovely?” whispered Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t like it,” said Miss Stafford, with a shudder.
- “Let us go away—oh, let us go away at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Stafford liked simulated horrors only. The uncanny in verse was dear
- to her; but when, for the first time, she was brought face to face with
- what would have formed the subject of a thrilling romance with a
- suggestion of the supernatural, she shuddered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush,” said Lady Innisfail; “if we remain quiet we may
- hear it again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t want to hear it again,” cried Miss Stafford.
- “Look at the man. He knows all about it. He is one of the natives.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pointed to Brian, who was on his knees on the rock muttering petitions
- for the protection of all the party.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew, however, that his half sovereign was safe, whatever might happen.
- Miss Stafford’s remark was reasonable. Brian should know all about
- the Banshee and its potentialities of mischief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get up, you fool!” said Edmund Airey, catching the native by
- the shoulder. “Don’t you know as well as I do that a boat with
- someone aboard is adrift in the mist?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I know that you don’t believe in anything.” said
- Brian.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe in your unlimited laziness and superstition,” said
- Edmund. “I’m very sorry, my dear Lady Innisfail, to interfere
- with your entertainment, but it’s perfectly clear to me that someone
- is in distress at the foot of the cliffs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can you be so horrid—so commonplace?” said Lady
- Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is one of the modern iconoclasts,” said another of the
- group. “He would fling down our most cherished beliefs. He told me
- that he considered Madame Blavatsky a swindler.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Mr. Airey,” said Miss Stafford, who was becoming less
- timid as the wail from the sea had not been repeated. “Dear Mr.
- Airey, let us entreat of you to leave us our Banshee whatever you may take
- from us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are some things in heaven and earth that refuse to be
- governed by a phrase,” sneered Mr. Durdan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mules and the members of the Opposition are among them,” said
- Edmund, preparing to descend the cliffs by the zig-zag track.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had scarcely disappeared in the mist when there was a shriek from Miss
- Stafford, and pointing down the track with a gesture, which for
- expressiveness, she had never surpassed in the most powerful of her
- recitations, she flung herself into Lady Innisfail’s arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens!” cried Lady Innisfail. “It is the White
- Lady herself’!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’re all lost, and the half sovereign’s nothing here
- or there,” said Brian, in a tone of complete resignation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Out of the mist there seemed to float a white figure of a girl. She stood
- for some moments with the faint mist around her, and while the group on
- the cliff watched her—some of them found it necessary to cling
- together—another white figure floated through the mist to the side
- of the first, and then came another figure—that of a man—only
- he did not float.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish you would not cling quite so close to me, my dear; I can’t
- see anything of what’s going on,” said Lady Innisfail to Miss
- Stafford, whose head was certainly an inconvenience to Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a sudden, determined movement she shifted the head from her bosom to
- her shoulder, and the instant that this feat was accomplished she cried
- out, “Helen Craven!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Helen Craven?” said Miss Stafford, recovering the use of her
- head in a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it’s Helen Craven or her ghost that’s standing
- there,” said Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Harold Wynne is with her. Are you there, Wynne?” sang out
- Mr. Durdan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hallo?” came the voice of Harold from below. “Who is
- there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, we’re all here,” cried Edmund, emerging from the
- mist at his side. “How on earth did you get here?—and Miss
- Craven—and—he looked at the third figure—he had never
- seen the third figure before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it’s a long story,” laughed Harold. “Will you
- give a hand to Miss Craven?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Airey said it would please him greatly to do so, and by his kindly aid
- Miss Craven was, in the course of a few minutes, placed by the side of
- Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- She took the place just vacated by Miss Stafford on Lady Innisfail’s
- bosom, and was even more embarrassing to Lady Innisfail than the other had
- been. Helen Craven was heavier, to start with.
- </p>
- <p>
- But it was rather by reason of her earnest desire to see the strange face,
- that Lady Innisfail found Helen’s head greatly in her way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lady Innisfail, when Miss Craven is quite finished with you, I
- shall present to you Miss Avon,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should be delighted,” said Lady Innisfail. “Dearest
- Helen, can you not spare me for a moment?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen raised her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was then that everyone perceived how great was the devastation done by
- the mist to the graceful little curled fringes of her forehead. Her hair
- was lank, showing that she had as massive a brow as Miss Stafford’s,
- if she wished to display it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is a great pleasure to me to meet you, Miss Avon; I’m sure
- that I have often heard of you from Mr. Wynne and—oh, yes, many
- other people,” said Lady Innisfail. “But just now—well,
- you can understand that we are all bewildered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we are all bewildered,” said Miss Avon. “You see,
- we heard the cry of the White Lady—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” said Harold; “we heard it too. The White
- Lady was Miss Craven. She was in one of the boats, and the mist coming on
- so suddenly, she could not find her way back to the landing place. Luckily
- we were able to take her boat in tow before it got knocked to pieces. I
- hope Miss Craven did not over-exert herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope not,” said Lady Innisfail. “What on earth
- induced you to go out in a boat alone, Helen—and suffering from so
- severe a headache into the bargain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I felt confident that the cool air would do me good,” said
- Miss Craven. somewhat dolefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail looked at her in silence for some moments, then she
- laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- No one else seemed to perceive any reason for laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail then turned her eyes upon Miss Avon. The result of her
- observation was precisely the same as the result of Harold’s first
- sight of that face had been. Lady Innisfail felt that she had never seen
- so beautiful a girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Lady Innisfail laughed again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Finally she looked at Harold and laughed for the third time. The space of
- a minute nearly was occupied by her observations and her laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that on the whole we should hasten on to the Castle,”
- said she at length. “Miss Craven is pretty certain to be fatigued—we
- are, at any rate. Of course you will come with us, Miss Avon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The group on the cliff ceased to be a group when she had spoken; but Miss
- Avon did not move with the others. Harold also remained by her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know what I should do,” said Miss Avon. “The
- boat is at the foot of the cliff.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be impossible for you to find your course so long as the
- mist continues,” said Harold. “Miss Avon and her father—he
- is an old friend of mine—we breakfasted together at my college—are
- living in the White House—you may have heard its name—on the
- opposite shore—only a mile by sea, but six by land,” he added,
- turning to Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Returning to-night is out of the question,” said Lady
- Innisfail. “You must come with us to the Castle for to-night. I
- shall explain all to your father to-morrow, if any explanation is needed.”
- Miss Avon shook her head, and murmured a recognition of Lady Innisfail’s
- kindness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is Brian,” said Harold. “He will confront your
- father in the morning with the whole story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, with the whole story,” said Lady Innisfail, with an
- amusing emphasis on the words. “I already owe Brian half a
- sovereign.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Brian will carry the message all for love,” cried the
- girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail did her best to imitate the captivating freshness of the
- girl’s words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All for love—all for love!” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold smiled. He remembered having had brought under his notice a toy
- nightingale that imitated the song of the nightingale so closely that the
- Jew dealer, who wanted to sell the thing, declared that no one on earth
- could tell the difference between the two.
- </p>
- <p>
- The volubility of Brian in declaring that he would do anything out of love
- for Miss Avon was amazing. He went down the cliff face to bring the boats
- round to the regular moorings, promising to be at the Castle in half an
- hour to receive Miss Avon’s letter to be put into her father’s
- hand at his hour of rising.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the time Miss Avon and Harold had walked to the Castle with Lady
- Innisfail, they had acquainted her with a few of the incidents of the
- evening—how they also had been caught by the mist while in their
- boat, and had with considerable trouble succeeded in reaching the craft in
- which Miss Craven was helplessly drifting. They had heard Miss Craven’s
- cry for help, they said, and Harold had replied to it. But still they had
- some trouble picking up her boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail heard all the story, and ventured to assert that all was
- well that ended well.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And this is the end,” she cried, as she pointed to the
- shining hall seen through the open doors.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, this is the end of all—a pleasant end to the story,”
- said the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold followed them as they entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered if this was the end of the story, or only the beginning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI.—ON THE VALUE OF A BAD CHARACTER.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was said by some
- people that the judge, during his vacation, had solved the problem set by
- the philosopher to his horse. He had learned to live on a straw a day,
- only there was something perpetually at the end of his straw—something
- with a preposterous American name in a tumbler to match.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had the tumbler and the straw on a small table by his side while he
- watched, with great unsteadiness, the strokes of the billiard players.
- </p>
- <p>
- From an hour after dinner he was in a condition of perpetual dozing. This
- was his condition also from an hour after the opening of a case in court,
- which required the closest attention to enable even the most delicately
- appreciative mind to grasp even its simplest elements.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had, he said, been the most widely awake of counsel for thirty years,
- so that he rather thought he was entitled to a few years dozing as a
- judge.
- </p>
- <p>
- Other people—they were his admirers—said that his dozing
- represented an alertness far beyond that of the most conscientiously
- wakeful and watchful of the judicial establishment in England.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is easy to resemble Homer—in nodding—and in this special
- Homeric quality the judge excelled; but it was generally understood that
- it would not be wise to count upon his nodding himself into a condition of
- unobservance. He had already delivered judgment on the character of the
- fine cannons of one of the players in the hall, and upon the hazards of
- the other. He had declined to mark the game, however, and he had thereby
- shown his knowledge of human nature. There had already been four disputes
- as to the accuracy of the marking. (It was being done by a younger man).
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can a man expect to make his favourite break after some hours
- on a diabolical Irish jaunting car?” one of the players was asking,
- as he bent over the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- The words were uttered at the moment of Harold’s entrance, close
- behind Lady Innisfail and Miss Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hearing the words he stood motionless before he had taken half-a-dozen
- steps into the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail also stopped at the same instant, and looked over her
- shoulder at Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the silence there came the little click of the billiard balls.
- </p>
- <p>
- The speaker gave the instinctive twist of the practised billiard player
- toward the pocket that he wished the ball to approach. Then he took a
- breath and straightened himself in a way that would have made any close
- observer aware of the fact that he was no longer a young man.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was, however, more than a suggestion of juvenility in his manner of
- greeting Lady Innisfail. He was as effusive as is consistent with the
- modern spirit of indifference to the claims of hostesses and all other
- persons.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not so effusive when he turned to Harold; but that was only to be
- expected, because Harold was his son.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, my boy,” said Lord Fotheringay, “I didn’t
- fancy that you would expect to see me here to-night—I feel surprised
- to find myself here. It seems like a dream to me—a charming
- dream-vista with Lady Innisfail at the end of the vista. Innisfail always
- ruins his chances of winning a game by attempting a screw back into the
- pocket. He leaves everything on. You’ll see what my game is now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He chalked his cue and bent over the table once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold watched him make the stroke. “You’ll see what my game
- is,” said Lord Fotheringay, as he settled himself down to a long
- break.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold questioned it greatly. His father’s games were rarely
- transparent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What on earth can have brought him?—oh, he takes one’s
- breath away,” whispered Lady Innisfail to Harold, with a pretty fair
- imitation of a smile lingering about some parts of her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold shook his head. There was not even the imitation of a smile about
- his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail gave a laugh, and turned quickly to Miss Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My husband will be delighted to meet you, my dear,” said she.
- “He is certain to know your father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold watched Lord Innisfail shaking hands with Miss Avon at the side of
- the billiard table, while his father bent down to make another stroke.
- When the stroke was played he saw his father straighten himself and look
- toward Miss Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- The look was a long one and an interested one. Then the girl disappeared
- with Lady Innisfail, and the look that Lord Fotheringay cast at his son
- was a short one, but it was quite as intelligible to that soft as the long
- look at Miss Avon had been to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold went slowly and in a singularly contemplative mood to his bedroom,
- whence he emerged in a space, wearing a smoking-jacket and carrying a pipe
- and tobacco pouch.
- </p>
- <p>
- The smoking-jackets that glowed through the hall towards the last hour of
- the day at Castle Innisfail were a dream of beauty.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail had given orders to have a variety of sandwiches and other
- delicacies brought to the hall for those of her guests who had attended
- the festivities at Ballycruiskeen; and when Harold found his way
- downstairs, he perceived in a moment that only a few of the feeble ones of
- the house-party—the fishermen who had touches of rheumatism and the
- young women who cherished their complexions—were absent from the
- hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- He also noticed that his father was seated by the side of Beatrice Avon
- and that he was succeeding in making himself interesting to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew that his father generally succeeded in making himself interesting
- to women.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another part of the hall Lady Innisfail was succeeding in making
- herself interesting to some of the men. She also was accustomed to meet
- with success in this direction. She was describing to such as had
- contrived to escape the walk to Ballycruiskeen, the inexhaustibly romantic
- charm of the scene on the Curragh while the natives were dancing, and the
- descriptions certainly were not deficient in colour.
- </p>
- <p>
- The men listened to her with such an aspect of being enthralled, she felt
- certain that they were full of regret that they had failed to witness the
- dance. It so happened, however, that the result of her account of the
- scene was to lead those of her audience who had remained at the Castle, to
- congratulate themselves upon a lucky escape.
- </p>
- <p>
- And all this time, Harold noticed that his father was making himself
- interesting to Beatrice Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- The best way for any man to make himself interesting to a woman is to show
- himself interested in her. He knew that his father was well aware of this
- fact, and that he was getting Beatrice Avon to tell him all about herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when Lady Innisfail reached the final situation in her dramatic
- account of the dance, and hurried her listeners to the brink of the cliff—when
- she reproduced in a soprano that was still vibratory, the cry that had
- sounded through the mist—when she pointed to Miss Avon in telling of
- the white figure that had emerged from the mist—(Lady Innisfail did
- not think it necessary to allude to Helen Craven, who had gone to bed)—the
- auditors’ interest was real and not simulated. They looked at the
- white figure as Lady Innisfail pointed to her, and their interest was
- genuine.
- </p>
- <p>
- They could at least appreciate this element of the evening’s
- entertainment, and as they glanced at Harold, who was eating a number of
- sandwiches in a self-satisfied way, they thought that they might safely
- assume that he was the luckiest of the <i>dramatis personae</i> of the
- comedy—or was it a tragedy?—described by Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- And all this time Harold was noticing that his father, by increasing his
- interest in Beatrice, was making himself additionally interesting to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the judge had also—at the intervals between his Homeric nods—been
- noticing the living things around him. He put aside his glass and its
- straw—he had been toying with it all the evening, though the liquid
- that mounted by capillary attraction up the tube was something noisome,
- without a trace of alcohol—and seated himself on the other side of
- the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- He assured her that he had known her father. Lord Fotheringay did not
- believe him; but this was not to the point, and he knew it. What was to
- the point was the fact that the judge understood the elements of the art
- of interesting a girl almost as fully as Lord Fotheringay did, without
- having quite made it the serious business of his life. The result was that
- Miss Avon was soon telling the judge all about herself—this was what
- the judge professed to be the most anxious to hear—and Lord
- Fotheringay lit a cigar.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt somewhat bitterly on the subject of the judge’s intrusion.
- But the feeling did not last for long. He reflected upon the circumstance
- that Miss Avon could never have heard that he himself was a very wicked
- man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew that the interest that attaches to a man with a reputation for
- being very wicked is such as need fear no rival. He felt that should his
- power to interest a young woman ever be jeopardized, he could still fall
- back upon his bad character and be certain to attract her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII.—ON PROVIDENCE AS A MATCH-MAKER.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>F course,”
- said Lady Innisfail to Edmund Airey the next day. “Of course, if
- Harold alone had rescued Helen from her danger last night, all would have
- been well. You know as well as I do that when a man rescues a young woman
- from a position of great danger, he can scarcely do less than ask her to
- marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” replied Edmund. “I really can’t see
- how, if he has any dramatic appreciation whatever, he could avoid asking
- her to marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is beyond a question,” said Lady Innisfail. “So that
- if Harold had been alone in the boat all would have been well. The fact of
- Miss Avon’s being also in the boat must, however, be faced. It
- complicates matters exceedingly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund shook his head gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that you would see the force of it,” resumed Lady
- Innisfail. “And then there is his father—his father must be
- taken into account.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It might be as well, though I know that Lord Fotheringay’s
- views are the same as yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure that they are; but why, then, does he come here to sit by
- the side of the other girl and interest her as he did last evening?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lord Fotheringay can never be otherwise than interesting, even to
- people who do not know how entirely devoid of scruple he is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I know all that; but why should he come here and sit
- beside so very pretty a girl as this Miss Avon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no accounting for tastes, Lady Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very stupid, Mr. Airey. What I mean is, why should Lord
- Fotheringay behave in such a way as must force his son’s attention
- to be turned in a direction that—that—in short, it should not
- be turned in? Heaven knows that I want to do the best for Harold—I
- like him so well that I could almost wish him to remain unmarried. But you
- know as well as I do, that it is absolutely necessary for him to marry a
- girl with a considerable amount of money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is as certain as anything can be. I gave him the best advice
- in my power on this subject, and he announced his intention of asking Miss
- Craven to marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But instead of asking her he strolled round the coast to that
- wretched cave, and there met, by accident, the other girl—oh, these
- other girls are always appearing on the scene at the wrong moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The world would go on beautifully if it were not for the Other
- Girl.” said Edmund. “If you think of it, there is not an event
- in history that has not turned upon the opportune or inopportune
- appearance of the Other Girl. Nothing worth speaking of has taken place,
- unless by the agency of the Other Girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet Lord Fotheringay comes here and sits by the side of this
- charming girl, and his son watches him making himself interesting to her
- as, alas! he can do but too easily. Mr. Airey, I should not be surprised
- if Harold were to ask Miss Avon to-day to marry him—I should not,
- indeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I think you take too pessimistic a view of the matter
- altogether, Lady Innisfail. Anyhow, I don’t see that we can do more
- than we have already done. I think I should feel greatly inclined to let
- Providence and Lord Fotheringay fight out the matter between them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like the archangel and the Other over the body of Moses?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, something like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Mr. Airey; I don’t believe in Providence as a
- match-maker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Airey gave a laugh. He wondered if it was possible that Harold had
- mentioned to her that he, Edmund, had expressed the belief that Providence
- as a match-maker had much to learn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t see how we can interfere,” said he. “I
- like Harold Wynne greatly. He means to do something in the world, and I
- believe he will do it. He affords a convincing example of the collapse of
- heredity as a principle. I like him if only for that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail looked at him in silence for a few moments.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, slowly. “Harold does seem to differ
- greatly from his father. I wonder if it is the decree of Providence that
- has kept him without money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you suggest that the absence of money—?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; I suggest nothing. If a man must be wicked he’ll be
- wicked without money almost as readily as with it. Only I wonder, if
- Harold had come in for the title and the property—such as it was—at
- the same age as his father was when he inherited all, would he be so ready
- as you say he is to do useful work on the side of the government of his
- country?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a question for the philosophers,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- In this unsatisfactory way the conversation between Lady Innisfail and Mr.
- Airey on the morning after Lord Fotheringay’s arrival at the Castle,
- came to an end. No conversation that ends in referring the question under
- consideration to the philosophers, can by any possibility be thought
- satisfactory. But the conversation could not well be continued when Miss
- Craven, by the side of Miss Avon, was seen to be approaching.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey turned his eyes upon the two girls, then they rested upon the
- face of Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she came closer his glance rested upon the eyes of Beatrice. The result
- of his observation was to convince him that he had never before seen such
- beautiful eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were certainly gray; and they were as full of expression as gray eyes
- can be. They were large, and to look into them seemed like looking into
- the transparent depths of an unfathomed sea—into the transparent
- heights of an inexhaustible heaven.
- </p>
- <p>
- A glimpse of heaven suggests the bliss of the beatified. A glimpse of the
- ocean suggests shipwreck.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew this perfectly well as he looked at her eyes; but only for an
- instant did it occur to him that they conveyed some message to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he had time to think whether the message promised the bliss of the
- dwellers in the highest heaven, or the disaster of those who go down into
- the depths of the deepest sea, he was inquiring from Helen Craven if the
- chill of which she had complained on the previous night, had developed
- into a cold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven assured him that, so far from experiencing any ill effects
- from her adventure, she had never felt better in all her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But had it not been for Miss Avon’s hearing my cries of
- despair, goodness knows where I should have been in another ten minutes,”
- she added, putting her arm round Miss Avon’s waist, and looking, as
- Edmund had done, into the mysterious depths of Miss Avon’s gray
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense!” said Miss Avon. “To tell you the plain
- truth, I did not hear your cries. It was Mr. Wynne who said he heard the
- White Lady wailing for her lover.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How could he translate the cry so accurately?” said Edmund.
- “Do you suppose that he had heard the Banshee’s cry at the
- same place?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He kept his eyes upon Miss Avon’s face, and he saw in a moment that
- she was wondering how much he knew of the movements of Harold Wynne during
- the previous two nights.
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen Craven looked at him also pretty narrowly. She was wondering if he
- had told anyone that he had suggested to her the possibility of Harold’s
- being in the neighbourhood of the Banshee’s Cave during the previous
- evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- Both girls laughed in another moment, and then Edmund Airey laughed also—in
- a sort of way. Lady Innisfail was the last to join in the laugh. But what
- she laughed at was the way in which Edmund had laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- And while this group of four were upon the northern terrace, Harold was
- seated the side of his father on one of the chairs that faced the south.
- Lord Fotheringay was partial to a southern aspect. His life might be said
- to be a life of southern aspects. He meant that it should never be out of
- the sun, not because some of the incidents that seemed to him to make life
- worth preserving were such as could best stand the searching light of the
- sun, but simply because his was the nature of the butterfly. He was a
- butterfly of fifty-seven—a butterfly that found it necessary to
- touch up with artificial powders the ravages of years upon the delicate,
- downy bloom of youth—a butterfly whose wings had now and again been
- singed by contact with a harmful flame—whose still shapely body was
- now and again bent with rheumatism. Surely the rheumatic butterfly is the
- most wretched of insects!
- </p>
- <p>
- He had fluttered away from a fresh singeing, he was assuring his son. Yes,
- he had scarcely strength left in his wings to carry him out of the sphere
- of influence of the flame. He had, he said in a mournful tone, been very
- badly treated. She had treated him very badly. The Italian nature was
- essentially false—he might have known it—and when an Italian
- nature is developed with a high soprano, very shrill in its upper
- register, the result was—well, the result was that the flame had
- singed the wings of the elderly insect who was Harold’s father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Talk of money!” he cried, with so sudden an expression of
- emotion that a few caked scraps of sickly, roseate powder fluttered from
- the crinkled lines of his forehead—Talk of money! It was not a
- matter of hundreds—he was quite prepared for that—but when the
- bill ran up to thousands—thousands—thousands—oh, the
- whole affair was sickening. (Harold cordially agreed with him, though he
- did not express himself to this effect). Was it not enough to shake one’s
- confidence in woman—in human nature—in human art (operatic)—in
- the world?
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, it was the Husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Husband, Lord Fotheringay was disposed to regard in pretty much the
- same light as Mr. Airey regarded the Other Girl. The Husband was not
- exactly the obstacle, but the inconvenience. He had a habit of turning up,
- and it appeared that in the latest of Lord Fotheringay’s experiences
- his turning up had been more than usually inopportune.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is why I followed so close upon the heels of my letter to you,”
- said the father. “The crash came in a moment—it was literally
- a crash too, now that I think upon it, for that hot-blooded ruffian, her
- husband, caught one corner of the table cloth—we were at supper—and
- swept everything that was on the table into a corner of the room. Yes, the
- bill is in my portmanteau. And she took his part. Heavens above! She
- actually took his part. I was the scoundrel—<i>briccone!</i>—the
- coarse Italian is still ringing in my ears. It was anything but a charming
- duetto. He sang a basso—her upper register was terribly shrill—I
- had never heard it more so. Artistically the scene was a failure; but I
- had to run for all that. Humiliating, is it not, to be overcome by
- something that would, if subjected to the recognized canons of criticism,
- be pronounced a failure? And he swore that he would follow me and have my
- life. Enough. You got my letter. Fortune is on your side, my boy. You
- saved her life last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whose life did I save?” asked the son. “Whose life?
- Heavens above! Have you been saving more than one life?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not more than one—a good deal less than one. Don’t let
- us get into a sentimental strain, pater. You are the chartered—ah,
- the chartered sentimentalist of the family. Don’t try and drag me
- into your strain. I’m not old enough. A man cannot pose as a
- sentimentalist nowadays until he is approaching sixty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really? Then I shall have to pause for a year or two still. Let us
- put that question aside for a moment. Should I be exceeding my privileges
- if I were to tell you that I am ruined?—Financially ruined, I mean,
- of course; thank heaven, I am physically as strong as I was—ah,
- three years ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You said something about my allowance, I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I did not I failed in my duty as a father, and I don’t
- often do that, my boy—thank God, I don’t often do that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Harold. “If the whole duty of a father is
- comprised in acquainting his son with the various reductions that he says
- he finds it necessary to make in his allowance, you are the most exemplary
- of fathers, pater.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is a suspicion of sarcasm—or what is worse, epigram in
- that phrase,” said the father. “Never mind, you cannot epigram
- away the stern fact that I have now barely a sufficient income to keep
- body and soul together. I wish you could.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So do I,” said Harold. “But yours is a <i>ménage à
- trois</i>. It is not merely body and soul with your but body, soul, and
- sentiment—it is the third element that is the expensive one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say you are right. Anyhow, I grieve for your position, my
- boy. If it had pleased Heaven to make me a rich man, I would see that your
- allowance was a handsome one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But since it has pleased the other Power to make you a poor one—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must marry Miss Craven—that’s the end of the whole
- matter, and an end that most people would be disposed to regard as a very
- happy one, too. She is a virtuous young woman, and what is better, she
- dresses extremely well. What is best of all, she has several thousands a
- year.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a suggestion of the eighteenth century phraseology in Lord
- Fotheringay’s speech, that made him seem at least a hundred years
- old. Surely people did not turn up their eyes and talk of virtue since the
- eighteenth century, Harold thought. The word had gone out. There was no
- more need for it. The quality is taken for granted in the nineteenth
- century.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a trifle over-vehement,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I ever refused to ask Miss Craven to marry me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you ever asked her—that’s the matter before us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never. But what does that mean? Why, simply that I have before me
- instead of behind me a most interesting quarter of an hour—I suppose
- a penniless man can ask a wealthy woman inside a quarter of an hour, to
- marry him. The proposition doesn’t take longer in such a case than
- an honourable one would.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are speaking in a way that is not becoming in a son addressing
- his father,” said Lord Fotheringay. “You almost make me
- ashamed of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have had no reason to be ashamed of me yet,” said Harold.
- “So long as I refrain from doing what you command me to do, I give
- you no cause to be ashamed of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a pretty thing for a son to say,” cried the father,
- indignantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For heaven’s sake don’t let us begin a family broil
- under the windows of a house where we are guests,” said the son,
- rising quickly from the chair. “We are on the border of a genuine
- family bickering. For God’s sake let us stop in time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not come here to bicker,” said the father. “Heavens
- above! Am I not entitled to some show of gratitude at least for having
- come more than a thousand miles—a hundred of them in an Irish train
- and ten of them on an Irish jolting car—simply to see that you are
- comfortably settled for life?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said the son, “I suppose I should feel grateful
- to you for coming so far to tell me that you are ruined and that I am a
- partner in your ruin.” He had not seated himself, and now he turned
- his back upon his father and walked round to the west side of the Castle
- where some of the girls were strolling. They were waiting to see how the
- day would develop—if they should put on oilskins and sou’westers
- or gauzes and gossamer—the weather on the confines of the ocean
- knows only the extremes of winter or summer.
- </p>
- <p>
- The furthest of the watchers were, he perceived, Edmund Airey and Miss
- Avon. He walked toward them, and pronounced in a somewhat irresponsible
- way an opinion upon the weather.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before the topic had been adequately discussed, Mr. Durdan and another man
- came up to remind Mr. Airey that he had given them his word to be of their
- party in the fishing boat, where they were accustomed to study the Irish
- question for some hours daily.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Airey protested that his promise had been wholly a conditional one. It
- had not been made on the assumption that the lough should be moaning like
- a Wagnerian trombone, and it could not be denied that such notes were
- being produced by the great rollers beneath the influence of a westerly
- wind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold gave a little shrug to suggest to Beatrice that the matter was not
- one that concerned her or himself in the least, and that it might be as
- well if Mr. Airey and his friends were left to discuss it by themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- The shrug scarcely suggested all that he meant it to suggest, but in the
- course of a minute he was by the side of the girl a dozen yards away from
- the three men.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if you chanced to tell Mr. Airey of the queer way you and
- I met,” she said in a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How could I have told any human being of that incident?” he
- cried. “Why do you ask me such a question?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He knows all about it—so much is certain,” said she.
- “Oh, yes, he gave me to understand so much—not with brutal
- directness, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I should say not—brutal directness is not in his line,”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the result is just the same as if he had been as direct as—as
- a girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As a girl?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. He said something about Miss Craven’s voice having
- suggested something supernatural to Brian, and then he asked me all at
- once if there had been any mist on the previous evening when I had rowed
- across the lough. Now I should like to know how he guessed that I had
- crossed the lough on the previous night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is clever—diabolically clever,” said Harold after a
- pause. “He was with Miss Craven in the hall—they had been
- dancing—when I returned—I noticed the way he looked at me. Was
- there anything in my face to tell him that—that I had met you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at his face and laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your face,” she said. “Your face—what could there
- have been apparent on your face for Mr. Airey to read?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What—what?” his voice was low. He was now looking into
- her gray eyes. “What was there upon my face? I cannot tell. Was it a
- sense of doom? God knows. Now that I look upon your face—even now I
- cannot tell whether I feel the peace of God which passes understanding, or
- the doom of those who go down to the sea and are lost.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not like to hear you speak in that way,” said she.
- “It would be better for me to die than to mean anything except what
- is peaceful and comforting to all of God’s creatures.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be better for you to die,” said he. He took his eyes
- away from hers. They stood side by side in silence for some moments,
- before he turned suddenly to her and said in quite a different strain.
- “I shall row you across the lough when you are ready. Will you go
- after lunch?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think that I shall be going quite so soon,”
- said she. “The fact is that Lady Innisfail was good enough to send
- Brian with another letter to my father—a letter from herself, asking
- my father to come to the Castle for a day or two, but, whether he comes or
- not, to allow me to remain for some days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again some moments passed before Harold spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to promise to let me know where you go when you leave
- Ireland,” said he. “I don’t want to lose sight of you.
- The world is large. I wandered about in it for nearly thirty years before
- meeting you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent. It seemed as if she was considering whether or not his
- last sentence should be regarded as a positive proof of the magnitude of
- the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- She appeared to come to the conclusion that it would be unwise to discuss
- the question—after all, it was only a question of statistics.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you wish it,” said she, “I shall let you know our
- next halting-place. I fancy that my poor father is less enthusiastic than
- he was some years ago on the subject of Irish patriotism. At any rate, I
- think that he has worked out all the battles fought in this region.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only let me know where you go,” said he. “I do not want
- to lose sight of you. What did you say just now—peace and comfort to
- God’s creatures? No, I do not want to lose sight of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII.—ON THE PROFESSIONAL MORALIST.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE people—Edmund
- Airey was one of them—who were accustomed to point to Harold Wynne
- as an example of the insecurity of formulating any definite theory of
- heredity, had no chance of being made aware of the nature of the
- conversations in which he had taken part, or they might not have been
- quite so ready to question the truth of that theory.
- </p>
- <p>
- His father had made it plain to him, both by letter and word of mouth,
- that the proper course for him to pursue was one that involved asking
- Helen Craven to marry him—the adoption of any other course, even a
- prosaic one, would practically mean ruin to him; and yet he had gone
- straight from the side of his father, not to the side of Miss Craven, but
- to the side of Miss Avon. And not only had he done this, but he had looked
- into the gray eyes of Beatrice when he should have been gazing with ardour—or
- simulated ardour—into the rather lustreless orbs of Helen.
- </p>
- <p>
- To do precisely the thing which he ought not to have done was certainly a
- trait which he had inherited from his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he had not merely looked into the eyes of the one girl when he should
- have been looking into those of the other girl, he had spoken into her
- ears such words as would, if spoken into the ears of the other girl, have
- made her happy. The chances were that the words which he had spoken would
- lead to unhappiness. To speak such words had been his father’s
- weakness all his life, so that it seemed that Harold had inherited this
- weakness also.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps for a moment or two, after Edmund Airey had sauntered up, having
- got the better of the argument with Mr. Durdan—he flattered himself
- that he had invariably got the better of him in the House of Commons—Harold
- felt that he was as rebellious against the excellent counsels of his
- father as his father had ever been against the excellent precepts which
- society has laid down for its own protection. He knew that the
- circumstance of his father’s having never accepted the good advice
- which had been offered to him as freely as advice, good and bad, is
- usually offered to people who are almost certain not to follow it, did not
- diminish from the wisdom of the course which his father had urged upon him
- to pursue. He had acknowledged to Edmund Airey some days before, that the
- substance of the advice was good, and had expressed his intention of
- following it—nay, he felt even when he had walked straight from his
- father’s side to indulge in that earnest look into the eyes of
- Beatrice, that it was almost inevitable that he should take the advice of
- his father; for however distasteful it may be, the advice of a father is
- sometimes acted on by a son. But still the act of rebellion had been
- pleasant to him—as pleasant to him as his father’s acts of the
- same character had been to his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- And all this time Helen Craven was making her usual elaborate preparations
- for finishing her sketch of some local scene, and everyone knew that she
- could not seek that scene unless accompanied by someone to carry her
- umbrella and stool.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay perceived this in a moment from his seat facing the
- south. He saw that Providence was on the side of art, so to speak—assuming
- that a water-colour sketch of a natural landscape by an amateur is art,
- and assuming that Providence meant simply an opportunity for his son to
- ask Miss Craven to marry him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay saw how Miss Craven lingered with her colour-box in one
- hand and her stool in the other. What was she waiting for? He did not
- venture to think that she was waiting for Harold to saunter up and take
- possession of her apparatus, but he felt certain that if Harold were to
- saunter up, Miss Craven’s eyes would brighten—so far as such
- eyes as hers could brighten. His teeth met with a snap that threatened the
- gold springs when he saw some other man stroll up and express the hope
- that Miss Craven would permit him to carry her stool and umbrella, for her
- sketching umbrella was brought from the hall by a servant.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay’s indignation against his son was great afterwards.
- He made an excellent attempt to express to Edmund Airey what he felt on
- the subject of Harold’s conduct, and Edmund shook his head most
- sympathetically.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was to be done, Lord Fotheringay inquired. What was to be done in
- order to make Harold act in accordance with the dictates not merely of
- prudence but of necessity as well?
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Airey could not see that any positive action could be taken in order
- to compel Harold to adopt the course which every sensible person would
- admit was the right course—in fact the only course open to him under
- the circumstances. He added that only two days ago Harold had admitted
- that he meant to ask Miss Craven to marry him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavens above!” cried Lord Fotheringay. “He never
- admitted so much to me. Then what has occurred to change him within a few
- days?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In such a case as this it is as well not to ask <i>what</i> but <i>who</i>,”
- remarked Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay looked at him eagerly. “Who—who—you don’t
- mean another girl?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I not mean another girl?” said Edmund. “You
- may have some elementary acquaintance with woman, Lord Fotheringay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have—yes, elementary,” admitted Lord Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then surely you must have perceived that a man’s attention is
- turned away from one woman only by the appearance of another woman,”
- said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that—by heavens, that notion occurred to me the
- moment that I saw her. She is a lovely creature, Airey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘A gray eye or so!’ said Airey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A gray eye or so!” cried Lord Fotheringay, who had not given
- sufficient attention to the works of Shakespeare to recognize a quotation.
- “A gray—Oh, you were always a cold-blooded fellow. Such eyes,
- Airey, are so uncommon as—ah, the eyes are not to the point. They
- only lend colour to your belief that she is the other girl. Yes, that
- notion occurred to me the moment she entered the hall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that but for her inopportune appearance Harold would now
- be engaged to Miss Craven,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s not the shadow of a doubt about the matter,”
- cried Lord Fotheringay—both men seemed to regard Miss Craven’s
- acquiescence in the scheme which they had in their minds, as outside the
- discussion altogether. “Now what on earth did Lady Innisfail mean by
- asking a girl with such eyes to stay here? A girl with such eyes has no
- business appearing among people like us who have to settle our mundane
- affairs to the best advantage. Those eyes are a disturbing influence,
- Airey. They should never be seen while matters are in an unsettled
- condition. And Lady Innisfail professes to be Harold’s friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so she is,” said Edmund. “But the delight that Lady
- Innisfail finds in capturing a strange face—especially when that
- face is beautiful—overcomes all other considerations with her. That
- is why, although anxious—she was anxious yesterday, though that is
- not saying she is anxious today—to hear of Harold’s proposing
- to Miss Craven, yet she is much more anxious to see the effect produced by
- the appearance of Miss Avon among her guests.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And this is a Christian country!” said Lord Fotheringay
- solemnly, after a pause of considerable duration.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nominally,” said Mr. Airey,
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is society coming to, Airey, when a woman occupying the
- position of Lady Innisfail, does not hesitate to throw all considerations
- of friendship to the winds solely for the sake of a momentary sensation?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay was now so solemn that his words and his method of
- delivering them suggested the earnestness of an evangelist—zeal is
- always expected from an evangelist, though unbecoming in an ordained
- clergyman. He held one finger out and raised it and lowered it with the
- inflections of his voice with the skill of a professional moralist.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had scarcely spoken before Miss Avon, by the side of the judge and Miss
- Innisfail, appeared on the terrace.
- </p>
- <p>
- The judge—he said he had known her father—was beaming on her.
- Professing to know her father he probably considered sufficient
- justification for beaming on her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay and his companion watched the girl in silence until she
- and her companions had descended to the path leading to the cliffs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Airey,” said Lord Fotheringay at length. “Airey, that
- boy of mine must be prevented from making a fool of himself—he must
- be prevented from making a fool of that girl. I would not like to see such
- a girl as that—I think you said you noticed her eyes—made a
- fool of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be very sad,” said Edmund. “But what means do
- you propose to adopt to prevent the increase by two of the many fools
- already in the world?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean to marry the girl myself,” cried Lord Fotheringay,
- rising to his feet—not without some little difficulty, for
- rheumatism had for years been his greatest enemy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX.—ON MODERN SOCIETY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>DMUND AIREY had
- the most perfect command of his features under all circumstances. While
- the members of the Front Opposition Benches were endeavouring to sneer him
- into their lobby, upon the occasion of a division on some question on
- which it was rumoured he differed from the Government, he never moved a
- muscle. The flaunts and gibes may have stung him, but he had never yet
- given an indication of feeling the sting; so that if Lord Fotheringay
- looked for any of those twitches about the corners of Mr. Airey’s
- mouth, which the sudden announcement of his determination would possibly
- have brought around the mouth of an ordinary man, he must have had little
- experience of his companion’s powers.
- </p>
- <p>
- But that Lord Fotheringay felt on the whole greatly flattered by the
- impassiveness of Edmund Airey’s face after his announcement, Edmund
- Airey did not for a moment doubt. When a man of fifty-seven gravely
- announces his intention to another man of marrying a girl of, perhaps,
- twenty, and with eyes of remarkable lustre, and when the man takes such an
- announcement as the merest matter of course, the man who makes it has some
- reason for feeling flattered.
- </p>
- <p>
- The chances are, however, that he succeeds in proving to his own
- satisfaction that he has no reason for feeling flattered; for the man of
- fifty-seven who is fool enough to entertain the notion of marrying a girl
- of twenty with lustrous eyes, is certainly fool enough to believe that the
- announcement of his intention in this respect is in no way out of the
- common.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus, when, after a glance concentrated upon the corners of Edmund Airey’s
- mouth, Lord Fotheringay resumed his seat and began to give serious reasons
- for taking the step that he had declared himself ready to take—reasons
- beyond the mere natural desire to prevent Miss Avon from being made a fool
- of—he gave no indication of feeling in the least flattered by the
- impassiveness of the face of his companion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he explained to Mr. Airey, he had been so badly treated by the world
- that he had almost made up his mind to retire from the world—the
- exact words in which he expressed that resolution were “to let the
- world go to the devil in its own way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, as the belief was general that Lord Fotheringay’s presence in
- the world had materially accelerated its speed in the direction which he
- had indicated, the announcement of his intention to allow it to proceed
- without his assistance was not absurd.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he had been badly treated by the world, he said. The world was very
- wicked. He felt sad when he thought of the vast amount of wickedness there
- was in the world, and the small amount of it that he had already enjoyed.
- To be sure, it could not be said that he had quite lived the life of the
- ideal anchorite: he admitted—and smacked his lips as he did so—that
- he had now and again had a good time (Mr. Airey did not assume that the
- word “good” was to be accepted in its Sunday-school sense) but
- on the whole the result was disappointing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As saith the Preacher,” remarked Mr. Airey, when Lord
- Fotheringay paused and shook his head so that another little scrap of
- caked powder escaped from the depths of one of the wrinkles of his
- forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Preacher—what Preacher?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Preacher who cried <i>Vanitas Vanitatum</i>,” said
- Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He had gone on a tour with an Italian opera company,” said
- Lord Fotheringay, “and he had fallen foul of the basso. Airey, my
- boy, whatever you do, steer clear of a prima donna with a high soprano. It
- means thousands—thousands, and a precipitate flight at the last. You
- needn’t try a gift of paste—the finest productions of the
- Ormuz Gem Company—‘a Tiara for Thirty Shillings’—you
- know their advertisement—no, I’ve tried that. It was no use.
- The real thing she would have—Heavens above! Two thousand pounds for
- a trinket, and nothing to show for it, but a smashing of supper plates and
- a hurried flight. Ah, Airey, is it any wonder that I should make up my
- mind to live a quiet life with—I quite forget who was in my mind
- when I commenced this interesting conversation?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It makes no difference,” said Mr. Airey. “The principle
- is precisely the same. There is Miss Innisfail looking for someone, I must
- go to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A desperately proper girl,” said Lord Fotheringay. “As
- desperately proper as if she had once been desperately naughty. These
- proper girls know a vast deal. She scarcely speaks to me. Yes, she must
- know a lot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His remarks were lost upon Mr. Airey, for he had politely hurried to Miss
- Innisfail and was asking her if he could be of any assistance to her. But
- when Miss Innisfail replied that she was merely waiting for Brian, the
- boatman, who should have returned long ago from the other side of the
- lough, Mr. Airey did not return to Lord Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had had enough of Lord Fotheringay for one afternoon, and he hoped that
- Lord Fotheringay would understand so much. He had long ago ceased to be
- amusing. As an addition to the house-party at the Castle he was
- unprofitable. He knew that Lady Innisfail was of this opinion, and he was
- well aware also that Lady Innisfail had not given him more than a general
- and very vague invitation to the Castle. He had simply come to the Castle
- in order to avoid the possibly disagreeable consequences of buying some
- thousands of pounds’ worth of diamonds—perhaps it would be
- more correct to say, diamonds costing some thousands of pounds, leaving
- worth out of the question—for a woman with a husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- Airey knew that the philosophy of Lord Fotheringay was the philosophy of
- the maker of omelettes. No one has yet solved the problem of how to make
- omelettes without breaking eggs. Lord Fotheringay had broken a good many
- eggs in his day, and occasionally the result was that his share of the
- transaction was not the omelette but the broken shells. Occasionally, too,
- Edmund Airey was well aware, Lord Fotheringay had suffered more
- inconvenience than was involved in the mere fact of his being deprived of
- the comestible. His latest adventure. Airey thought, might be included
- among such experiences. He had fled to the brink of the ocean in order to
- avoid the vengeance of the Husband. “Here the pursuer can pursue no
- more,” was the line that was in Edmund Airey’s mind as he
- listened to the fragmentary account of the latest <i>contretemps</i> of
- the rheumatic butterfly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he had had quite enough of Lord Fotheringay’s company. The
- announcement of his intention to marry Miss Avon had not made him more
- interesting in the eyes of Edmund Airey, though it might have done so in
- other people’s eyes—for a man who makes himself supremely
- ridiculous makes himself supremely interesting as well, in certain
- circles.
- </p>
- <p>
- The announcement made by Lord Fotheringay had caused him to seem
- ridiculous, though of course Edmund had made no sign to this effect: had
- he made any sign he would not have heard the particulars of Lord
- Fotheringay’s latest fiasco, and he was desirous of learning those
- particulars. Having become acquainted with them, however, he found that he
- had had quite enough of his company.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in the course of the afternoon Mr. Airey perceived that, though in his
- eyes there was something ridiculous in the notion of Lord Fotheringay’s
- expression of a determination to marry Beatrice Avon, the idea might not
- seem quite so ridiculous to other people—Miss Avon’s father,
- for instance.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another moment he had come to the conclusion that the idea might not
- seem altogether absurd to Miss Avon herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Young women of twenty—even when they have been endowed by heaven
- with lustrous eyes (assuming that the lustre of a young woman’s eyes
- is a gift from heaven, and not acquired to work the purposes of a very
- different power)—have been known to entertain without repugnance the
- idea of marrying impecunious peers of fifty-seven; and upon this
- circumstance Edmund pondered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Standing on the brink of a cliff at the base of which the great rollers
- were crouching like huge white-maned lions, Mr. Airey reflected as he had
- never previously done, upon the debased condition of modern society, in
- which such incidents are of constant occurrence. But, however deplorable
- such incidents are, he knew perfectly well that there never had existed a
- society in the world where they had not been quite as frequent as they are
- in modern society in England.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, it was quite as likely as not that Lord Fotheringay would be able to
- carry out the intention which he had announced to his confidant of the
- moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when Mr. Airey thought of the lustrous eyes of Beatrice Avon,
- recalling the next moment the rheumatic movements of Lord Fotheringay and
- the falling of the scrap of caked powder from his forehead, he felt
- quixotic enough to be equal to the attempt to prevent the realization of
- Lord Fotheringay’s intention.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was then that the thought occurred to him—Why should not Harold,
- who was clearly ready to fall in love with the liquid eyes of Beatrice
- Avon, ask her to marry him instead of his father?
- </p>
- <p>
- The result of his consideration of this question was to convince him that
- such an occurrence as it suggested should be averted at all hazards.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only the worst enemy that Harold Wynne could have—the worst enemy
- that the girl could have—would like to see them married.
- </p>
- <p>
- It would be different if the hot-blooded Italian husband were to pursue
- the enemy of his household to the brink of the Atlantic cliffs and then
- push him over the cliffs into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. But the
- hot-blooded Italian was not yet in sight, and Edmund knew very well that
- so long as Lord Fotheringay lived, Harold was dependent on him for his
- daily bread.
- </p>
- <p>
- If Harold were to marry Miss Avon, it would lie in his father’s
- power to make him a pauper, or, worse, the professional director with the
- honorary prefix of “Honourable” to his name, dear to the
- company promoter.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the death of Lord Fotheringay Harold would inherit whatever property
- still remained out of the hands of the mortgagees; but Edmund was well
- aware of the longevity of that species of butterfly which is susceptible
- of rheumatic attacks; so that for, perhaps, fifteen years Harold might
- remain dependent upon the good-will of his father for his daily bread.
- </p>
- <p>
- It thus appeared to Mr. Airey that the problem of how to frustrate the
- intentions of Lord Fotheringay, was not an easy one to solve.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew the world too well to entertain for a moment the possibility of
- defeating Lord Fotheringay’s avowed purpose by informing either the
- girl or her father of the evil reputation of Lord Fotheringay. The evil
- deeds of a duke have occasionally permitted his wife to obtain a divorce;
- but they have never prevented him from obtaining another wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this Mr. Edmund Airey knew, having lived in the world and observed the
- ways of its inhabitants for several years.
- </p>
- <h3>
- END OF VOLUME I.
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <p>
- ====
- </p>
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- A GRAY EYE OR SO
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Frank Frankfort Moore
- </h2>
- <h3>
- In Three Volumes—Volume II
- </h3>
- <h4>
- Sixth Edition
- </h4>
- <h4>
- London, Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1893
- </h3>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007b.jpg" alt="0007b " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007b.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HB_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 2</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0001"> CHAPTER XX.—ON AN OAK SETTEE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0002"> CHAPTER XXI.—ON THE ELEMENTS OF PARTY
- POLITICS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0003"> CHAPTER XXII.—ON THE WISDOM OF THE
- MATRONS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0004"> CHAPTER XXIII.—ON THE ATLANTIC. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0005"> CHAPTER XXIV.—ON THE CHANCE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0006"> CHAPTER XXV.—ON THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE
- REPROBATE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0007"> CHAPTER XXVI.—ON FRANKNESS AND FRIENDSHIP.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0008"> CHAPTER XXVII.—ON CIRCUMVENTING A STAG.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0009"> CHAPTER XXVIII.—ON ENJOYING A RESPITE.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0010"> CHAPTER XXIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF READY
- MONEY. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0011"> CHAPTER XXX.—ON THE LEGITIMATE IN ART.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0012"> CHAPTER XXXI.—ON A BLACK SHEEP. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0013"> CHAPTER XXXII.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND SUPPER.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0014"> CHAPTER XXXIII.—ON BLESSING OR DOOM. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0015"> CHAPTER XXXIV.—ON THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0016"> CHAPTER XXXV.—ON THE HOME. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0017"> CHAPTER XXXVI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN
- OF THE WORLD. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HBCH0018"> CHAPTER XXXVII.—ON THE DEFECTIVE LINK.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HB_4_0001" id="link2HB_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- A GRAY EYE OR SO.
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="link2HBCH0001" id="link2HBCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX.—ON AN OAK SETTEE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E was still
- pondering over the many aspects of the question which, to his mind, needed
- solution, when he returned to the Castle, to find Lord Fotheringay in a
- chair by the side of a gaunt old man who, at one period of his life, had
- probably been tall, but who was now stooped in a remarkable way. The
- stranger seemed very old, so that beside him Lord Fotheringay looked
- comparatively youthful. Of this fact no one was better aware than Lord
- Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey had seen portraits of the new guest, and did not require to
- be told that he was Julius Anthony Avon, the historian of certain periods.
- </p>
- <p>
- The first thought that occurred to him when he saw the two men side by
- side, was that Lord Fotheringay would not appear ridiculous merely as the
- son-in-law of Mr. Avon. To the casual observer at any rate he might have
- posed as the son of Mr. Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- He himself seemed to be under the impression that he might pass as Mr.
- Avon’s grandson, for he was extremely sportive in his presence,
- attitudinizing on his settee in a way that Edmund knew must have been
- agonizing to his rheumatic joints. Edmund smiled. He felt that he was
- watching the beginning of a comedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- He learned that Mr. Avon had yielded to the persuasion of Lady Innisfail
- and had consented to join his daughter at the Castle for a few days. He
- was not fond of going into society; but it so happened that Castle
- Innisfail had been the centre of an Irish conspiracy at the early part of
- the century, and this fact made the acceptance by him of Lady Innisfail’s
- invitation a matter of business.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hearing the nature of the work at which he was engaged, Lord Fotheringay
- had lost no time in expounding to him, in that airy style which he had at
- his command, the various mistakes that had been made by several
- generations of statesmen in dealing with the Irish question. The
- fundamental error which they had all committed was taking the Irish and
- their rebellions and conspiracies too seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- This theory he expounded to the man who was writing a biographical
- dictionary of Irish informers, and was about to publish his seventh
- volume, concluding the letter B.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Avon listened, gaunt and grim, while Lord Fotheringay gracefully waved
- away statesman after statesman who had failed signally, by reason of
- taking Ireland and the Irish seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something grim also in Edmund Airey’s smile as he glanced
- at this beginning of the comedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- That night Miss Stafford added originality to the ordinary terrors of her
- recital. She explained that hitherto she had merely interpreted the verses
- of others: now, however, she would draw upon her store of original poems.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course, Edmund Airey was outside the drawingroom while this was going
- on. So were many of his fellow-guests, including Helen Craven. Edmund
- found her beside him in a secluded part of the hall. He was rather
- startled by her sudden appearance. He forgot to greet her with one of the
- clever things that he reserved for her and other appreciative young women—for
- he still found a few, as any man with a large income may, if he only keeps
- his eyes open. “What a fool you must think me,” were the words
- with which Miss Craven greeted him, so soon as he became aware of her
- presence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Strange to say, he had a definite idea that she had said something clever—at
- any rate something that impressed him more strongly than ever with the
- idea that she was a clever girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet she had assumed that he must think her a fool.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A fool?” said he, “To think you so would be to write
- myself down one, Miss Craven.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Airey,” said she, “I am a woman. Long ago I was a
- girl. You will thus believe me when I tell you that I never was frank in
- all my life. I want to begin now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, now I know the drift of your remark,” said he. “A
- fool. Yes, you made a good beginning: but supposing that I were to be
- frank, where would you be then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to begin also, Mr Airey,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To begin? Oh, I made my start years ago—when I entered
- Parliament,” said he. “I was perfectly frank with the
- Opposition when I pointed out their mistakes. I have never yet been frank
- with a friend, however. That is why I still have a few left.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must be frank with me now; if you won’t it doesn’t
- matter: I’ll be so to you. I admit that I behaved like an idiot; but
- you were responsible for it—yes, largely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a capital beginning. Now tell me what you have done or left
- undone—above all, tell me where my responsibility comes in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You like Harold Wynne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You suggest that a mere liking involves a certain responsibility?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I love him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should you be startled at the confession when you have been
- aware of the fact for some time?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never met a frank woman before. It is very terrible. Perhaps I
- shall get used to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why will you not drop that tone?” she said, almost piteously.
- “Cannot you see how serious the thing is to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is quite as serious to me,” he replied. “Men have
- confided in me—mostly fools—a woman never. Pray do not
- continue in that strain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then find words for me—be frank.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will. You mean to say, Miss Craven, that I think you a fool
- because, acting on the hint which I somewhat vaguely, but really in good
- faith, dropped, you tried to impersonate the figure of the legend at that
- ridiculous cave. Is not that what you would say if you had the courage to
- be thoroughly frank?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” said she, in a still weaker voice. “It is
- not so easy being frank all in a moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not if one has accustomed oneself to—let us say good
- manners,” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I started for the boats after you had all left for that
- nonsense at the village, I felt certain that you were my friend as well as
- Harold Wynne’s, and that you had good reason for believing that he
- would be about the cave shortly after our hour of dining. I’m not
- very romantic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pardon me,” said he. “You are not quite frank. If you
- were you would say that, while secretly romantic, you follow the example
- of most young women nowadays in ridiculing romance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite right,” she said. “I admitted just now that I
- found it difficult to be frank all in a moment. Anyhow I believed that if
- I were to play the part of the Wraith of the Cave within sight of Harold
- Wynne, he might—oh, how could I have been such a fool? But you—you,
- I say, were largely responsible for it, Mr. Airey.” She was now
- speaking not merely reproachfully but fiercely. “Why should you drop
- those hints—they were much more than hints—about his being so
- deeply impressed with the romance—about his having gone to the cave
- on the previous evening, if you did not mean me to act upon them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did mean you to act upon them,” said he. “I meant
- that you and he should come together last night, and I know that if you
- had come together, he would have asked you to marry him. I meant all that,
- because I like him and I like you too—yes, in spite of your
- frankness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” said she, giving him her hand. “You forgive
- me for being angry just now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The woman who is angry with a man without cause pays him the
- greatest compliment in her power,” he remarked. “Fate was
- against us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think that she is so very—very pretty?” said Miss
- Craven.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She?—fate?—I’ll tell you what I think. I think
- that Harold Wynne has met with the greatest misfortune of his life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you believe that, I know that I have met with the greatest of my
- life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The corner of the hall was almost wholly in shadow. The settee upon which
- Mr. Airey and Miss Craven were sitting, was cut off from the rest of the
- place by the thigh hone of the great skeleton elk. Between the ribs of the
- creature, however, some rays of light passed from one of the lamps; and,
- as Mr. Airey looked sympathetically into the face of his companion, he saw
- the gleam of a tear upon her cheek.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was deeply impressed—so deeply that some moments had passed
- before he found himself wondering what she would say next. For a moment he
- forgot to be on his guard, though if anyone had described the details of a
- similar scene to him, he would probably have smiled while remarking that
- when the lamplight gleams upon a tear upon the cheek of a young woman of
- large experience, is just when a man needs most to be on his guard, He
- felt in another moment, however, that something was coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited for it in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed to him in that pause that he was seated by the side of someone
- whom he had never met before. The girl who was beside him seemed to have
- nothing in common with Helen Craven. So greatly does a young woman change
- when she becomes frank.
- </p>
- <p>
- This is why so many husbands declare—when they are also frank—that
- the young women whom they marry are in every respect different from the
- young women who promise to be their wives.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is going to happen?” Helen asked him in a steady voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God knows,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I saw them together just after they left you this morning,”
- said she. “I was at one of the windows of the Castle, they were far
- along the terrace; but I’m sure that he said something to her about
- her eyes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should not be surprised if he did,” said Edmund. “Her
- eyes invite comment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that in spite of her eyes she is much the same as any
- other girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that to the point?” he asked. He was a trifle disappointed
- in her last sentence. It seemed to show him that, whatever Beatrice might
- be, Helen was much the same as other girls.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is very much to the point,” said she. “If she is
- like other girls she will hesitate before marrying a penniless man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I agree with you,” said he. “But if she is like other
- girls she will not hesitate to love a penniless man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Possibly—if, like me, she can afford to do so. But I happen
- to know that she cannot afford it. This brings me up to what has been on
- my mind all day. You are, I know, my friend; you are Harold Wynne’s
- also. Now, if you want to enable him to gratify his reasonable ambition—if
- you want to make him happy—to make me happy—you will prevent
- him from ever asking Beatrice Avon to marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I am prepared to do so much for him—for you—for
- her. But how can I do it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can take her away from him. You know how such things are done.
- You know that if a distinguished man such as you are, with a large income
- such as you possess, gives a girl to understand that he is, let us say,
- greatly interested in her, she will soon cease to be interested in any
- undistinguished and penniless son of a reprobate peer who may be before
- her eyes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have seen such a social phenomenon,” said he. “Does
- your proposition suggest that I should marry the young woman with ‘a
- gray eye or so’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may marry her if you please—that’s entirely a
- matter for yourself. I don’t see any need for you to go that length.
- Have I not kept my promise to be frank?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had risen from the settee. She laid her hand on one of his that rested
- on a projection of the old oak carving, and in another instant she was
- laughing in front of Norah Innisfail, who was rendered even more proper
- than usual through having become acquainted with Miss Stafford’s
- notions of originality in verse-making.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0002" id="link2HBCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI.—ON THE ELEMENTS OF PARTY POLITICS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>R. AIREY was
- actually startled by the suggestion which Miss Craven had made with, on
- the whole, considerable tact as well as inconceivable frankness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been considering all the afternoon the possibility of carrying out
- the idea which it seemed Helen Craven had on her mind as well; but it had
- never occurred to him that his purpose might be achieved through the means
- suggested by the young woman who had just gone from his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- His first impression was that the proposal made to him was the cruellest
- that had ever come from one girl in respect of another girl. He had never
- previously had an idea that a girl could be so heartless as to make such a
- suggestion as that which had come from Helen Craven; but in the course of
- a short space of time, he found it expedient to revise his first judgment
- on this matter. Helen Craven meant to marry Harold—so much could
- scarcely be doubted—and her marrying him would be the best thing
- that could happen to him. She was anxious to prevent his marrying Miss
- Avon; and surely this was a laudable aim, considering that marrying Miss
- Avon would be the worst thing that could happen to him—and to Miss
- Avon as well.
- </p>
- <p>
- It might possibly be regarded as cruel by some third censors for Miss
- Craven to suggest that he, Edmund, after leading the other girl to believe
- that he was desirous of marrying her—or at least to believe that she
- might have a chance of marrying him—might stop short. To be sure,
- Miss Craven had not, with all her frankness, said that her idea was that
- he should refrain from asking the other girl to marry him, but only that
- the question was one that concerned himself alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought over this point for some time, and the conclusion he came to
- was that, after all, whether or not the cynical indifference of the
- suggestion amounted to absolute cruelty, the question concerned himself
- alone. Even if he were not to ask her to marry him after leading her to
- suppose that he intended doing so, he would at any rate have prevented her
- from the misery of marrying Harold; and that was something for which she
- might be thankful to him. He would also have saved her from the
- degradation of receiving a proposal of marriage from Lord Fotheringay; and
- that was also something for which she might be thankful to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Being a strictly party politician, he regarded expediency as the greatest
- of all considerations. He was not devoid of certain scruples now and
- again; but he was capable of weighing the probable advantages of yielding
- to these scruples against the certain advantages of—well, of
- throwing them to the winds.
- </p>
- <p>
- For some minutes after Helen Craven had left him he subjected his scruples
- to the balancing process, and the result was that he found they were as
- nothing compared with the expediency of proceeding as Helen had told him
- that it was advisable for him to proceed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made up his mind that he would save the girl—that was how he put
- it to himself—and he would take extremely good care that he saved
- himself as well. Marriage would not suit him. Of this he was certain.
- People around him were beginning to be certain of it also. The mothers in
- Philistia had practically come to regard him as a <i>quantité négligeable</i>.
- The young women did not trouble themselves about him, after a while. It
- would not suit him to marry a young woman with lustrous eyes, he said to
- himself as he left his settee; but it would suit him to defeat the
- machinations of Lord Fotheringay, and to induce his friend Harold Wynne to
- pursue a sensible course.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found himself by the side of Beatrice Avon before five minutes had
- passed, and he kept her thoroughly amused for close upon an hour—he
- kept her altogether to himself also, though many chances of leaving his
- side were afforded the girl by considerate youths, and by one smiling
- person who had passed the first bloom of youth and had reached that which
- is applied by the cautious hare’s foot in the hand of a valet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before the hour of brandy-and-sodas and resplendent smoking-jackets had
- come, the fact of his having kept Beatrice Avon so long entertained had
- attracted some attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had attracted the attention of Miss Craven, who commented upon it with
- a confidential smile at Harold. It attracted the attention of Harold’s
- father, who commented upon it with a leer and a sneer. It attracted the
- attention of Lady Innisfail, who commented upon it with a smile that
- caused the dainty dimple in her chin to assume the shape of the dot in a
- well-made note of interrogation.
- </p>
- <p>
- It also attracted the attention of quite a number of other persons, but
- they reserved their comments, which was a wise thing for them to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she said good-night to him, she seemed, Edmund Airey thought, to be a
- trifle fascinated as well as fascinating. He felt that he had had a
- delightful hour—it was far more delightful than the half hour which
- he had passed on the settee at the rear of the skeleton elk.
- </p>
- <p>
- His feeling in this matter simply meant that it was far more agreeable to
- him to see a young woman admiring his cleverness than it was to admire the
- cleverness of another young woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- He enjoyed his smoke by the side of the judge; for when a man is absorbed
- in the thoughts of his own cleverness he can still get a considerable
- amount of passive enjoyment out of the story of How the Odds fell from
- Thirteen to Five to Six to Four against Porcupine for some prehistoric
- Grand National.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold Wynne now and again glanced across the hall at the man who
- professed to be his best friend. He could perceive without much trouble
- that Edmund Airey was particularly well pleased with himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- This meant, he thought, that Edmund had been particularly well pleased
- with Beatrice Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay was too deeply absorbed in giving point to a story,
- founded upon personal experience, which he was telling to his host, to
- give a moment’s attention to Edmund Airey, or to make an attempt to
- interpret his aspect.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only when his valet was putting him carefully to bed—he
- required very careful handling—that he recollected the effective way
- in which Airey had snubbed him, when he had made an honest attempt to
- reach Miss Avon conversationally.
- </p>
- <p>
- He now found time to wonder what Airey meant by preventing the girl from
- being entertained—Lord Fotheringay assumed, as a matter of course,
- that the girl had not been entertained—all the evening. He had no
- head, however, for considering such a question in all its aspects. He only
- resolved that in future he would take precious good care that when there
- was any snubbing in the air, he would be the dispenser of it, not the
- recipient.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay was not a man of genius, but upon occasions he could be
- quite as disagreeable as if he were. He had studied the art of
- administering snubs, and though he had never quite succeeded in snubbing a
- member of Parliament of the same standing as Mr. Airey, yet he felt quite
- equal to the duty, should he find it necessary to make an effort in this
- direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was sleeping the sleep of the reprobate, long before his son had
- succeeded in sleeping the sleep of the virtuous. Harold had more to think
- about, as well as more capacity of thinking, than his father. He was
- puzzled at the attitude of his friend and counsellor, Edmund Airey. What
- on earth could he have meant by appropriating Beatrice Avon, Harold
- wondered. He assumed that Airey had some object in doing what he had done.
- He knew that his friend was not the man to do anything without having an
- object in view. Previously he had been discreet to an extraordinary degree
- in his attitude toward women. He had never even made love to those matrons
- to whom it is discreet to make love. If he had ever done so Harold knew
- that he would have heard of it; for there is no fascination in making love
- to other men’s wives, unless it is well known in the world that you
- are doing so. The school-boy does not smoke his cigarette in private. The
- fascination of the sin lies in his committing it so that it gets talked
- about.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, Airey had ever been discreet, Harold knew, and he quite failed to
- account for his lapse—assuming that it was indiscreet to appropriate
- Beatrice Avon for an hour, and to keep her amused all that time.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold himself had his own ideas of what was discreet in regard to young
- women, and he had acted up to them. He did not consider that, so far as
- the majority of young women were concerned, he should be accredited with
- much self-sacrifice for his discretion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had a great temperance movement been set on foot in Italy in the days of
- Cæsar Borgia, the total abstainers would not have earned commendation for
- their self-sacrifice. Harold Wynne had been discreet in regard to most
- women simply because he was afraid of them. He was afraid that he might
- some day be led to ask one of them to marry him—one of them whom he
- would regard as worse than a Borgia poison ever after.
- </p>
- <p>
- The caution that he had displayed in respect of Helen Craven showed how
- discreet he had accustomed himself to be.
- </p>
- <p>
- He reflected, however, that in respect of Beatrice Avon he had thrown
- discretion to the winds From the moment that he had drawn her hands to his
- by the fishing line, he had given himself up to her. He had been without
- the power to resist.
- </p>
- <p>
- Might it not, then, be the same with Edmund Airey? Might not Edmund, who
- had invariably been so guarded as to be wholly free from reproach so far
- as women were concerned, have found it impossible to maintain that
- attitude in the presence of Beatrice?
- </p>
- <p>
- And if this was so, what would be the result?
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the thought which kept Harold Wynne awake and uncomfortable for
- several hours during that night.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0003" id="link2HBCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII.—ON THE WISDOM OF THE MATRONS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ADY INNISFAIL made
- a confession to one of her guests—a certain Mrs. Burgoyne—who
- was always delighted to play the <i>rôle</i> of receiver of confessions.
- The date at which Lady Innisfail’s confession was made was three
- days after the arrival of Beatrice Avon at the Castle, and its subject was
- her own over-eagerness to secure a strange face for the entertainment of
- her guests.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought that the romantic charm which would attach to that girl,
- who seemed to float up to us out of the mist—leaving her wonderful
- eyes out of the question altogether—would interest all my guests,”
- said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so it did, if I may speak for the guests,” said Mrs.
- Burgoyne. “Yes, we were all delighted for nearly an entire day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad that my aims were not wholly frustrated,” said Lady
- Innisfail. “But you see the condition we are all in at present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot deny it,” replied Mrs. Burgoyne, with a sigh.
- “My dear, a new face is almost as fascinating as a new religion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “More so to some people—generally men,” said Lady
- Innisfail. “But who could have imagined that a young thing like that—she
- has never been presented, she tells me—should turn us all topsy
- turvy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has a good deal in her favour,” remarked Mrs. Burgoyne.
- “She is fresh, her face is strange, she neither plays, sings, nor
- recites, and she is a marvellously patient listener.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That last comes through being the daughter of a literary man,”
- said Lady Innisfail. “The wives and daughters of poets and
- historians and the like are compelled to be patient listeners. They are
- allowed to do nothing else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say. Anyhow that girl has made the most of her time since
- she came among us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has. The worst of it is that no one could call her a flirt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose not. But what do you call a girl who is attractive to all
- men, and who makes all the men grumpy, except the one she is talking to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I call her a—a clever girl,” replied Lady Innisfail.
- “Don’t we all aim at that sort of thing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps we did—once,” said Mrs. Burgoyne, who was a
- year or two younger than her hostess. “I should hope that our aims
- are different now. We are too old, are we not?—you and I—for
- any man to insult us by making love to us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A woman is never too old to be insulted, thank God,” said
- Lady Innisfail; and Mrs. Burgoyne’s laugh was not the laugh of a
- matron who is shocked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All the same,” added Lady Innisfail, “our pleasant
- party threatens to become a fiasco, simply because I was over-anxious to
- annex a new face. I had set my heart upon bringing Harold Wynne and Helen
- Craven together; but now they have become hopelessly good friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is very kind to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, that’s the worst of it; she is kind and he is
- indifferent—he treats her as if she were his favourite sister.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are matters so bad as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite. But when the other girl is listening to what another man is
- saying to her, Harold Wynne’s face is a study. He is as clearly in
- love with the other girl as anything can be. That, old reprobate—his
- father—has his aims too—horrid old creature! Mr. Durdan has
- ceased to study the Irish question with a deep-sea cast of hooks in his
- hand: he spends some hours every morning devising plans for spending as
- many minutes by the side of Beatrice. I do believe that my dear husband
- would have fallen a victim too, if I did not keep dinning into his ears
- that Beatrice is the loveliest creature of our acquaintance. I lured him
- on to deny it, and now we quarrel about it every night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe Lord Innisfail rather dislikes her,” said Mrs.
- Burgoyne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m convinced of it,” said Lady Innisfail. “But
- what annoys me most is the attitude of Mr. Airey. He professed to be
- Harold’s friend as well as Helen’s, and yet he insists on
- being so much with Beatrice that Harold will certainly be led on to the
- love-making point—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he has not passed it already,” suggested Mrs. Burgoyne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he has not passed it already; for I need scarcely tell you, my
- dear Phil, that a man does not make love to a girl for herself alone, but
- simply because other men make love to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that it is only natural that Harold should want to make love to
- Beatrice when he is led to believe that Edmund Airey wants to marry her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The young fool! Why could he not restrain his desire until Mr.
- Airey has married her? But do you really think that Mr. Airey does want to
- marry her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that Harold Wynne believes so—that is enough for
- the present. Oh, no. You’ll not find me quite so anxious to annex a
- strange face another time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- From the report of this confidential duologue it may possibly be
- perceived, first, that Lady Innisfail was a much better judge of the
- motives and impulses of men than Miss Craven was; and, secondly, that the
- presence of Beatrice at the Castle had produced a marked impression upon
- the company beneath its roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was on the evening of the day after the confidential duologue just
- reported that there was an entertainment in the hall of the Castle. It
- took the form of <i>tableaux</i> arranged after well-known pictures, and
- there was certainly no lack of actors and actresses for the figures.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mary Queen of Scots was, of course, led to execution, and Marie
- Antoinette, equally as a matter of course, appeared in her prison. Then
- Miss Stafford did her best to realize the rapt young woman in Mr. Sant’s
- “The Soul’s Awaking”—Miss Stafford was very wide
- awake indeed, some scoffer suggested; and Miss Innisfail looked extremely
- pretty—a hostess’s daughter invariably looks pretty—as
- “The Peacemaker” in Mr. Marcus Stone’s picture.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice Avon took no part in the <i>tableaux</i>—the other girls
- had not absolutely insisted on her appearing beside them on the stage that
- had been fitted up; they had an+ informal council together, Miss Craven
- being stage-manager, and they had come to the conclusion that they could
- get along very nicely without her assistance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some of them said that Beatrice preferred flirting with the men. However
- this may have been, the fact remained that Harold, when he had washed the
- paint off his face—he had been the ill-tempered lover, Miss Craven
- being the young woman with whom he was supposed to have quarrelled,
- requiring the interposition of a sweet Peacemaker in the person of Miss
- Innisfail—went round by a corridor to the back of the hall, and
- stood for a few minutes behind a ‘portiere that took the place of a
- door at one of the entrances. The hall was, of course, dimly lighted to
- make the contrast with the stage the greater, so that he could not see the
- features of the man who was sitting on the chair at the end of the row
- nearest the <i>portiere</i>; but the applause that greeted a reproduction
- of the picture of a monk shaving himself, having previously used no other
- soap than was supplied by a particular maker, had scarcely died away
- before Harold heard the voice of Edmund Airey say, in a low and earnest
- tone, to someone who was seated beside him, “I do hope that before
- you go away, you will let me know where you will next pitch your tent. I
- don’t want to lose sight of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you wish I shall let you know when I learn it from my father,”
- was the reply that Harold heard, clearly spoken in the voice of Beatrice
- Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold went back into the billowy folds of the tapestry curtain, and then
- into the corridor. The words that he had overheard had startled him. Not
- merely were the words spoken by Edmund Airey the same as he himself had
- employed a few days before to Beatrice, but her reply was practically the
- same as the reply which she had made to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the last of the figurantes had disappeared from the stage, and when
- the buzz of congratulations was sounding through the hall, now fully
- lighted, Harold was nowhere to be seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only a few of the most earnest of the smokers were still in the hall when,
- long past midnight, he appeared at the door leading to the outer hall or
- porch. His shoes were muddy and his shirt front was pulpy, for the night
- was a wet one.
- </p>
- <p>
- He explained to his astonished friends that it was invariably the case
- that putting paint and other auxiliaries to “making up” on his
- face, brought on a headache, which he had learned by experience could only
- be banished by a long walk in the open air.
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, he had just had such a walk.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not expect that his explanation would carry any weight with it; and
- the way he was looked at by his friends made him aware of the fact that,
- in giving them credit for more sense than to believe him, he was doing
- them no more than the merest justice.
- </p>
- <p>
- No one who was present on his return placed the smallest amount of
- credence in his story. What many of them did believe was of no
- consequence.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0004" id="link2HBCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII.—ON THE ATLANTIC.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE boats were
- scattered like milestones—as was stated by Brian—through the
- sinuous length of Lough Suangorm. The cutter yacht <i>Acushla</i> was
- leading the fleet out to the Atlantic, with two reefs in her mainsail, and
- although she towed a large punt, and was by no means a fast boat, she had
- no difficulty in maintaining her place, the fact being that the half-dozen
- boats that lumbered after her were mainly fishing craft hailing from the
- village of Cairndhu, and, as all the world knows, these are not built for
- speed but endurance. They are half-decked and each carries a lug sail. One
- of the legends of the coast is that when a lug sail is new its colour is
- brown, and as a new sail is never seen at Cairndhu there are no means of
- finding out if the story is true or false. The sails, as they exist, are
- kaleidoscopic in their patchwork. It is understood that anything will
- serve as a patch for a lug sail. Sometimes the centre-piece of an old coat
- has been used for this purpose; but if so, it is only fair to state that
- it is on record that the centre-piece of an old sail has been shaped into
- a jacket for the ordinary wearing of a lad.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lug sail may yet find its way into a drawing room in Belgravia and
- repose side by side with the workhouse sheeting which occupies an honoured
- place in that apartment.
- </p>
- <p>
- On through the even waves that roll from between the headlands at the
- entrance, to the little strand of pebbles at the end of the lough, the
- boats lumbered. The sea and sky were equally gray, but now and again a
- sudden gleam of sunshine would come from some unsuspected rift in the
- motionless clouds, and fly along the crests of the waves, revealing a
- green transparency for an instant, and then, flashing upon the sails, make
- apparent every patch in their expanse, just as a flash of lightning on a
- dark night reveals for a second every feature of a broad landscape.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the first vessel of the little fleet, pursuing an almost direct course
- in spite of the curving of the shores of the Irish fjord, approached one
- coast and then the other, the great rocks that appeared snow-white, with
- only a dab of black here and there, became suddenly all dark, and the air
- was filled with what seemed like snow flakes. The cries of the innumerable
- sea birds, that whirled about the disturbing boat before they settled and
- the rocks became gradually white once more, had a remarkable effect when
- heard against that monotonous background, so to speak, of rolling waves.
- </p>
- <p>
- The narrow lough was a gigantic organ pipe through which the mighty bass
- of the Atlantic roared everlastingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when the headlands at the entrance were reached, the company who sat
- on the weather side of the cutter <i>Acushla</i> became aware of a
- commingling of sounds. The organ voice of the lough only filled up the
- intervals between the tremendous roar of the lion-throated waves that
- sprang with an appalling force half way up the black faces of the sheer
- cliffs, and broke in mid-air. All day long and all night long those
- inexhaustible billows come rushing upon that coast; and watching them and
- listening to them one feels how mean are contemporary politics as well as
- other things.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s the Irish question,” remarked Lord Innisfail,
- who was steering his own cutter.
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded in the direction of the waves that were clambering up the
- headlands. What he meant exactly he might have had difficulty in
- explaining.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very true, very true,” said Mr. Durdan, sagaciously, hoping
- to provoke Mr. Airey to reply, and thinking it likely that he would learn
- from Mr. Airey’s reply what was Lord Innisfail’s meaning.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mr. Airey, who had long ago become acquainted with Mr. Durdan’s
- political methods, did not feel it incumbent on him to make the attempt to
- grapple with the question—if it was a question—suggested by
- Lord Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- The metaphor of a host should not, he knew, be considered too curiously.
- Like the wit of a police-court magistrate, it should be accepted with
- effusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stand by that foresheet,” said Lord Innisfail to one of the
- yacht’s hands. “We’ll heave to until the other craft
- come up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few moments the cutter had all way off her, and was simply tumbling
- about among the waves in a way that made some of the ship’s company
- hold their breath and think longingly of pale brandy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cruise of the <i>Acushla</i> and the appearance of the fleet of boats
- upon the lough were due to the untiring energy of Lady Innisfail and to
- the fact that at last Brian, the boatman, had, by the help of Father Conn,
- come to grasp something of the force of the phrase “local colour”.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail was anxious that her guests should carry away certain
- definite impressions of their sojourn at the Connaught castle beyond those
- that may be acquired at any country-house, which everyone knows may be
- comprised in a very few words. A big shoot, and an incipient scandal
- usually constitute the record of a country-house entertainment. Now, it
- was not that Lady Innisfail objected to a big shoot or an incipient
- scandal—she admitted that both were excellent in their own way—but
- she hoped to do a great deal better for her guests. She hoped to impart to
- their visit some local colour.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had hung on to the wake and the eviction, as has already been told,
- with pertinacity. The <i>fête</i> which she believed was known to the
- Irish peasantry as the Cruiskeen, had certainly some distinctive features;
- though just as she fancied that the Banshee was within her grasp, it had
- vanished into something substantial—this was the way she described
- the scene on the cliffs. Although her guests said they were very well
- satisfied with what they had seen and heard, adding that they had come to
- the conclusion that if the Irish had only a touch of humour they would be
- true to the pictures that had been drawn of them, still Lady Innisfail was
- not satisfied.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course if Mr. Airey were to ask Miss Avon to marry him, her house-party
- would be talked about during the winter. But she knew that it is the
- marriages which do not come off that are talked about most; and, after
- all, there is no local colour in marrying or giving in marriage, and she
- yearned for local colour. Brian, after a time, came to understand
- something of her ladyship’s yearnings. Like the priest and the other
- inhabitants, he did not at first know what she wanted.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is difficult to impress upon Fuzzy-wuzzy that he would be regarded as a
- person of distinction in the Strand and as an idol in Belgravia. At his
- home in the Soudan he is a very commonplace sort of person. So in the
- region of Lough Suangorm, but a casual interest attaches to the caubeen,
- which in Piccadilly would be followed by admiring crowds, and would
- possibly be dealt with in Evening Editions.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, as has just been said, Brian and his friends in due time came to
- perceive the spectacular value to her ladyship’s guests of the most
- commonplace things of the country; and it was this fact that induced Brian
- to tell three stories of a very high colour to Mr. Airey and Mr. Wynne.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was also his appreciation of her ladyship’s wants that caused him
- to suggest to her the possibility of a seal-hunt constituting an element
- of attraction—these were not the exact words employed by the boatman—to
- some of her ladyship’s guests.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is scarcely necessary to say that Lady Innisfail was delighted with the
- suggestion. Some of her guests pretended that they also were delighted
- with it, though all that the majority wanted was to be let alone. Still,
- upon the afternoon appointed for the seal-hunt a considerable number of
- the Castle party went aboard the yacht. Beatrice was one of the few girls
- who were of the party. Helen would have dearly liked to go also; she would
- certainly have gone if she had not upon one—only one—previous
- occasion allowed herself to be persuaded to sail out to the headlands. She
- was wise enough not to imperil her prospects for the sake of being
- drenched with sea water.
- </p>
- <p>
- She wondered—she did not exactly hope it—if it was possible
- for Beatrice Avon to become seasick.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was how upon that gray afternoon, the fleet of boats sailed out to
- where the yacht was thumping about among the tremendous waves beyond the
- headlands that guard the entrance to Lough Suangorm.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0005" id="link2HBCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIV.—ON THE CHANCE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN the fishing
- boats came within half a cable’s length of the cutter, Lord
- Innisfail gave up the tiller to Brian, who was well qualified to be the
- organizer of the expedition, having the reputation of being familiar with
- the haunts and habits of the seals that may be found—by such as know
- as much about them as Brian—among the great caves that pierce for
- several miles the steep cliffs of the coast.
- </p>
- <p>
- The responsibility of steering a boat under the headlands, either North or
- South, was not sought by Lord Innisfail. For perhaps three hundred and
- fifty days in every year it would be impossible to approach the cliffs in
- any craft; but as Brian took the tiller he gave a knowing glance around
- the coast and assured his lordship that it was a jewel of a day for a
- seal-hunt, and added that it was well that he had brought only the largest
- of the fishing boats, for anything smaller would sink with the weight of
- the catch of seals.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took in the slack of the main sheet and sent the cutter flying direct
- to the Northern headland, the luggers following in her wake, though
- scarcely preserving stations or distances with that rigorous naval
- precision which occasionally sends an ironclad to the bottom.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man-of-war may run upon a reef, and the country may be called on to
- pay half a million for the damage; but it can never be said that she fails
- to maintain her station prescribed by the etiquette of the Royal Navy in
- following the flagship, which shows that the British sailor, wearing
- epaulettes, is as true as the steel that his ship is made of, and a good
- deal truer than that of some of the guns which he is asked to fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a short time the boats had cleared the headland, and it seemed to some
- of the cutter’s company as if they were given an opportunity of
- looking along the whole west coast of Ireland in a moment. Northward and
- southward, like a study in perspective, the lines of indented cliffs
- stretched until they dwindled away into the gray sky. The foam line that
- was curved as it curled around the enormous rocks close at hand, was
- straightened out in the distance and never quite disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Talk of the Great Wall of China,” said Lord Innisfail,
- pointing proudly to the splendid chain of cliffs. “Talk of the Great
- Wall of China indeed! What is it compared with that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke as proudly as if he owned everything within that line of cliffs,
- though he thanked heaven every night that he only owned a few thousand
- acres in Ireland.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What indeed—what indeed?” said Mr. Durdan.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the men thought the moment opportune for airing a theory that he
- had to the effect that the Great Wall of China was not built by the
- Chinese to keep the surrounding nations out, but by the surrounding
- nations to keep the Chinese in.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a feasible theory, suggesting that the Chinese immigration question
- existed among the Thibetans some thousands of years ago, to quite as great
- an extent as it does in some other directions to-day. But it requires to
- be a very strong theory to stand the strain of the Atlantic waves and a
- practically unlimited view of the coast of Ireland. So no discussion
- arose.
- </p>
- <p>
- Already upon some of the flat rocks at the entrance to the great caves the
- black head of a seal might be seen. It did not remain long in view,
- however. Brian had scarcely pointed it out with a whisper to such persons
- as were near him, when it disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s the wary boys they are, to be sure!” he remarked
- confidentially.
- </p>
- <p>
- His boldness in steering among the rocks made some persons more than
- usually thoughtful. Fortunately the majority of those aboard the cutter
- knew nothing of his display of skill. They remained quite unaware of the
- jagged rocks that the boat just cleared; and when he brought the craft to
- the lee of a cliff, which formed a natural breakwater and a harbour of
- ripples, none of these people seemed surprised.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Innisfail and a few yachtsmen who knew something of sailing, drew
- long breaths. They knew what they had escaped.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the hands got into the punt and took a line to the cliff to moor
- the yacht when the sails had been lowered, and by the time that the
- mooring was effected, the other boats had come into the natural harbour—it
- would have given protection—that is, natural protection, to a couple
- of ironclads—no power can protect them from their own commanders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, my lard,” said Brian, who seemed at last to realize his
- responsibilities, “all we’ve got to do is to grab the
- craythurs; but that same’s a caution. We’ll be at least an
- hour-and-a-half in the caves, and as it will be cold work, and maybe wet
- work, maybe some of their honours wouldn’t mind standing by the
- cutter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The suggestion was heartily approved of by some of the yacht’s
- company. Lady Innisfail said she was perfectly satisfied with such local
- colour as was available without leaving the yacht, and it was understood
- that Miss Avon would remain by her side. Mr. Airey said he thought he
- could face with cheerfulness a scheme of existence that did not include
- sitting with varying degrees of uneasiness in a small boat while other men
- speared an inoffensive seal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Such explanations are not for the Atlantic Ocean,” said
- Harold, getting over the side of the yacht into the punt that Brian had
- hauled close—Lord Innisfail was already in the bow.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a short time, by the skilful admiralship of Brian, the other boats,
- which were brought up from the luggers, were manned, and their stations
- were assigned to them, one being sent to explore a cave a short distance
- off, while another was to remain at the entrance to pick up any seals that
- might escape. The same plan was adopted in regard to the great cave, the
- entrance to which was close to where the yacht was moored. Brian arranged
- that his boat should enter the cave, while another, fully manned, should
- stand by the rocks to capture the refugees.
- </p>
- <p>
- All the boats then started for their stations—all except the punt
- with Brian at the yoke lines, Harold and Mr. Durdan in the stern sheets,
- one of the hands at the paddles, and Lord Innisfail in the bows; for when
- this craft was about to push off, Brian gave an exclamation of discontent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the matter now?” asked Lord Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Plenty’s the matter, my lard,” said Brian. “The
- sorra a bit of luck we’ll have this day if we leave the ladies
- behind us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we must put up with bad luck,” said Lord Innisfail.
- “Go down on your knees to her ladyship and ask her to come with us
- if you think that will do any good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, her ladyship would come without prayers if she meant to,”
- said Brian. “But it’s Miss Avon that’s open to entreaty.
- For the love of heaven and the encouragement of sport, step into the boat,
- Sheila, and you’ll have something to talk about for the rest of your
- life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice shook her head at the appeal, but that wouldn’t do for
- Brian. “Look, my lady, look at her eyes, aren’t they just
- jumping out of her head like young trout in a stream in May?” he
- cried to Lady Innisfail. “Isn’t she waiting for you to say the
- word to let her come, an’ not a word does any gentleman in the boat
- speak on her behalf.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The gentlemen remained dumb, but Lady Innisfail declared that if Miss Avon
- was not afraid of a wetting and cared to go in the boat, there was no
- reason why she should not do so.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another moment Beatrice had stepped into the punt and it had pushed off
- with a cheer from Brian. The men in the other boats, now in the distance,
- hearing the cheer, but without knowing why it arose, sent back an answer
- that aroused the thousand echoes of the cliffs and the ten thousand sea
- birds that arose in a cloud from every crevice of the rocks. Thus it was
- that the approach of the boat to the great cave did not take place in
- silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold had not uttered a word. He had not even looked at Edmund Airey’s
- face to see what expression it wore when Beatrice stepped into the boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you ever hear anything like Airey’s roundabout phrase
- about a scheme of existence?” said Mr. Durdan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is his way of putting a simple matter,” said Harold.
- “You heard of the man who, in order to soften down the fact that a
- girl had what are colloquially known as beetle-crushers, wrote that her
- feet tended to increase the mortality among coleoptera?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid that the days of the present government are
- numbered,” said Mr. Durdan, who seemed to think that the remark was
- in logical sequence with Harold’s story.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice looked wonderingly at the speaker; it was some moments before she
- found an echo in the expression on Harold’s face to what she felt.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man who could think of such things as the breaking up of a government,
- when floating in thirty fathoms of green sea, beneath the shadow of such
- cliffs as the boat was approaching, was a mystery to the girl, though she
- was the daughter of one of the nineteenth century historians, to whom
- nothing is a mystery.
- </p>
- <p>
- The boat entered the great cave without a word being spoken by any one
- aboard, and in a few minutes it was being poled along in semi-darkness.
- The lapping of the swell from the entrance against the sides of the cave
- sounded on through the distance of the interior, and from those mysterious
- depths came strange sounds of splashing water, of dropping stalactites,
- and now and again a mighty sob of waves choked within a narrow vent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Silently the boat was forced onward, and soon all light from the entrance
- was obscured. Through total darkness the little craft crept for nearly
- half a mile.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly a blaze of light shot up with startling effect in the bows of the
- boat. It only came from a candle that Brian had lit: but its gleam was
- reflected in millions of stalactites into what seemed an interminable
- distance—millions of stalactites on the roof and the walls, and
- millions of ripples beneath gave back the gleam, until the boat appeared
- to be the centre of a vast illumination.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dark shadows of the men who were using the oars as poles, danced about
- the brilliant roof and floor of the cave, adding to the fantastic charm of
- the scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now,” said Brian, in a whisper, “these craythurs don’t
- understand anything that’s said to them unless by a human being, so
- we’ll need to be silent enough. We’ll be at the first ledge
- soon, and there maybe you’ll wait with the lady, Mr. Wynne—you’re
- heavier than Mr. Durdan, and every inch of water that the boat draws is
- worth thinking about. I’ll leave a candle with you, but not a word
- must you speak.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right,” said Harold. “You’re the manager of
- the expedition; we must obey you; but I don’t exactly see where my
- share in the sport comes in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’d explain it all if I could trust myself to speak,”
- said Brian. “The craythurs has ears.” The ledge referred to by
- him was reached in silence. It was perhaps six inches above the water, and
- in an emergency it might have afforded standing room for three persons. So
- much Harold saw by the light of the candle that the boatman placed in a
- niche of rock four feet above the water.
- </p>
- <p>
- At a sign from Brian, Harold got upon the ledge and helped Beatrice out of
- the boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- The light of the candle that was in the bow of the boat gleamed upon the
- figure of a man naked from the waist up, and wearing a hard round hat with
- a candle fastened to the brim.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold knew that this was the costume of the seal-hunter of the Western
- caves, for he had had a talk with Brian on the subject, and had learned
- that only by swimming with a lighted candle on his forehead for a quarter
- of a mile, the hunter could reach the sealing ground at the termination of
- the cave.
- </p>
- <p>
- Without a word being spoken, the boat went on, and its light soon
- glimmered mysteriously in the distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold and Beatrice stood side by side on the narrow ledge of rock and
- watched the dwindling of the light. The candle that was on the niche of
- rock almost beside them seemed dwindling also. It had become the merest
- spark. Harold saw that Brian had inadvertently placed it so that the
- dripping of the water from the roof sent flecks of damp upon the wick.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stretched out his hand to shift it to another place, but before he
- could touch it, a large stalactite dropped upon it, and not only
- extinguished it, but sent it into the water with a splash.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little cry that came from the girl as the blackness of darkness closed
- upon them, sounded to his ears as a reproach.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had not touched it,” said he. “Something dropped from
- the roof upon it. You don’t mind the darkness?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no—no,” said she, doubtfully. “But we were
- commanded to be dumb.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That command was given on the assumption that the candle would
- continue burning—now the conditions are changed,” said he,
- with a sophistry that would have done credit to a cabinet minister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a considerable pause before she asked him how long he thought it
- would be before the boat would return.
- </p>
- <p>
- He declined to bind himself to any expression of opinion on the subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then there was another pause, filled up only by the splash of something
- falling from the roof—by the wash of the water against the smooth
- rock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder how it has come about that I am given a chance of speaking
- to you at last?” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At last?” said she, repeating his words in the same tone of
- inquiry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say at last, because I have been waiting for such an opportunity
- for some time, but it did not come. I don’t suppose I was clever
- enough to make my opportunity, but now it has come, thank God.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again there was silence. He seemed to think that he had said something
- requiring a reply from her, but she did not speak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if you would believe me when I say that I love you,”
- he remarked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she replied, as naturally as though he had asked her
- what she thought of the weather. “Yes, I think I would believe you.
- If you did not love me—if I was not sure that you loved me, I should
- be the most miserable girl in all the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great God!” he cried. “You do not mean to say that you
- love me, Beatrice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you could only see my face now, you would know it,” said
- she. “My eyes would tell you all—no, not all—that is in
- my heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught her hands, after first grasping a few handfuls of clammy rock,
- for the hands of the truest lovers do not meet mechanically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see them,” he whispered—“I see your eyes
- through the darkness. My love, my love!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not kiss her. His soul revolted from the idea of the commonplace
- kiss in the friendly secrecy of the darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- There are opportunities and opportunities. He believed that if he had
- kissed her then she would never have forgiven him, and he was right.
- “What a fool I was!” he cried. “Two nights ago, when I
- overheard a man tell you, as I had told you long ago—so long ago—more
- than a week ago—that he did not want you to pass out of his sight—when
- I heard you make the same promise to him as you had made to me, I felt as
- if there was nothing left for me in the world. I went out into the
- darkness, and as I stood at the place when I first saw you, I thought that
- I should be doing well if I were to throw myself headlong down those rocks
- into the sea that the rain was beating upon. Beatrice, God only knows if
- it would be better or worse for you if I had thrown myself down—if I
- were to leave you standing alone here now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not say those words—they are like the words I asked you
- before not to say. Even then your words meant everything to me. They mean
- everything to me still.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave a little laugh. Triumph rang through it. He did not seem to think
- that his laughter might sound incongruous to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is my hour,” he said. “Whatever fate may have in
- store for me it cannot make me unlive this hour. And to think that I had
- got no idea that such an hour should ever come to me—that you should
- ever come to me, my beloved! But you came to me. You came to me when I had
- tried to bring myself to feel that there was something worth living for in
- the world apart from love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now—and now—now I know that there is nothing but
- love that is worth living for. What is your thought, Beatrice—tell
- me all that is in your heart?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All—all?” She now gave the same little laugh that he
- had given. She felt that her turn had come.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave just the same laugh when his feeling of triumph had given place
- to a very different feeling—when he had told her that he was a
- pauper—that he had no position in the world—that he was
- dependent upon his father for every penny that he had to spend, with the
- exception of a few hundred pounds a year, which he inherited from his
- mother—that it was an act of baseness on his part to tell her that
- he loved her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had plenty of time for telling her all this, and for explaining his
- position thoroughly, for nearly an hour had passed before a gleam of light
- and a hail from the furthest recesses of the cave, made them aware of the
- fact that other interests than theirs existed in the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet when he had told her all that he had to tell to his disadvantage,
- she gave that little laugh of triumph. He would have given a good deal to
- be able to see the expression which he knew was in those wonderful eyes of
- hers, as that laugh came from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not being able to do so, however, he could only crush her hands against
- his lips and reply to the boat’s hail.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brian, on hearing of the mishap to the candle, delivered a torrent of
- execration against himself. It took Harold some minutes to bring himself
- up to the point of Lord Innisfail’s enthusiasm on the subject of
- seal-fishing. Five excellent specimens were in the bottom of the boat, and
- the men who had swum after them were there also. A strong odour of whiskey
- was about them; and the general idea that prevailed was that they would
- not suffer from a chill, though they had been in the water for three
- quarters of an hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the other boats only succeeded in capturing three seals among them all,
- Brian had statistics to bear out his contention that the presence of
- Beatrice had brought luck to his boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- He pocketed two sovereigns which Harold handed him when the boats returned
- to the mooring-place, and he was more profuse than ever in his abuse of
- his own stupidity in placing the candle so as to be affected by the damp
- from the roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes twinkled all the time in a way that made Harold’s cheeks
- red.
- </p>
- <p>
- The judge found Miss Avon somewhat <i>distraite</i> after dinner that
- night. He became pensive in consequence. He wondered if she thought him
- elderly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not mind in the least growing old, but the idea of being thought
- elderly was abhorrent to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day Beatrice and her father returned to their cottage at the
- other side of the lough.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0006" id="link2HBCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXV.—ON THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE REPROBATE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>OMETHING
- remarkable had occurred. Lord Fotheringay had been for a fortnight under
- one roof without disgracing himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- The charitable people said he was reforming.
- </p>
- <p>
- The others said he was aging rapidly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fact remained the same, however: he had been a fortnight at the Castle
- and he had not yet disgraced himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burgoyne congratulated Lady Innisfail upon this remarkable
- occurrence, and Lady Innisfail began to hope that it might get talked
- about. If her autumn party at Castle Innisfail were to be talked about in
- connection with the reform of Lord Fotheringay, much more interest would
- be attached to the party and the Castle than would be the result of the
- publication of the statistics of a gigantic shoot. Gigantic shoots did
- undoubtedly take place on the Innisfail Irish property, but they
- invariably took place before the arrival of Lord Innisfail and his guests,
- and the statistics were, for obvious reasons, not published. They only
- leaked out now and again.
- </p>
- <p>
- The most commonplace people might enjoy the reputation attaching to the
- careful preservation and the indiscriminate slaughter of game; but Lady
- Innisfail knew that the distinction accruing from a connection with a
- social scandal of a really high order, or with a great social reform—either
- as regards a hardened reprobate or an afternoon toilet—was something
- much greater.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course, she understood perfectly well that in England the Divorce Court
- is the natural and legitimate medium for attaining distinction in the form
- of a Special Edition and a pen and ink portrait; but she had seen great
- things accomplished by the rumour of an unfair game of cards, as well as
- by a very daring skirt dance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Next to a high-class scandal, the discovery of a new religion was a means
- of reaching eminence, she knew. With the exact social value attaching to
- the Reform of a Hardened Reprobate, she was as yet unacquainted, the fact
- being that she had never had any experience of such an incident—it
- was certainly very rare in the society in which she moved, so that it is
- not surprising that she was not prepared to say at a moment how much it
- would count in the estimation of the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- But if the Reform of a Reprobate—especially a reprobate with a title—was
- so rare as to be uncatalogued, so to speak, surely it should be of
- exceptional value as a social incident. Should it not partake of the
- prestige which attaches to a rare occurrence?
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the way that Mrs. Burgoyne put the matter to her friend and
- hostess, and her friend and hostess was clever enough to appreciate the
- force of her phrases. She began to perceive that although Lord Fotheringay
- had come to the Castle on the slenderest of invitations, and simply
- because it suited his purpose—although she had been greatly annoyed
- at his sudden appearance at the Castle, still good might come of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not venture to estimate from the standpoint of the moralist, the
- advantages accruing to the Reformed Reprobate himself from the incident of
- his reform, she merely looked at the matter from the standpoint of the
- woman of society—which is something quite different—desirous
- of attaining a certain social distinction.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it was that Lady Innisfail took to herself the credit of the Reform
- of the Reprobate, and petted the reprobate accordingly, giving no
- attention whatever to the affairs of his son. These affairs, interesting
- though they had been to her some time before, now became insignificant
- compared with the Great Reform.
- </p>
- <p>
- She even went the length of submitting to be confided in by Lord
- Fotheringay; and she heard, with genuine interest, from his own lips that
- he considered the world in general to be hollow. He had found it so. He
- had sounded the depths of its hollowness. He had found that in all grades
- of society there was much evil. The working classes—he had studied
- the question of the working man not as a parliamentary candidate,
- consequently honestly—drank too much beer. They sought happiness
- through the agency of beer; but all the beer produced by all the brewers
- in the House of Lords would not bring happiness to the working classes. As
- for the higher grades of society—the people who were guilty of
- partaking of unearned increment—well, they were wrong too. He
- thought it unnecessary to give the particulars of the avenues through
- which they sought happiness. But they were all wrong. The domestic life—there,
- and there only, might one find the elements of true happiness. He knew
- this because he had endeavoured to reach happiness by every other avenue
- and had failed in his endeavours. He now meant to supply his omission, and
- he regretted that it had never occurred to him to do so before. Yes, some
- poet or other had written something or other on the subject of the great
- charm of a life of domesticity, and Lord Fotheringay assured Lady
- Innisfail in confidence that that poet was right.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail sighed and said that the Home—the English Home—with
- its simple pleasures and innocent mirth, was where the Heart—the
- English Heart—was born. What happiness was within the reach of all
- if they would only be content with the Home! Society might be all very
- well in its way. There were duties to be discharged—every rank in
- life carried its duties with it; but how sweet it was, after one had
- discharged one’s social obligations, to find a solace in the
- retirement of Home.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay lifted up his hands and said “Ah—ah,”
- in different cadences.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Innisfail folded her hands and shook her head with some degree of
- solemnity. She felt confident that if Lord Fotheringay was in earnest, her
- autumn party would be talked about with an enthusiasm surpassing that
- which would attach to the comments on any of the big shoots in Scotland,
- or in Yorkshire, or in Wales.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when Lord Fotheringay had an opportunity of conversing alone with Mr.
- Airey, he did not think it necessary to dwell upon the delights which he
- had begun to perceive might be found in a life of pure domesticity. He
- took the liberty of reminding Mr. Airey of the conversation they had on
- the morning after Miss Avon’s arrival at the Castle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Had we a conversation then, Lord Fotheringay?” said Mr.
- Airey, in a tone that gave Lord Fotheringay to understand that if any
- contentious point was about to be discussed, it would rest with him to
- prove everything.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we had a conversation,” said Lord Fotheringay. “I
- was foolish enough to make a confidant of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you did so, you certainly were foolish,” said Edmund,
- quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been keeping my eyes open and my ears open as well, during
- the past ten days,” said Lord Fotheringay, with a leer that was
- meant to be significant. Edmund Airey, however, only took it to signify
- that Lord Fotheringay could easily be put into a very bad temper. He said
- nothing, but allowed Lord Fotheringay to continue. “Yes, let me tell
- you that when I keep both eyes and ears open not much escapes me. I have
- seen and heard a good deal. You are a clever sort of person, friend Airey;
- but you don’t know the world as I know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no—as you know it—ah, no,” remarked Mr.
- Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay was a trifle put out by the irritating way in which the
- words were spoken. Still, the pause he made was not of long duration.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have your game to play, like other people, I suppose,” he
- resumed, after the little pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are at liberty to suppose anything you please, my dear Lord
- Fotheringay,” said Mr. Airey, with a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come,” said Lord Fotheringay, adopting quite another tone.
- “Come, Airey, speaking as man to man, wasn’t it a confoundedly
- shabby trick for you to play upon me—getting me to tell you that I
- meant to marry that young thing—to save her from unhappiness, Airey?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” said Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” said Lord Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You didn’t complete your sentence. Was the shabby trick
- accepting your confidence?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The shabby trick was trying to win the affection of the young woman
- after I had declared to you my intention.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was the shabby trick, was it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no hesitation in saying that it was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. I hope that you have nothing more to confide in me
- beside this—your confidences have so far been singularly
- uninteresting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay got really angry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me tell you—” he began, but he was stopped by
- Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I decline to let you tell me anything,” said he. “You
- accused me just now of being so foolish as to listen to your confidences.
- I, perhaps, deserved the reproach. But I should be a fool if I were to
- give you another chance of levelling the same accusation against me. You
- will have to force your confidences on someone else in future, unless such
- as concern your liver. You confided in me that your liver wasn’t
- quite the thing. How is it to-day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I understand your tactics,” said Lord Fotheringay, with a
- snap. “And I’ll take good care to make others acquainted with
- them also,” he added. “Oh, no, Mr. Airey; I wasn’t born
- yesterday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To that fact every Peerage in the kingdom bears testimony,”
- said Mr. Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay had neglected his cigar. It had gone out. He now took
- three or four violent puffs at it; he snapped it from between his teeth,
- looked at the end, and then dropped it on the ground and stamped on it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was your own fault,” said Airey. “Try one of mine,
- and don’t bother yourself with other matters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll bother myself with what I please,” said Lord
- Fotheringay with a snarl.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he took Mr. Airey’s cigar, and smoked it to the end. He knew
- that Mr. Airey smoked Carolinas.
- </p>
- <p>
- This little scene took place outside the Castle before lunch on the second
- day after the departure of Mr. Avon and his daughter; and, after lunch,
- Lord Fotheringay put on a yachting jacket and cap, and announced his
- intention of having a stroll along the cliffs. His doctor had long ago
- assured him, he said, that he did not take sufficient exercise nor did he
- breathe enough fresh air. He meant in future to put himself on a strict
- regimen in this respect, and would begin at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was allowed to carry out his intention alone—indeed he did not
- hint that his medical adviser had suggested company as essential to the
- success of any scheme of open air exercise.
- </p>
- <p>
- The day was a breezy one, and the full force of the wind was felt at the
- summit of the cliff coast; but like many other gentlemen who dread being
- thought elderly, he was glad to seize every opportunity of showing that he
- was as athletic as the best of the young fellows; so he strode along,
- gasping and blowing with quite as much fresh air in his face as the most
- exacting physician could possibly have prescribed for a single dose.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made his way to the mooring-place of the boats, and he found Brian in
- the boat-house engaged in making everything snug.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was very civil to Brian, and after a transfer of coin, inquired about
- the weather.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a bit of a draught of wind in the lough, Brian said, but it was
- a fine day for a sail. Would his lardship have a mind for a bit of a sail?
- The <i>Acushla</i> was cruising, but the <i>Mavourneen</i>, a neat little
- craft that sailed like a swallow, was at his lardship’s service.
- </p>
- <p>
- After some little consideration, Lord Fotheringay said that though he had
- no idea of sailing when he left the Castle, yet he never could resist the
- temptation of a fine breeze—it was nothing stronger than a breeze
- that was blowing, was it?
- </p>
- <p>
- “A draught—just a bit of a draught,” said the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In that case,” said Lord Fotheringay, “I think I may
- venture. In fact, now that I come to think of it, I should like to visit
- the opposite shore. There is a Castle or something, is there not, on the
- opposite shore?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it a Castle?” said Brian. “Oh, there’s a power
- of Castles scattered along the other shore, my lard. It’s thrippin’
- over them your lardship will be after doin.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we’ll not lose a moment in starting,” said Lord
- Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0007" id="link2HBCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVI.—ON FRANKNESS AND FRIENDSHIP.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>RIAN took care
- that no moment was lost. In the course of a very few minutes Lord
- Fotheringay was seated on the windward thwarts of the boat, his hands
- grasping the gunwale to right and left, and his head bowed to mitigate in
- some measure the force of the shower of sea-water that flashed over the
- boat as her hows neatly clipped the crest off every wave.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay held on grimly. He hated the sea and all connected with
- it; though he hated the House of Lords to almost as great an extent, yet
- he had offered the promoter of the Channel Tunnel to attend in the House
- and lend the moral weight of his name to the support of the scheme. It was
- only the breadth and spontaneousness of Brian’s assurance that the
- breeze was no more than a draught, that had induced him to carry out his
- cherished idea of crossing the lough.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t I tell your lardship that the boat could sail with the
- best of them?” said the man, as he hauled in the sheet a trifle, and
- brought the boat closer to the wind—a manouvre that did not tend to
- lessen the cascade that deluged his passenger.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay said not a word. He kept his head bowed to every flap of
- the waves beneath the bows. His attitude would have commended itself to
- any painter anxious to produce a type of Submission to the Will of Heaven.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was aging quickly—so much Brian perceived, and dwelt upon—with
- excellent effect—in his subsequent narrative of the voyage to some
- of the servants at the Castle. The cosmetic that will withstand the
- constant application of sea-water has yet to be invented, so that in half
- an hour Lord Fotheringay would not have been recognized except by his
- valet. Brian had taken aboard a well-preserved gentleman with a rosy
- complexion and a moustache almost too black for nature. The person who
- disembarked at the opposite side of the lough was a stooped old man with
- lank streaky cheeks and a wisp of gray hair on each side of his upper lip.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it’s a fine sailor your lardship is entirely,”
- remarked the boatman, as he lent his tottering, dazed passenger a helping
- hand up the beach of pebbles. “And it’s raal enjoyment your
- lardship will be after having among the Castles of the ould quality, after
- your lardship’s sail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Not a word did Lord Fotheringay utter. He felt utterly broken down in
- spirit, and it was not until he had got behind a rock and had taken out a
- pocket-comb and a pocket-glass, and had by these auxiliaries, and the
- application of a grain or two of roseate powder without which he never
- ventured a mile from his base of supplies, repaired some of the ravages of
- his voyage, that he ventured to make his way to the picturesque white
- cottage, which Miss Avon had once pointed out to him as the temporary
- residence of her father and herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a five-roomed cottage that had been built and furnished by an
- enthusiastic English fisherman for his accommodation during his annual
- residence in Ireland. One, more glance did Lord Fotheringay give to his
- pocket-mirror before knocking at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would have had time to renew his youth, had he had his pigments handy,
- before the door was opened by an old woman with a shawl over her shoulders
- and a cap, that had possibly once been white, on her straggling hairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- She made the stage courtesy of an old woman in front of Lord Fotheringay,
- and explained that she was a little hard of hearing—she was even
- obliging enough to give a circumstantial account of the accident that was
- responsible for her infirmity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Avon?” said the old woman, when Lord Fotheringay had
- repeated his original request in a louder tone. “Miss Avon? no, she’s
- not here now—not even her father, who was a jewel of a gentleman,
- though a bit queer. God bless them both now that they have gone back to
- England, maybe never to return.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Back to England. When?” shouted Lord Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, since early in the morning. The Blessed Virgin keep the young
- lady from harm, for she’s swater than honey, and the Saints preserve
- her father, for he was—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay did not wait to hear the position of the historian
- defined by the old woman. He turned away from the door with such words as
- caused her infirmity to be a blessing in disguise.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Brian greeted his return with a few well-chosen phrases bearing upon
- the architecture of the early Celtic nobles, Lord Fotheringay swore at
- him; but the boatman, who did a little in that way himself when under
- extreme provocation, only smiled as Lord Fotheringay took his seat in the
- boat once more, and prepared for the ordeal of his passage.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a good deal in Brian’s smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- The wind had changed most unaccountably, he explained, so that it would,
- he feared, be absolutely necessary to tack out almost to the entrance of
- the lough in order to reach the mooring-place. For the next hour he became
- the exponent of every system of sailing known to modern navigators. After
- something over an hour of this manoeuvring, he had compassion upon his
- victim, and ran the boat before the wind—he might have done so at
- first if Lord Fotheringay had not shown such a poor knowledge of men as to
- swear at him—to the mooring-place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it’s not making too free with your lardship, I’d
- offer your lardship a hand up the track,” said Brian. “It’s
- myself that has to go up to the Castle anyway, with a letter to her
- ladyship from Miss Avon. Didn’t the young lady give it to me in the
- morning before she started with his honour her father on the car?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you knew all this time that Miss Avon and her father had left
- the neighbourhood?” said Lord Fotheringay, through his store teeth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tubbe sure I did,” said Brian. “But Miss Avon didn’t
- live in one of the Castles of the ould quality that your lardship was so
- particular ready to explore.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Fotheringay felt that his knowledge of the world and the dwellers
- therein had its limits.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was at Lord Fotheringay’s bedside that Harold said his farewell
- to his father the next day. Lord Fotheringay’s incipient rheumatism
- had been acutely developed by his drenching of the previous afternoon, and
- he thought it prudent to remain in bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re going, are you?” snarled the Father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I’m going,” replied the Son. “Lord and Lady
- Innisfail leave to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you asked Miss Craven to marry you?” inquired the
- Father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not—tell me that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t made up my mind on the subject of marrying.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then the sooner you make it up the better it will be for yourself.
- I’ve been watching you pretty closely for some days—I did not
- fail to notice a certain jaunty indifference to what was going on around
- you on the night of your return from that tomfoolery in the boats—seal-hunting,
- I think they called it. I saw the way you looked at Helen Craven that
- night. Contempt, or something akin to contempt, was in every glance. Now
- you know that she is to be at Ella’s in October. You have thus six
- weeks to make up your mind to marry her. If you make up your mind to marry
- anyone else, you may make up your mind to live upon the three hundred a
- year that your mother left you. Not a penny you will get from me. I’ve
- stinted myself hitherto to secure you your allowance. By heavens, I’ll
- not do so any longer. You will only receive your allowance from me for
- another year, and then only by signing a declaration at my lawyer’s
- to the effect that you are not married. I’ve heard of secret
- marriages before now, but you needn’t think of that little game.
- That’s all I’ve to say to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it is enough,” said Harold. “Good-bye.” He
- left the room and then he left the Castle, Lady Innisfail only shaking her
- head and whispering, “You have disappointed me,” as he made
- his adieux.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day all the guests had departed—all, with the exception of
- Lord Fotheringay, who was still too ill to move. In the course of some
- days, however, the doctor thought that he might without risk—except,
- of course, such as was incidental to the conveyance itself—face a
- drive on an outside car, to the nearest railway-station.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before leaving him, as she was compelled to do owing to her own
- engagements, Lady Innisfail had another interesting conversation—it
- almost amounted to a consultation—with her friend Mrs. Burgoyne on
- the subject of the Reform of the Hardened Reprobate. And the result of
- their further consideration of the subject from every standpoint, was to
- induce them to believe that, with such a powerful incentive to the Higher
- Life as an acute rheumatic attack, Lord Fotheringay’s reform might
- safely be counted on. It might, at any rate, be freely discussed during
- the winter. If, subsequently, he should become a backslider, it would not
- matter. His reform would have gone the way of all topics.
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen Craven and Edmund Airey had also a consultation together on the
- subject upon which they had previously talked more than once.
- </p>
- <p>
- Each of them showed such an anxiety to give prominence to the circumstance
- that they were actuated solely for Harold’s benefit in putting into
- practice the plan which one of them had suggested, it was pretty clear
- that they had an uneasy feeling that they required some justification for
- the course which they had thought well to pursue.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, they agreed that Harold should be placed beyond the power of his
- father. Mr. Airey said he had never met a more contemptible person than
- Lord Fotheringay, and for the sake of making Harold independent of such a
- father, he would, he declared, do again all that he had done during the
- week of Miss Avon’s sojourn at the Castle.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was, indeed, sad, Miss Craven felt, that Harold should have such a
- father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps it was because I felt this so strongly that I—I—well,
- I began to ask myself if there might not be some way of escape for him,”
- said she, in a pensive tone that was quite different from the tone of the
- frank communication that she had made to Mr. Airey some time before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can quite understand that,” said Edmund. “Well,
- though Harold hasn’t shown himself to be wise—that is—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We both know what that means,” said she, anticipating his
- definition of wisdom so far as Harold was concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We do,” said Edmund. “If he has not shown himself to be
- wise in this way, he has not shown himself to be a fool in another way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose he has not,” said she, thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! you don’t mean to think that—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That he has told Beatrice Avon that he loves her? No, I don’t
- fancy that he has, still—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Still?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I thought that, on their return from that awful seal-hunt, I
- saw a change in both of them. It seemed to me that—that—well,
- I don’t quite know how I should express it. Haven’t you seen a
- thirsty look on a man’s face?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A thirsty look? I believe I have seen it on a woman’s face.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It may be the same. Well, Harold Wynne’s face wore such an
- expression for days before the seal-hunt—I can’t say that I
- noticed it on Beatrice Avon’s face at the same time; but so soon as
- they returned from the boats on that evening, I noticed the change on
- Harold’s—perhaps it was only fancy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am inclined to believe that it was fancy. In my belief none of us
- was quite the same after that wild cruise. I was beside Miss Avon all the
- time that we were sailing out to the caves, and though she and Harold were
- in the boat together, yet Lord Innisfail and Durdan were in the same boat
- also. I can’t see how they could have had any time for an
- understanding while they were engaged in looking after the seals.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven shook her head doubtfully. It was clear that she was a
- believer in the making of opportunities in such matters as those which
- they were discussing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anyhow, we have done all that we could reasonably be expected to
- do,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And perhaps a trifle over,” said he. “If it were not
- that I like Harold so much—and you, too, my dear”—this
- seemed an afterthought—“I would not have done all that I have
- done. It is quite unlikely that Miss Avon and I shall be under the same
- roof again, but if we should be, I shall, you may be certain, find out
- from her whether or not an understanding exists between her and Harold.
- But what understanding could it be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven smiled. Was this the man who had made such a reputation for
- cleverness, she asked herself—a man who placed a limit on the
- opportunities of lovers, and then inquired what possible understanding
- could be come to between a penniless man and a girl with “a gray eye
- or so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What understanding?” said she. “Why, he may have
- unfolded to her a scheme for becoming Lord High Chancellor after two year’s
- hard work at the bar, with a garden-party now and again; or for being made
- a Bishop in the same time; and their understanding may be to wait for one
- another until the arrival of either event. Never mind. We have done our
- best for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For them,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he tried to bring himself to believe that all that he had done was
- for the benefit of his friend Harold and for his friend Beatrice—to
- say nothing of his friend Helen as well. After a time he did almost force
- himself to believe that there was nothing that was not strictly honourable
- in the endeavour that he had made, at Helen’s suggestion, to induce
- Beatrice Avon to perceive the possibility of her obtaining a proposal of
- marriage from a rich and distinguished man, if she were only to decline to
- afford the impecunious son of a dissolute peer an opportunity of telling
- her that he loved her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now and again, however, he had an uneasy twinge, as the thought occurred
- to him that if some man, understanding the exact circumstances of the
- case, were to be as frank with him as Helen Craven had been (once), that
- man might perhaps be led to say that he had been making a fool of Beatrice
- for the sake of gratifying his own vanity.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was just possible, and he knew it, that that frank friend—assuming
- that frankness and friendship may exist together—might be disposed
- to give prominence in this matter to the impulses of vanity, to the
- exclusion of the impulses of friendship, and a desire to set the crooked
- straight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even the fortnight which he spent in Norway with one of the heads of the
- Government party—a gentleman who would probably have shortly at his
- disposal an important Under-Secretaryship—failed quite to abate
- these little twinges that he had when he reflected upon the direction that
- might be taken by a frank friend, in considering the question of the
- responsibility involved in his attitude toward Miss Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was just a week after Lord Fotheringay had left Castle Innisfail that a
- stranger appeared in the neighbourhood—a strange gentleman with the
- darkest hair and the fiercest eyes ever seen, even in that region of dark
- hair and eyes. He inquired who were the guests at the Castle, and when he
- learned that the last of them—a distinguished peer named Lord
- Fotheringay—had gone some time, and that it was extremely unlikely
- that the Castle would be open for another ten months, his eyes became
- fiercer than ever. He made use of words in a strange tongue, which Brian
- declared, if not oaths, would do duty for oaths without anyone being the
- wiser.
- </p>
- <p>
- The stranger departed as mysteriously as he had come.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0008" id="link2HBCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVII.—ON CIRCUMVENTING A STAG.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>F Edmund Airey had
- a good deal to think about in Norway, Harold Wynne was certainly not
- without a subject for thought in Scotland.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with a feeling of exultation that he had sat in the bows of the
- cutter <i>Acushla</i> on her return to her moorings after that seal-hunt
- which everyone agreed had been an extraordinary success. Had this
- expression of exultation been noticed by Lady Innisfail, it would,
- naturally, have been attributed by her to the fact that he had been in the
- boat that had made the largest catch of seals. To be sure, Miss Craven,
- who had observed at least a change in the expression upon his face, did
- not attribute it to his gratification on having slaughtered some seals,
- but then Miss Craven was more acute than an ordinary observer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that he did well to be exultant, as he looked at Beatrice Avon
- standing by the side of Lord Innisfail at the tiller. The wind that filled
- the mainsail came upon her face and held her garments against her body,
- revealing every gracious curve of her shape, and suggesting to his eyes a
- fine piece of sculpture with flying drapery.
- </p>
- <p>
- And she was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed to him when he had begun to speak to her in the solemn darkness
- of the seal-cave, that it was impossible that he could receive any answer
- from her that would satisfy him. How was it possible that she could love
- him, he had asked himself at some agonizing moments during the week. He
- thought that she might possibly have come to love him in time, if she had
- not been with him in the boat during that night of mist, when the voice of
- Helen Craven had wailed round the cliffs. Her arrival at the Castle could
- not but have revealed to her the fact that she might obtain an offer of
- marriage from someone who was socially far above him; and thus he had
- almost lost all hope of her.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet she was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- The course adopted by his friend Edmund Airey had astonished him. He could
- not believe that Airey had fallen in love with her. It was not consistent
- with Airey’s nature to fall in love with anyone, he believed. But he
- knew that in the matter of falling in love, people do not always act
- consistently with their character; so that, after all, Airey might be only
- waiting an opportunity to tell her that he had fallen in love with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The words that he had overheard Airey speak to her upon the night of the
- <i>tableaux</i> in the hall—words that had driven him out into the
- night of rain and storm to walk madly along the cliffs, and to wonder if
- he were to throw himself into the waves beneath, would he be strong enough
- to let himself sink into their depths or weak enough to make a struggle
- for life—those words had cleared away whatever doubts he had
- entertained as to Edmund’s intentions.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet she was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had answered his question so simply and clearly—with such
- earnestness and tenderness as startled him. It seemed that they had come
- to love each other, as he had read of lovers doing, from the first moment
- that they had met. It seemed that her love had, like his, only increased
- through their being kept apart from each other—mainly by the clever
- device of Miss Craven and the co-operation of Edmund Airey, though, of
- course, Harold did not know this.
- </p>
- <p>
- His reflections upon this marvel—the increase of their love, though
- they had few opportunities of being together and alone—would have
- been instructive even to persons so astute and so ready to undertake the
- general control of events as Mr. Airey and Miss Craven. Unfortunately,
- however, they were as ignorant of what had taken place to induce these
- reflections as he was of the conspiracy between them to keep him apart
- from Beatrice to secure his happiness and the happiness of Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fact that Beatrice loved him and had confessed her love for him,
- though they had had so few opportunities of being together, seemed to him
- the greatest of all the marvels that he had recently experienced.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he gave a farewell glance at the lough and recollected how, a fortnight
- before, he had walked along the cliffs and had cast to the winds all his
- cherished ideas of love, he could not help feeling that he had been
- surrounded with marvels. He had had a narrow escape—he actually
- regarded a goodlooking young woman with several thousands of pounds of an
- income, as a narrow escape.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the last of the reflections that came to him with the sound of
- the green seas choked in the narrows of the lough.
- </p>
- <p>
- The necessity of preserving himself from sudden death—the Irish
- outside car on which he was driving was the worst specimen he had yet seen—absorbed
- all his thoughts when he had passed through the village of Ballycruiskeen;
- and by the time he had got out of the train that carried him to the East
- Coast—a matter of six hours travelling—and aboard the steamer
- that bore him to Glasgow, the exultation that he had felt on leaving
- Castle Innisfail, and on reflecting upon the great happiness that had come
- to him, was considerably chastened.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was due at two houses in Scotland. At the first he meant to do a little
- shooting. The place was not inaccessible. After a day’s travelling
- he found himself at a railway station fifteen miles from his destination.
- He eventually reached the place, however, and he had some shooting, which,
- though indifferent, was far better than it was possible to obtain on Lord
- Innisfail’s mountains—at least for Lord Innisfail’s
- guests to obtain.
- </p>
- <p>
- The second place was still further north—it was now and again
- alluded to as the North Pole by some visitors who had succeeded in finding
- their way to it, in spite of the directions given to them by the various
- authorities on the topography of the Highlands. Several theories existed
- as to the best way of reaching this place, and Harold, who knew sufficient
- Scotch to be able to take in the general meaning of the inhabitants
- without the aid of an interpreter, was made aware while at the shooting
- lodge, of these theories. Hearing, however, that some persons had actually
- been known to find the place, he felt certain that they had struck out an
- independent course for themselves. It was incredible to him that any of
- them had reached it by following the directions they had received on the
- subject. He determined to follow their example; and he had reached the
- place—eventually.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was when he had been for three days following a stag, that he began to
- think of his own matters in a dispassioned way. Crawling on one’s
- stomach along a mile or two of boggy land and then wriggling through
- narrow spaces among the rocks—sitting for five or six hours on
- gigantic sponges (damp) of heather, with one’s chin on one’s
- knees for strategical purposes, which the gillies pretend they understand,
- but which they keep a dead secret—shivering as the Scotch mist
- clothes one as with a wet blanket, then being told suddenly that there is
- a stag thirty yards to windward—getting a glimpse of it, missing it,
- and then hearing the gillies exchanging remarks in a perfectly
- intelligible Gaelic regarding one’s capacity—these incidents
- constitute an environment that tends to make one look dispassionately upon
- such marvels as Harold had been considering in a very different spirit
- while the Irish lough was yet within hearing.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the third day that he had been trying to circumvent the stag, Harold
- felt despondent—not about the stag, for he had long ago ceased to
- take any interest in the brute—but about his own future.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is to be regretted (sometimes) that an exchange of sentiments on the
- subject of love between lovers does not bring with it a change of
- circumstances, making possible the realization of a scheme of life in
- which those sentiments shall play an active part—or at least as
- active a part as sentiments can play. This was Harold’s great
- regret. Since he had found that he loved Beatrice and that Beatrice loved
- him, the world naturally appeared lovelier also. But it was with the
- loveliness of a picture that hangs in a public gallery, not as an
- individual possession.
- </p>
- <p>
- His material circumstances, so far from having improved since he had
- confessed to Edmund Airey that it was necessary for him to marry a woman
- with money, had become worse; and yet he had given no thought to the young
- woman with the money, but a great many thoughts to the young woman who
- had, practically, none. He felt that no more unsatisfactory state of
- matters could be imagined. And yet he felt that it would be impossible to
- take any steps with a view of bringing about a change.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had received several letters from Beatrice, and he had written several
- to her; but though in more than one he had told her in that plain strain
- which one adopts when one does not desire to be in any way convincing,
- that it was a most unfortunate day for her when she met him, still he did
- not suggest that their correspondence should cease.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was to be the end of their love?
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the constant attempt to answer this question that gave the stag his
- chance of life when, on the afternoon of the third day, Harold was
- commanded by his masters the gillies to fire into that thickening in the
- mist which he was given to understand by an unmistakable pantomime, was
- the stag.
- </p>
- <p>
- While the gillies were exchanging their remarks in Gaelic, flavouring them
- with very smoky whiskey, he was thinking, not of the escape of the stag,
- but of what possible end there could be to the love that existed between
- Beatrice and himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the renewed thinking upon this question that brought about the
- death of that particular stag and two others before the next evening, for
- he had arrived at a point when he felt that he must shoot either a stag or
- himself. He had arrived at a condition of despair that made pretty severe
- demands upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The slaughter of the stags saved him. When he saw their bodies stretched
- before him he felt exultant once more. He felt that he had overcome his
- fate; and it was the next morning before he realized the fact that he had
- done nothing of the sort—that the possibility of his ever being able
- to marry Beatrice Avon was as remote as it had been when he had fired
- blindly into the mist, and his masters, who had carried the guns,
- exhausted (he believed) the resources, of Gaelic sarcasm in comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0009" id="link2HBCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVIII.—ON ENJOYING A RESPITE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was the first
- week in October when Harold Wynne found himself in London. He had got a
- letter from Beatrice in which she told him that she and her father would
- return to London from Holland that week. Mr. Avon had conscientiously
- followed the track of an Irish informer in whom he was greatly interested,
- and who had, at the beginning of the century, found his way to Holland,
- where he was looked upon as a poor exile from Erin. He had betrayed about
- a dozen of his fellow-countrymen to their enemies, and had then returned
- to Ireland to live to an honoured old age on the proceeds of the bargain
- he had made for their heads.
- </p>
- <p>
- The result of Harold’s consideration of the position that he
- occupied in regard to Beatrice, was this visit to London. He made up his
- mind that he should see her and tell her that, like Mrs. Browning’s
- hero, he loved her so well that he only could leave her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could bring himself to do it, he felt. He believed that he was equal to
- an act of heroic self-sacrifice for the sake of the girl—that was
- how he put the matter to himself when being soaked on the Scotch mountain.
- Yes, he would go to her and tell her that the conclusion to which he had
- come was that they must forget one another—that only unhappiness
- could result from the relationship that existed between them. He knew that
- there is no more unsatisfactory relationship between a man and a woman
- than that which has love for a basis, but with no prospect of marriage;
- and he knew that so long as his father lived and continued selfish—and
- only death could divide him from his selfishness—marriage with
- Beatrice was out of the question.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with this resolution upon him that he drove to the address in the
- neighbourhood of the British Museum, where Beatrice said she was to be
- found with her father.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was one of those mansions which at some period in the early part of the
- century had been almost splendid; now it was simply large. It was not the
- house that Harold would have cared to occupy, even rent free—and
- this was a consideration to him. But for a scholar who had a large library
- of his own, and who found it necessary to be frequently in the
- neighbourhood of the larger Library at the Museum, the house must
- undoubtedly have had its advantages.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was not at home. The elderly butler said that Mr. Avon had found it
- necessary to visit Brussels for a few days, and he had thus been delayed
- on the Continent beyond the date he had appointed for his return. He would
- probably be in England by the end of the week—the day was Wednesday.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold left the gloom of Bloomsbury behind him, feeling a curious
- satisfaction at having failed to see Beatrice—the satisfaction of a
- respite. Some days must elapse before he could make known his resolution
- to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He strolled westward to a club of which he was a member—the Bedouin,
- and was about to order dinner, when someone came behind him and laid a
- hand, by no means gently, on his shoulder. Some of the Bedouins thought it
- <i>de rigueur</i> to play such pranks upon each other; and, to do them
- justice, it was only rarely that they dislocated a friend’s shoulder
- or gave a nervous friend a fit. People said one never knew what was coming
- from the moment they entered the Bedouin Club, and the prominent Bedouins
- accepted this statement as embodying one of the most agreeable of its many
- distinctive features.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold was always prepared for the worst in this place, so when the force
- of the blow swung him round and he saw an extremely plain arrangement of
- features, distorted by a smile of extraordinary breadth, beneath a
- closely-cropped crown of bright red hair, he merely said, “Hallo,
- Archie, you here? I thought you were in South Africa lion-hunting or
- something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The smile that had previously distorted the features of the young man, was
- of such fulness that it might reasonably have been taken for granted that
- it could not be increased; the possessor showed, however, that that smile
- was not the result of a supreme effort. So soon as Harold had spoken he
- gave a wink, and that wink seemed to release the mechanical system by
- which his features were contorted, for in an instant his face became one
- mouth. In plain words, this mouth of the young man had swallowed up his
- other features. All that could be seen of his face was that enormous mouth
- flanked by a pair of enormous ears, like plantain leaves growing on each
- side of the crater of a volcano.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold looked at him and laughed, then picked up a <i>menu</i> card and
- studied it until he calculated that the young man whom he had addressed as
- Archie should have thrown off so much of his smile as would enable him to
- speak.
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave him plenty of time, and when he looked round he saw that some of
- the young man’s features had succeeded in struggling to the surface,
- as it were, beneath the circular mat of red hair that lay between his
- ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No South Africa for me, tarty chip,” said Archie. (“Tarty
- chip” was the popular term of address that year among young men
- about town. Its philological significance was never discovered.)
- </p>
- <p>
- “No South Africa for me; I went one better than that,”
- continued the young man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doubt it,” said Harold. “I’ve had my eye on you
- until lately. You have usually gone one worse. Have you any money left—tell
- the truth?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Money? I asked the tarty chips that look after that sort of thing
- for me how I stood the other day,” said Archie, “and I’m
- ashamed to say that I’ve been spending less than my income—that
- is until a couple of months ago. I’ve still about three million.
- What does that mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That you’ve got rid of about a million inside two years,”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re going it blind,” said Archie. “It only
- means that I’ve spent fifty decimals in eighteen months. I can spare
- that, tarty chip.” (It may possibly be remembered that in the slang
- of the year a decimal signified a thousand pounds.) “That means that
- you’ve squandered a fortune, Archie,” said Harold, thinking
- what fifty thousand pounds would mean to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s not much of a squander in the deal when I got value
- for it,” said Archie. “I got plenty of value. I’ve got
- to know all about this world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you’ll soon get to know all about the next, if you go on
- at this rate,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not me; I’ve got my money in sound places. You heard about my
- show.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your show? I’ve heard about nothing for the past year but
- your shows. What’s the latest? I want something to eat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come with me to my private trough,” cried the young man.
- “Don’t lay down a mosaic pavement in your inside in this hole.
- Come along, tarty chip; I’ve got a <i>chef</i> named Achille—he
- knows what suits us—also some ‘84 Heidsieck. Come along with
- me, and I’ll tell you all about the show. We’ll go there
- together later on. We’ll take supper with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! with her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. You don’t mean to say that you haven’t
- heard that I’ve taken the Legitimate Theatre for Mrs. Mowbray? Where
- on God’s footstool have you been for the past month?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not further than the extreme North of Scotland. It was far enough.
- I saw a paragraph stating that Mrs. Mowbray, after being a failure in a
- number of places, had taken the Legitimate. What has that got to say to
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not much, but I’ve got a good deal to say to it. Oh, come
- along, and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m building a monument
- for myself. I’ve got the Legitimate and I mean to make Irving and
- the rest of them sit up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0010" id="link2HBCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF READY MONEY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>RCHIE BROWN was
- the only son of Mr. John Brown, the eminent contractor. Mr. John Brown had
- been a man of simple habits and no tastes. When a working navvy he had
- acquired a liking for oatmeal porridge, and up to the day of his death,
- when he had some twenty thousand persons in his employment, each of them
- earning money for him, he never rose above this comestible. He lived a
- thoroughly happy life, taking no thought about money, and having no idea,
- beyond the building of drinking fountains in his native town, how to spend
- the profits realized on his enormous transactions.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, as the building of even the most complete system of drinking
- fountains, in a small town in Scotland, does not produce much impression
- upon the financial position of a man with some millions of pounds in cash,
- and making business profits to the extent of two hundred thousand a year,
- it was inevitable that, when a brick one afternoon fell on Mr. John Brown’s
- head and fractured his skull so severely as to cause his death, his only
- son should be left very well provided for.
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie Brown was left provided with some millions in cash, and with
- property that yielded him about one hundred pounds a day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Up to the day of his father’s death he had never had more than five
- hundred a year to spend as pocket-money—he had saved even out of
- this modest sum, for he had scarcely any more expensive tastes than his
- father, though he had ever regarded <i>sole à la Normande</i> as more
- palatable than oatmeal porridge as a breakfast dish.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never caused his father a moment’s uneasiness; but as soon as
- he was given a bird’s eye view, so to speak, of his income, he began
- to ask himself if there might not be something in the world more palatable
- even than <i>sole à la Normande</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of a year or two he had learned a good deal on the subject
- of what was palatable and what was not; for from the earliest records it
- is understood that the knowledge of good and the knowledge of evil may be
- found on the one tree.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to be talked about, and that is always worth paying money for—some
- excellent judges say that it is the only thing worth paying money for.
- Occasionally he paid a trifle over the market price for this commodity.
- But then he knew that he generally paid more than the market price for
- everything that he bought, from his collars, which were unusually high,
- down to his boots, which were of glazed kid, so that he did not complain.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found that, after a while, the tradespeople, seeing that he paid them
- cash, treated him fairly, and that the person who supplied him with cigars
- was actually generous when he bought them by the thousand.
- </p>
- <p>
- People who at first had fancied that Mr. Archibald Brown was a plunger—that
- is, a swindler whom they could swindle out of his thousands—had
- reason to modify their views on the subject after some time. For six
- months he had been imposed upon in many directions. But with all the other
- things which had to be paid for, the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of
- Good and Evil should, he knew, be included. Imported in a fresh condition
- this was, he knew, expensive; but he had a sufficient acquaintance with
- the elements of fruit-culture to be well aware of the fact that in this
- condition it is worth very much more than the canned article.
- </p>
- <p>
- He bought his knowledge of good and evil fresh.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was no fool, some people said, exultantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- These were the people whose friends had tried to impose on him but had not
- succeeded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was no fool, some people said regretfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- These were the people who had tried to impose on him but had not
- succeeded.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold had always liked Archie Brown, and he had offered him much advice—vegetarian
- banquets of the canned fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. The shrewd
- outbursts of confidence in which Archie indulged now and again, showed
- Harold that he was fast coming to understand his position in society—his
- friends and his enemies.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold, after some further persuasion, got into the hansom which Archie
- had hailed, and was soon driving down Piccadilly to the spacious rooms of
- the latter—rooms furnished in a wonderful fashion. As a panorama of
- styles the sitting-room, which was about thirty feet square, with a
- greenhouse in the rear, would have been worth much to a lecturer on the
- progress or decadence of art—any average lecturer could make the
- furniture bear out his views, whether they took one direction or the
- other.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two cabinets which had belonged to Louis XV were the finest specimens
- known in the world. They contained Sèvres porcelain and briar-root pipes.
- A third cabinet was in the purest style of boarding house art. A small
- gilt sofa was covered with old French tapestry which would have brought
- five pounds the square inch at an auction. Beside it was the famous
- Four-guinea Tottenham Armchair in best Utrecht velvet—three-nine-six
- in cretonne, carriage paid to any railway-station in the United Kingdom.
- </p>
- <p>
- A chair, the frame of which was wholly of ivory, carved in Italy, in the
- seventeenth century, by the greatest artist that ever lived, apparently
- had its uses in Archie Brown’s <i>entourage</i>, for it sustained in
- an upright position a half-empty soda-water bottle—the bottle would
- not have stood upright but for the high relief in the carving of the
- flowing hair of the figure of Atalanta at one part of the frame. Near it
- was an interesting old oak chair that was for some time believed to have
- once belonged to King Henry VIII.
- </p>
- <p>
- In achieving this striking contrast to the carved ivory, Mr. Brown thought
- that he had proved his capacity to appreciate an important element in
- artistic arrangement. He pointed it out to Harold without delay. He had
- pointed it out to every other person who had visited his rooms.
- </p>
- <p>
- He also pointed out a picture by one Rembrandt which he had picked up at
- an auction for forty shillings. A dealer had subsequently assured him that
- if he wanted a companion picture by the same painter he would not
- guarantee to procure it for him at a lower figure than twenty-five guineas—perhaps
- it might even cost him as high as thirty; therefore—the logic was
- Archie’s—the Rembrandt had been a dead bargain.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold looked at this Burgomaster’s Daughter in eighteenth century
- costume, and said that undoubtedly the painter knew what he was about.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so does Archie, tarty chip,” said his host, leading him
- to one of the bedrooms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now it’s half past seven,” said Archie, leaving him,
- “and dinner will be served at a quarter to eight. I’ve never
- been late but once, and Achille was so hurt that he gave me notice. I
- promised that it should never occur again, and it hasn’t. He doesn’t
- insist on my dressing for dinner, though he says he should like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Make my apologies to Achille,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Archie seriously—“at
- least I think it won’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold had never been in these rooms before—he wondered how it had
- chanced that he came to them at all. But before he had partaken of more
- than one of the <i>hors d’ouvres</i>—there were four of them—he
- knew that he had done well to come. Achille was an artist, the Sauterne
- was Chateau Coutet of 1861, and the champagne was, as Archie had promised
- it should be, Heidsieck of 1884. The electric light was artfully toned
- down, and the middle-aged butler understood his business.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is the family trough,” said Archie. “I say, Harry,
- isn’t it one better than the oatmeal porridge of our dads—I
- mean of my dad; yours, I know, was always one of us; my dad wasn’t,
- God bless him! If he had been we shouldn’t be here now. He’d
- have died a pauper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold so far forgot himself as to say, “Doesn’t Carlyle
- remark somewhere that it’s the fathers who work that the sons—ah,
- never mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Carlyle? What Carlyle was that? Do I know him?” asked Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Harold, shaking his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He isn’t a tarty chip, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tart, not tarty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh. Don’t neglect this jelly. It’s the best thing that
- Achille does. It’s the only thing that he ever repeats himself in.
- He came to me boasting that he could give me three hundred and sixty-five
- different dinners in the year. ‘That’s all very well,’
- said I, ‘but what about Leap Year?’ I showed him there that
- his bluff wouldn’t do. ‘Pass’ said I, and he passed. But
- we understand one another now. I will say that he has never repeated
- himself except in this jelly. I make him give it to me once a week.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re right,” said Harold. “It is something to
- think about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, while you’re in front of it, but never after,”
- said Archie. “That’s what Achille says. ‘The true
- dinner,’ says he, ‘is the one that makes you think while you’re
- at it, but that never causes you a thought afterwards.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Achille is more than an artist, he is a philosopher,” said
- Harold. “What does he call this?” he glanced at the menu card.
- “‘<i>Glace à la chagrin d’Achille</i>’ What does
- he mean by that? ‘The chagrin of Achilles’? Where does the
- chagrin come in?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he has some story about a namesake of his,” said Archie.
- “He was cut up about something, and he wouldn’t come out of
- the marquee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The tent,” cried Harold. “Achilles sulked in his tent.
- Of course, that’s the ‘<i>chagrin d’Achille</i>.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you heard of it too? Then the story has managed to leak out
- somehow. They always do. There’s nothing in it. Now I’ll tell
- you all about the show. Try one of these figs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold helped himself to a green fig, the elderly butler placed a decanter
- of claret on the table, and disappeared with the noiselessness of a
- shadow.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0011" id="link2HBCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXX.—ON THE LEGITIMATE IN ART.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN the history of
- the drama in England during the last twenty years of the nineteenth
- century comes to be written, the episode of the management of the
- Legitimate Theatre by Mrs. Mowbray will doubtless be amply treated from
- the standpoint of art, and the historian will, it may be confidently
- expected, lament the want of appreciation on the part of the public for
- the Shakespearian drama, to which the closing of the Legitimate Theatre
- was due.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were a considerable number of persons, however, who showed a
- readiness to assert that the management of the Legitimate by Mrs. Mowbray
- should be looked upon as a purely—only purely was not the word they
- used—social incident, having no basis whatever in art. It failed,
- they said, not because the people of England had ceased to love
- Shakespeare, but because Mr. Archie Brown had ceased to love Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- However this may be, there were also people who said that the Legitimate
- Theatre under the management of Mrs. Mowbray could not have been so great
- a financial failure, after all; for Mrs. Mowbray, when her season came to
- an end, wore as expensive dresses as ever, and drove as expensive horses
- as ever; and as everyone who had been associated with the enterprise had
- been paid—some people said overpaid—the natural assumption was
- that Shakespeare on the stage was not so abhorrent to the people of
- England as was generally supposed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The people who took this view of the matter were people who had never
- heard the name of Mr. Archie Brown—people who regarded Mrs. Mowbray
- as a self-sacrificing lady who had so enthusiastic a desire to make the
- public acquainted with the beauties of Shakespeare, that she was quite
- content to spend her own fortune (wherever that came from) in producing
- “Cymbeline” and other masterpieces at the Legitimate.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were other people who said that Archie Brown was a young ass.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were others who said that Mrs. Mowbray was a harpy.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were others still—they were mostly men—who said that
- Mrs. Mowbray was the handsomest woman in England.
- </p>
- <p>
- The bitterest—they were mostly women—said that she was both
- handsome and a harpy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The truth regarding the difficult question of the Legitimate Theatre was
- gathered by Harold Wynne, as he swallowed his claret and ate his olives at
- the dining table at Archie Birown’s rooms in Piccadilly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He perceived from what Archie told him, that Archie had a genuine
- enthusiasm in the cause of Shakespeare. How he had acquired it, he might
- have had considerable difficulty in explaining. He also gathered that Mrs.
- Mowbray cared very little for Shakespeare except as a medium for
- impressing upon the public the fact—she believed it to be a fact—that
- Mrs. Mowbray was the most beautiful woman in England.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cymbeline” had, she considered, been written in the prophetic
- instinct, which the author so frequently manifested, that one day a woman
- with such shapely limbs as Mrs. Mowbray undoubtedly possessed, might
- desire to exhibit them to the public of this grand old England of
- Shakespeare’s and ours.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Mowbray was probably the most expensive taste that any man in England
- could entertain.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this Harold gathered from the account of the theatrical enterprise, as
- communicated to him by Archie after dinner.
- </p>
- <p>
- And the best of it all was, Archie assured him, that no human being could
- say a word against the character of Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never heard a word against the character of her frocks,”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a big thing, the management of the Legitimate,”
- said Archie, gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No doubt; even when it’s managed, shall we say, legitimately?”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I feel the responsibility, I can tell you,” said Archie.
- “Shakespeare has never been given a proper chance in England; and
- although she’s a year or two older than me, yet on the box seat of
- my coach she doesn’t look a day over twenty-two—just when a
- woman is at her best, Harry. What I want to know is, shall it be said of
- us that Shakespeare—the immortal Shakespeare, mind you—Stratford
- upon Avon, you know—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I have his late address,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all right. But what I want to know is, shall it be
- said that we are willing to throw our Shakespeare overboard? In the scene
- in the front of the cave she is particularly fine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant Harold’s thoughts were carried back to a certain scene
- in front of a cave on a moonlight night; and for him the roar of life
- through Piccadilly was changed to the roar of the Atlantic. His thoughts
- remained far away while Archie talked gravely of building himself a
- monument by his revival of “Cymbeline”, with which the
- Legitimate had been opened by Mrs. Mowbray. Of course, the thing hadn’t
- begun to pay yet, he explained. Everyone knew that the Bicycle had ruined
- theatrical business in London; but the Legitimate could fight even the
- Bicycle, and when the public had the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray properly
- impressed upon them, Shakespeare would certainly obtain that recognition
- which he deserves from England. Were Englishmen proud of Shakespeare, or
- were they not? that was what Archie wished very much to know. If the
- people of your so-called British Islands wish to throw Shakespeare
- overboard, just let them say so. But if they threw him over, the
- responsibility would rest with them; Mrs. Mowbray would still be the
- handsomest woman in England. At any rate, “Cymbeline” at the
- Legitimate would be a monument.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As a lighthouse is a monument,” said Harold, coming back from
- the Irish lough to Piccadilly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew you’d agree with me,” said Archie. “You
- know that I’ve always had a great respect for your opinion, Harry. I
- don’t object so much as some tarty chips to your dad. I wish he’d
- see Mrs. Mowbray. There’s no vet. whose opinion I’d sooner
- take on the subject than his. He’d find her all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold looked at the young man whose plain features—visible when he
- did not smile too broadly—displayed the enthusiasm that possessed
- him when he was fancying that his devotion to the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray
- was a true devotion to Shakespeare. Archie Brown, he was well aware, was
- very imperfectly educated.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not, however, much worse than the general run of people. Like them
- he knew only enough of Shakespeare to be able to misquote him now and
- again; and, like them, he believed that. Darwinism meant nothing more than
- that men had once been monkeys.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold looked at Archie, and felt that Mrs. Mowbray was a fortunate woman
- in having met with him. The monument was being raised, Harold felt; and he
- was right. The management of the Legitimate-Theatre was a memorial to
- Vanity working heart, and soul with Ignorance to the praise and glory of
- Shakespeare.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0012" id="link2HBCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXI.—ON A BLACK SHEEP.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span> EFORE Archie had
- completed his confidences, a visitor was announced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it’s only old Playdell,” said Archie. “You
- know old Playdell, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not so certain that I do,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he’s a good old soul who was kicked out of the Church by
- the bishop for doing something or other. He’s useful to me—keeps
- my correspondence in order—spots the chaps that write the begging
- letters, and sees that they don’t get anything out of me, while he
- takes care that all the genuine ones get all that they deserve. He’s
- an Oxford man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Playdell—Playdell,” said Harold. “Surely he can’t
- be the fellow that got run out for marrying people without a licence?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s his speciality,” said Archie. “Come along,
- chippie Chaplain. Chip in, and have a glass of something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A middle-aged man, wearing the coat and the tie of a cleric, entered the
- room with a smile and a bow to Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve heard of Mr. Wynne, Play?” said Archie. “The
- Honourable Harold Wynne. He’s heard of you—yes, you bet your
- hoofs on that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say you’ve heard of me, Mr. Wynne,” said the
- man. “It’s the black sheep in a flock that obtain notoriety;
- the colourless ones escape notice. I’m a black sheep.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re about as black as they make them, old Play,”
- remarked Archie, with a prompt and kindly acquiescence. “But your
- blackness doesn’t go deeper than the wool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say that because you are always disposed to be charitable,
- Archie,” said Mr. Playdell. “Even with you I’m afraid
- that another notorious character is not so black as he’s painted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Neither he is,” said Archie. “You know as well as I do
- that the devil is not so black as he used to be—he’s turning
- gray in his old age.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They treated me worse than they treated the Fiend himself, Mr.
- Wynne,” said Playdell. “They turned me out of the Church, but
- the Church still retains the Prince of Darkness. He is still the most
- powerful auxiliary that the Church knows.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you expressed that sentiment when in orders,” said Harold,
- “I can quite easily understand how you find yourself outside the
- Church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was quite orthodox when in the Church, Mr. Wynne. I couldn’t
- afford to be otherwise,” said Playdell. “I wasn’t even
- an Honest Doubter. I felt that if I had begun to doubt I might become a
- Dissenter before I knew what I was about. It is only since I left the
- Church that I’ve indulged in the luxury of being unorthodox.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take a glass of wine for your stomach’s sake,” said
- Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That lad is the son of a Scotch Nonconformist,” said Mr.
- Playdell to Harold; “hence the text. Would it be unorthodox to say
- that an inscrutable Providence did not see fit to preserve the reply of
- Timothy to that advice? For my own part I cannot doubt for a moment that
- Timothy inquired for what other reason his correspondent fancied he might
- take the wine. I like my young patron’s La Rose. It must have been
- something very different from this that the person alluded to when he said
- ‘my love is better than wine.’ Yes, I’ve always thought
- that the truth of the statement was largely dependent on the wine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll take my oath that isn’t orthodox,” said
- Archie. “You’d better mind what you’re about, chippie
- Chaplain, or I’ll treat you as the bishop did. This is an orthodox
- household, let me tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I feel like Balaam’s ass sometimes, Mr. Wynne, in this
- situation,” said Mr. Playdell. “In endeavouring to avoid the
- angel with the sword on one hand—that is the threatening orthodoxy
- of the Church—I make myself liable to a blow from the staff of the
- prophet—our young friend is the prophet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will say this for you, chippie Chaplain,” said Archie,
- “you’ve kept me straight. Not that I ever did take kindly to
- the flowing bowl; but we all know what temptations there are.” He
- looked into his glass and spoke solemnly, shaking his head. “Yes,
- Harry, I’ve never drunk a thimbleful more than I should since old
- Play here lectured me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I could only persuade you—‘’commenced Mr.
- Playdell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’m not such an ass,” cried Archie, interrupting
- him. Then he turned to Harold, saying, “The chippie Chaplain wants
- to marry me to some one whose name we never mention. That has always been
- his weakness—marrying tarty chips that he had no right to marry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I don’t mistake, Mr. Playdell, it was this little weakness
- that brought you to grief,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was the only point that the bishop could lay hold of, Mr. Wynne,”
- said Playdell. “I held, and I still hold, that the ceremony of
- marriage may be performed by any person who has been ordained—that
- the question of a licence is not one that should come forward upon any
- occasion. Those who hold other opinions are those who would degrade the
- ordinance into a mere civil act.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you married without question every couple who came to you, I
- believe?” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did, Mr. Wynne. And I will be happy to marry any other couples
- who come to me for that purpose now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, you are no longer in the Church, and such marriages would be
- no marriages in the eyes of the law.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing can be more certain, Mr. Wynne. But I know that there are
- many persons in this country who hold, with me, that the ordinance is not
- one that should be made the subject of a licence bought from a bishop—who
- hold that the very act of purchase is a gross degradation of the ordinance
- of God.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, chippie Chaplain, haven’t we had enough of that?”
- said Archie. “You’ve pegged away at that marriage business
- with me for a good many months. Now, I say, pass the marriage business.
- Let us have a fresh deal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Wynne, I merely wished to explain my position to you,”
- said Playdell. “I’m on the side of the angels in this
- question, as a great statesman but a poor scientist said of another
- question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pass the statesman as well,” cried Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do tarty chips like us care for politics or other fads? He
- told me the other day, Harry, that instead of introducing a bill for the
- admission of ladies as members of Parliament, it would soon be necessary
- to introduce a bill for the admission of gentlemen as members—yes,
- you said that. You can’t deny it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t,” said Mr. Playdell. “The result of the
- last General Election—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pass the General Election,” shouted Archie. “Mr. Wynne
- hates that sort of thing. Now give an account of yourself. What have you
- done to earn your screw since morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is what I have come to, Mr. Wynne,” said Playdell.
- “Think of it; a clergyman and M.A. Oxon, forced to give an account
- of his stewardship to a young cub like that!” He laughed after a
- moment of seriousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t seem to feel deeply the degradation,”
- remarked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s nothing to the depths to which I have fallen,”
- said Mr. Playdell. “I was never more than a curate, but in spite of
- the drawback of being privileged to preach the Gospel twice a week, the
- curacy was a comfortable one. I published two volumes of my sermons, Mr.
- Wynne. They sold poorly in England, but I believe that in America they
- made the fortune of the publishers that pirated them. It is perfectly well
- known that my sermons achieved a great and good purpose in the States.
- They were practical. I will say that for them. The leader of the corner in
- hogs who ran the prices up last autumn, sold out of the business, I
- understand, after reading my sermon on the text, ‘The husks that the
- swine do eat.’ Several judges also resigned, admitting that they
- were converted. It was freely stated that even a Congressman had been
- reformed by one sermon of mine, while another was known to have brought
- tears to the eyes of a reporter on the <i>New York Herald</i>. And yet,
- with all these gratifying results, I never got a penny out of the American
- edition. Just think what would happen on this side of the Atlantic if, let
- us say, a Royal Academician were to find grace through a sermon, or—to
- assume an extreme case—a member of the Stock Exchange? Why, the
- writer would be a made man. I had thoughts of going to America, Mr. Wynne.
- At any rate, I’m going to deal with the publishers there directly. A
- firm in Boston is at present about to boom a Bowdlerized edition of the
- Bible which I have prepared for family reading in the States—not a
- word in it that the purest-minded young woman in all Boston might not see.
- It should sell, Mr. Wynne. I’m also translating into English a
- volume of American humour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll give you a chance of going to America, before you sleep
- if you don’t dry up about your sermons and suchlike skittles,”
- said Archie. “The decanter’s beside you. Fill your glass. Mr.
- Wynne is coming to my show to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Playdell passed the decanter without filling his glass. “You
- know that I never take more than one glass of La Rose,” said he.
- “I have found out all about your house painter who fell off the
- ladder and broke all his ribs—he is the same as your Clergyman’s
- Orphan, and he lives in the same house as your Widow of a Naval Officer
- whose little all was invested in a fraudulent building society—he is
- also ‘First Thessalonians seven and ten. P.O.O. or stamps’.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Godfrey!” cried Archie; “and I had already
- written out a cheque for twenty pounds to send to that swindler! Do you
- mean to tell me, Play, that all those you’ve mentioned are
- impostors?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All? Why, there’s only one impostor among the lot,”
- said Mr. Playdell. “He is ‘First Thessalonians,’ and he
- has at least a dozen branch establishments.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s enough to make a tarty chip disgusted with God’s
- footstool,” said Archie. “Before old Play took me in hand I
- used to fling decimals about right and left, without inquiry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was the sole support of several of the most notorious swindlers
- in the country,” said Mr. Playdell. “I’ve managed to
- whittle them down considerably. Shakespeare is at present the only
- impostor that has defied my efforts,” he added, in a whisper to
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold laughed. He was beginning to feel some remorse at having previously
- looked on Archie Brown as a good-natured fool. He now felt that, in spite
- of Mrs. Mowbray, he would not wreck his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0013" id="link2HBCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXII.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND SUPPER.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ARRIAGES by the
- score were waiting at the fine Corinthian entrance to the Legitimate, when
- Harold and Archie reached the theatre in their hansom. The <i>façade</i>
- of the Legitimate Theatre is so severely Corinthian that foreign visitors
- invariably ask what church it is.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was probably the classical columns supporting the pediment of the
- entrance that caused Archie to abate his frivolous conversation with his
- friend in the hansom—Archie had been expressing the opinion that it
- was exhilarating—only exhilarating was not the word he used—to
- swear at a man who had once been a clergyman and who still wore the dress
- of a cleric. “A chap feels that his turn has come,” he had
- said. “No matter how wrong they are you can’t swear at them
- and tell them to come down out of that, when they’re in their own
- pulpits—they’d have you up for brawling. That’s why I
- like to take it out of old Playdell. He tells me, however, that there’s
- no dean in the Church that gathers in the decimals as he does in my shop.
- But, bless you! he saves me his screw three times over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But now that the classical front of the Legitimate came in view, Archie
- became solemn.
- </p>
- <p>
- He possibly appreciated the feelings of a conscientious clergyman when
- about to enter his Church.
- </p>
- <p>
- Shakespeare was a great responsibility.
- </p>
- <p>
- So was Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- The performance was not quite over; but before Archie had paid the
- hansomeer, the audience was streaming out from every door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stand here and listen to what the people are saying.”
- whispered Archie. “I often do it. It is only in this way that you
- can learn how much appreciation for Shakespeare still remains in England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took up his position with Harold at the foot of the splendid staircase
- of the theatre, where the people chatted together while waiting for their
- carriages.
- </p>
- <p>
- With scarcely an exception, the remarks had a hearing upon the performance
- of “Cymbeline.” Only two ladies confined their criticisms to
- their respective medical advisers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of the others, one man said that Mrs. Mowbray bore a striking resemblance
- to her photographs.
- </p>
- <p>
- A second said that she was the most beautiful woman in England.
- </p>
- <p>
- A third said that she knocked sparks out of Polly Floss in the same line
- of business. (Polly Floss was the leading exponent of burlesque).
- </p>
- <p>
- One woman said that Mrs. Mowbray was most picturesquely dressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- A second said that she was most picturesquely undressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- A third wondered if Liberty had got the exact tint of the robe that Mrs.
- Mowbray had worn in the second act.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet some people say that there’s no appreciation of
- Shakespeare in England!” said Archie, as he led Harold round the
- stalls, over which the attendants were spreading covers, and on to Mrs.
- Mowbray’s private rooms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “From the crowds that went out by every door, I judge that the
- theatre is making money, at any rate; and I suppose that’s the most
- practical test of appreciation,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, they don’t all pay,” said Archie. “That’s
- a feature of theatrical management that it takes an outsider some time to
- understand. Mrs. Mowbray should understand it pretty well by this time, so
- should her business manager. I’m just getting to understand it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean to say that the people are allowed to come in without
- paying?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It amounts to that in the long run—literally the long run—of
- the piece, I believe. Upon my soul, there are some people who fancy that a
- chap runs a show as a sort of free entertainment for the public. The
- dramatic critics seem to fancy that a chap produces a play, simply in
- order to give them an opportunity of showing off their own cleverness in
- slating it. It seems that a writer-chap can’t show his cleverness in
- praising a piece, but only in slanging it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that I’d try and make people pay for their seats.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I used always to pay for mine in the old days—but then, I was
- always squandering my money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have always paid for mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The manager says that if you asked people to pay, they’d be
- mortally offended and never enter the theatre again, and where would you
- be then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where, indeed?” said Harold. “I expect your manager
- must know his business thoroughly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He does. It requires tact to get people to come to see Shakespeare,”
- said Archie. “But a chap can’t build a monument for himself
- without paying for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be ridiculous to expect it,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pushing aside a magnificent piece of heavy drapery, Archie brought his
- friend into a passage illuminated by the electric light; and knocking at a
- door at the farther end, he was admitted by Mrs. Mowbray’s maid,
- into a prettily-furnished sitting-room and into the presence of Mrs.
- Mowbray, who was sitting robed in something very exquisite and cloud-like—not
- exactly a peignoir but something that suggested a peignoir.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was like a picture by Romney. If one could imagine all the charm of
- all the pictures of Emma Hamilton (<i>née</i> Lyon) which Romney painted,
- meeting harmoniously in another creature, one would come within reasonable
- distance of seeing Mrs. Mowbray, as Harold saw her when he entered the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even with the disadvantage of the exaggerated colour and the
- over-emphasized eye-lashes necessary for the searching illumination of the
- footlights, she was very lovely, Harold acknowledged.
- </p>
- <p>
- But all the loveliness of Mrs. Mowbray produced but a trifling effect
- compared to that produced by her charm of manner. She was the most natural
- woman ever known.
- </p>
- <p>
- The position of the natural man has been defined by an eminent authority.
- But who shall define the position of the natural woman?
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Mrs. Mowbray’s perfect simplicity, especially when talking to
- men—as a matter of fact she preferred talking to men rather than to
- women—that made her seem so lovely—nay, that made a man feel
- that it was good for him to be in her presence. She was devoid of the
- smallest trace of affectation. She seemed the embodiment of truth. She
- never smiled for the sake of conventionality. But when she did smile, just
- as Harold entered the room, her head turning round so that her face was
- looking over her shoulder, she had all the spiritual beauty of the
- loveliest picture ever painted by Greuze, consequently the loveliest
- picture ever painted by the hand of man.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet she was so very human.
- </p>
- <p>
- An Algy and an Eddy were already in the room—the first was a
- Marquis, the second was the eldest son of a duke. Both were handsome lads,
- of quiet manners, and both were in the Household Cavalry. Mrs. Mowbray
- liked to be surrounded by the youngest of men.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold had been acquainted with her long before she had become an actress.
- He had not had an opportunity of meeting her since; but he found that she
- remembered him very well.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had heard of his father, she said, looking at him in a way that did
- not in the least suggest a picture by Greuze.
- </p>
- <p>
- When people referred to his father they did not usually assume a look of
- innocence. Most of them would have had difficulty in assuming such a look
- under any circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father is frequently heard of,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And your father’s son also,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “What
- a freak of Lady Innisfail’s! She lured you all across to Ireland. I
- heard so much. And what came of it, after all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Acute admiration for the allurements of Lady Innisfail in my case,
- and a touch of acute rheumatism in my father’s case,” said
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Neither will be fatal to the sufferers,” said Mrs. Mowbray—“or
- to Lady Innisfail, for that matter,” she added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should say not,” remarked Algy. “We all admire Lady
- Innisfail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Few cases of acute admiration of Lady Innisfail have proved fatal,
- so far as I can hear, Lord Brackenthorpe,” said Mrs. Mowbray.
- “Young mem have suffered from it and have become exemplary husbands
- and parents.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if they don’t live happy, that we may,” said
- Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s the end of the whole matter,” said. Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s the end of the orthodox fairy tale,” said Mrs.
- Mowbray. “Was your visit to Ireland a fairy story, Mr. Wynne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold wondered how much this woman knew of the details of his visit to
- Ireland. Before he-could think of an answer in the same strain, Mrs.
- Mowbray had risen from the little gilt sofa, and had taken a step or two
- toward her dressing-room. The look she tossed to Harold, when she turned
- round with her fingers on the handle of the door, was a marvellous one.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had it been attempted by any other woman, it would have provoked derision
- on the part of the average man—certainly on the part of Harold
- Wynne. But, coming from Mrs. Mowbray, it conveyed—well, all that she
- meant it to convey. It was not merely fascinating, it was fascination
- itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was such a look as this, he felt—but nearly a year had passed
- before he had thought of the parallel—that Venus had cast at Paris
- upon a momentous occasion. It was the glance of Venus Victrix. It made a
- man think—a year or so afterwards—of Ahola and Aholibah, of
- Ashtoreth, of Cleopatra, of Faustina, of Iseult, of Rosamond.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet the momentary expression of her features was as simple and as
- natural as that worn by one of Greuze’s girls.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’ll not be more than ten minutes,” said
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie. “I don’t know how she manages to dress herself in the
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not exaggerate. Mrs. Mowbray returned in ten minutes, with no trace
- of paint upon her face, wearing a robe that seemed to surround her with
- fleecy clouds. The garment was not much more than an atmosphere—it
- was a good deal less substantial than the atmosphere of London in December
- or that of Sheffield in June.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall have the pleasantest of suppers,” she said, “and
- the pleasantest of chats. I understand that Mr. Wynne has solved the Irish
- problem.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what is the solution, Mrs. Mowbray?” said Lord
- Brackenthorpe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The solution—ah—‘a gray eye or so’,”
- said Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little Mercutio swagger with which she gave point to the words, was
- better than anything she had done on the stage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now, Mr. Wynne, you must lead the way with me to our little
- supper-room,” said she, before the laugh, in which everyone joined,
- at the pretty bit of comedy, had ceased.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold gave her his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- When at the point of entering the room—it was daintily furnished
- with old English oak and old English silver—Mrs. Mowbray said, in
- the most casual way possible, “I hope you will tell me all that may
- be told about that charming White Lady of the Cave. How amusing it must
- have been to watch the chagrin of Lord Fotheringay, when Mr. Airey gave
- him to understand that he meant to make love to that young person with the
- wonderful eyes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was intensely amusing, indeed,” said Harold, who had
- become prepared for anything that Mrs. Mowbray might say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you must have been amused; for, of course, you knew that Mr.
- Airey was not in earnest—that he had simply been told off by Miss
- Craven to amuse himself with the young person, in order to induce her to
- take her beautiful eyes off—off—someone else, and to turn them
- admiringly upon Mr. Airey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was the most amusing part of the comedy, of course,”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What fools some girls are!” laughed Mrs. Mowbray. It was well
- known that she disliked the society of women.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a wise provision of nature that the fools should be the
- girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I have known a fool or two among men,” said Mrs. Mowbray,
- with another laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have known—did you say <i>have known?</i>” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Any girl who has lived in this world of ours for a quarter of a
- century, should have seen enough to make her aware of the fact that the
- best way to set about increasing the passion of, let us say, the average
- man—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, the average man is passionless.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, the passion of whatever man you please—for a young
- woman whom he loves, or fancies he loves—it’s all the same in
- the end—is to induce him to believe that several other men are also
- in love with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is one of the rudiments of a science of which you are the
- leading exponent,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet Miss Craven was foolish enough to fancy that the man of
- whom she was thinking, would give himself up to think of her so soon as he
- believed that Mr. Airey was in love with her rival! Ah, here are our
- lentils and pulse. How good it is of you to imperil your digestions by
- taking supper with me, when only a few hours can have passed since you
- dined.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Digestion is not an immortal soul,” said Harold, “and I
- believe that immortal souls have been imperilled before now, for the sake
- of taking supper with the most beautiful woman in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you ever heard a woman say that I am beautiful?” she
- asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never,” said Harold. “That is the one sin which a woman
- never pardons in another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not know women—” with a little pitying smile.
- “A woman will forgive a woman for being more beautiful than herself—for
- being less virtuous than herself, but never for being better-dressed than
- herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For how many of the three sins do you ask forgiveness of woman—two
- or three?” said Harold, gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- But instead of making an answer, Mrs. Mowbray said something about the
- necessity of cherishing a digestion. It was disgraceful, she said, that
- bread-and-butter and arithmetic should be forced upon a school boy—that
- such magnificent powers of digestion as he possessed should not be
- utilized ta the uttermost.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Brackenthorpe said he knew a clever artist chap, who had drawn a
- sketch of about a thousand people crowding over one another, in an
- American hotel, in order to see a boy, who had been overheard asking his
- mother what was the meaning of the word dyspepsia.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Mowbray wondered if the melancholy of Hamlet was due to a weak
- digestion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold said he thought it should rather be accepted as evidence that there
- was a Schleswig-Holstein question even in Hamlet’s day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meantime, the pheasants and sparkling red Burgundy were affording
- compensation for the absence of any brilliant talk.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the young men lit their cigarettes. Mrs. Mowbray had never been known
- to risk her reputation (for femininity) by letting a cigarette between her
- lips; but her femininity was in no way jeopardized—rather was it
- accentuated—by her liking to be in the neighbourhood of where
- cigarettes were being smoked—that is, when the cigarettes were good
- and when the smokers were pleasant young men with titles, or even
- unpleasant young men with thousands.
- </p>
- <p>
- After the lapse of an hour, a message came regarding Mrs. Mowbray’s
- brougham. Her guests rose and she looked about for her wrap.
- </p>
- <p>
- While Harold Wynne was laying it on her lovely shoulders, she kept her
- eyes fixed upon his. Hers were full of intelligence. When he had carefully
- fastened the gold clasp just beneath the hollow of her throat—it
- required very careful handling—she poised her head to the extent of
- perhaps a quarter of an inch to one side, and laughed; then she moved away
- from him, but turned her head so that her face was once more over her
- shoulder, like the face of the Greuze girl from whom she had learnt the
- trick.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew that she wanted him to ask her from whom she had heard the stories
- regarding Castle Innisfail and its guests.
- </p>
- <p>
- He also knew that the reason she wanted him to ask her this question, was
- in order that she might have the delight of refusing to answer him, while
- keeping him in the expectancy of receiving an answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Such a delight would, of course, be a malicious one. But he knew that it
- would be a thoroughly womanly one, and he knew that Mrs. Mowbray was a
- thorough woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Therefore he laughed back at her and did not ask her anything—not
- even to take his arm out to her brougham.
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie Brown did, and she took his arm, still looking over her shoulder at
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- It only needed that the lovely, wicked look should vanish in a sentence.
- </p>
- <p>
- And it did.
- </p>
- <p>
- The full lips parted, and the poise of the head was increased by perhaps
- the eighth part of an inch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘A gray eye or so,’” she murmured.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her laughter rang down the corridor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the best of it all is, that no one can say a word against her
- character,” said Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the conclusion of his rhapsody in the hansom, in which he and
- Harold were driving down Piccadilly—a rhapsody upon the beauty, the
- genius, and the expensiveness of Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold was silent. The truth was that he was thinking about something far
- apart from Mrs. Mowbray, her beauty, her doubtful genius, and her
- undoubted power of spending money.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you say?” said Archie. “Great Godfrey! you don’t
- mean to say that you’ve heard a word breathed against her character?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On the contrary,” said Harold, “I’ve always heard
- it asserted that Mrs. Mowbray is the best dressed woman in London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me your hand, old chap; I knew that I could trust you to do
- her justice,” cried Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0014" id="link2HBCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIII.—ON BLESSING OR DOOM.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>VEN before he
- slept, Harold Wynne found that he had a good many matters to think about,
- in addition to the exquisitely natural poises of Mrs. Mowbray’s
- shapely head.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was apparent to him that Mrs. Mowbray had somehow obtained a
- circumstantial account of the appearance of Beatrice Avon at the Irish
- Castle, and of the effect that had been produced, in more than one
- direction, by her appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the most important information that he had derived from Mrs. Mowbray
- was that which had reference to the attitude of Edmund Airey toward
- Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Undoubtedly, Mrs. Mowbray had, by some means, come to be possessed of the
- truth regarding the apparent fascination which Beatrice had for Edmund
- Airey. It was a trick—it was the result of a conspiracy between
- Helen Craven and Edmund, in order that he, Harold, should be prevented
- from even telling Beatrice that he loved her. Helen had felt certain that
- Beatrice, when she fancied—poor girl!—that she had produced so
- extraordinary an impression upon the wealthy and distinguished man, would
- be likely to treat the poor and undistinguished man, whose name was Harold
- Wynne, in such a way as would prevent him from ever telling her that he
- loved her!
- </p>
- <p>
- And Edmund had not hesitated to play the part which Helen had assigned to
- him! For more than a moment did Harold feel that his friend had behaved in
- a grossly dishonourable way. But he knew that his friend, if taxed with
- behaving dishonourably, would be ready to prove—if he thought it
- necessary—that, so far from acting dishonourably, he had shown
- himself to be Harold’s best friend, by doing his best to prevent
- Harold from asking a penniless girl to be his wife. Oh, yes, Mr. Edmund
- Airey would have no trouble in showing, to the satisfaction of a
- considerable number of people—perhaps, even to his own satisfaction—that
- he was acting the part of a truly conscientious; and, perhaps, a
- self-sacrificing friend, by adopting Helen Craven’s suggestion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold felt very bitter toward his friend Edmund Airey; though it was
- unreasonable for him to do so; for had not he come to precisely the same
- conclusion as his friend in respect of Beatrice, this conclusion being, of
- course, that nothing but unhappiness could be the result of his loving
- Beatrice, and of his asking Beatrice to love him?
- </p>
- <p>
- If Edmund Airey had succeeded in preventing him from carrying out his
- designs, Harold would be saved from the necessity of having with Beatrice
- that melancholy interview to which he was looking forward; therefore it
- was unreasonable for him to entertain any feeling of bitterness toward
- Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- But for all that, he felt very bitterly toward Edmund—a fact which
- shows that, in some men as well as in all women, logic is subordinate to
- feeling.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was also far from logical on his part to begin to think, only after he
- had accused his friend of dishonourable conduct, of the source whence the
- evidence upon which he had founded his accusation, was derived.
- </p>
- <p>
- How had Mrs. Mowbray come to hear how Edmund Airey had plotted with Helen
- Craven, he asked himself. He began to wonder how she could have heard
- about the gray eyes of Beatrice, to which she had alluded more than once,
- with such excellent effect from the standpoint of art. From whom could she
- have heard so much?
- </p>
- <p>
- She certainly did not hear it from Mr. Durdan, even if she was acquainted
- with him, which was doubtful; for Mr. Durdan was discreet. Besides, Mr.
- Durdan was rarely eloquent on any social subject. He was the sort of man
- who makes a tour on the Continent and returns to tell you of nothing
- except a flea at Bellaggio.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it possible that some of the fishing men had been taking notes unknown
- to any of their fellow guests, for the benefit of Mrs. Mowbray?
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold did not think so.
- </p>
- <p>
- After some time he ceased to trouble himself with these vain speculations.
- The fact—he believed it to be a fact—remained the same:
- someone who had been at Castle Innisfail had given Mrs. Mowbray a highly
- circumstantial account of certain occurrences in the neighbourhood of the
- Castle; and if Mrs. Mowbray had received such an account, why might not
- anyone else be equally favoured?
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it was that he strayed into new regions of speculation, where he
- could not possibly find any profit. What did it matter to him if everyone
- in London knew that Edmund Airey had plotted with Helen Craven, to prevent
- an impecunious man from marrying a penniless girl? All that remained for
- him to do was to go to the girl, and tell her that he had made a mistake—that
- he would be asking her to make too great a sacrifice, were he to hold her
- to her promise to love him and him only.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was somewhat curious that his resolution in this matter should be
- strengthened by the fact of his having learned that Edmund Airey had not
- been in earnest, in what was generally regarded at Castle Innisfail as an
- attitude of serious, and not merely autumn, love-making, in respect of
- Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not feel at all annoyed to learn that, if he were to withdraw from
- the side of Beatrice, his place would not be taken by that wealthy and
- distinguished man, Edmund Airey. When he had at first made up his mind to
- go to Beatrice and ask her to forget that he had ever told her that he
- loved her, he had had an uneasy feeling that his friend might show even a
- greater interest than he had done on the evening of the <i>tableaux</i> at
- the Castle, in the future movements of Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- At that time his resolution had not been overwhelming in its force. But
- now that Mrs. Mowbray had made that strange communication—it almost
- amounted to a revelation—to him, he felt almost impatient at the
- delay that he knew there must be before he could see the girl and make his
- confession to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had two more days to think over his resolution, in addition to his
- sleepless night after receiving Mrs. Mowbray’s confidences; and the
- result of keeping his thoughts in the one direction was, that at last he
- had almost convinced himself that he was glad that the opportunity had
- arrived for him to present himself to the girl, in order to tell her that
- he would no longer stand in the way of her loving someone else.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he found himself in her presence, however, his convictions on this
- particular point were scarcely so strong as they might have been.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was sitting in front of the fire in the great drawing-room that
- retained all the original decorations of the Brothers Adam, and she was
- wearing something beautifully simple—something creamy, with old
- lace. The furniture of the room also belonged to the period of the Adams,
- and on the walls were a number of coloured engravings by Bartolozzi after
- Cipriani and Angelica Kauffmann.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was in his arms in a moment. She gave herself to him as naturally and
- as artlessly as though she were a child; and he held her close to him,
- looking down upon her face without uttering a word—kissing her mouth
- conscientiously, her shell-pink cheeks earnestly, her forehead
- scrupulously, and her chin playfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was how he opened the interview which he had arranged to part them
- for ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then they both drew a long breath simultaneously, and both laughed in
- unison.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he held her away from him for a few seconds, looking upon her
- exquisite face. Again he kissed her—but this time solemnly and with
- something of the father about the action.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At last—at last,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At last,” she murmured in reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems to me that I have never seen you before,” said he.
- “You seem to be a different person altogether. I do not remember
- anything of your face, except your eyes—no, by heavens! your eyes
- are different also.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was dark as midnight in the depths of that seal-cave,” she
- whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that—ah, yes, my beloved! If I could have seen your
- eyes at that moment I know I should have found them full of the light that
- I now see in their depths. You remember what I said to you on the morning
- after your arrival at the Castle? Your eyes meant everything to me then—I
- knew it—beatitude or doom.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you know now what they meant?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her earnestly and passionately for some moments. Then his
- hands dropped suddenly as though they were the hands of a man who had died
- in a moment—his hands dropped, he turned away his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God knows, God knows,” he said, with what seemed like a moan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said; “God knows, and you know as well as God
- that in my heart there is nothing that does not mean love for you. Does
- love mean blessing or doom?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God knows,” said he again. “Your love should mean to me
- the most blessed thing on earth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And your love makes me most blessed among women,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- This exchange of thought could scarcely be said to make easier the task
- which he had set himself to do before nightfall.
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed to become aware of this, for he went to the high mantelpiece,
- and stood with his hands upon it, earnestly examining the carved marble
- frieze, cream-tinted with age, which was on a level with his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew, however, that he was not examining the carving from the
- standpoint of a critic; and she waited silently for whatever was coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- It came when he ceased his scrutiny of the classical figures in high
- relief, that appeared upon the marble slab.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice, my beloved,” said he, and her face brightened.
- Nothing that commenced with the assumption that she was his beloved could
- be very bad. “I have been in great trouble—I am in great
- trouble still.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was by his side in a moment, and had taken one of his hands in hers.
- She held it, looking up to his face with her eyes full of sympathy and
- concern.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dearest,” he said, “you are all that is good and
- gracious. We must part, and for ever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed, still looking at his face. There really was something
- laughable in the sequence of his words. But her laugh did not make his
- task any easier.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I told you that I loved you, Beatrice, I told you the truth,”
- said he. “If I were to tell you anything else now it would be a
- falsehood. But I had no right ever to speak to you of love. I am
- absolutely penniless.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is no confession,” said she. “I knew all along
- that you were dependent upon your father for everything. I felt for you—so
- did Mr. Airey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Airey?” said he. “Mr. Airey mentioned to you that I
- was a beggar?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he didn’t say that. He only said—what did he say?—something
- about the affairs of the world being very badly arranged, otherwise you
- should have thousands—oh, he said he felt for you with all his
- heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘With all his appreciation of the value of an opportunity,’
- he should have said. Never mind Edmund Airey. You, yourself, can see,
- Beatrice, how impossible it would be for any man with the least sense of
- honour, situated as I am, to ask you to wait—to wait for something
- indefinite.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did not ask me to wait for anything. You did not ask me to wait
- for your love—you gave it to me at once. There is nothing indefinite
- in love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Beatrice, you cannot think that I would ask you for your love
- without hoping to marry you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then let us be married to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not laugh, speaking the words. He could see that she would not
- hesitate to marry him at any moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would to heaven that we could be, my dearest! But could there be
- anything more cruel than for a penniless man, such as I am, to ask a girl,
- such as you are, to marry him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot see where the cruelty would be. People have been very
- happy together before now, though they have had very little money between
- them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Beatrice, you were not meant to pass your life in squalid
- lodgings, with none of the refinements of life around you; and I—well,
- I have known what roughing it means; I would face the worst alone; but I
- am not selfish enough to seek to drag you down to my level—to ask
- you to face hardship for my sake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not say anything, darling: anything that you may say will only
- make it the harder to part. I can do it, Beatrice; I am strong enough to
- say good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then say it, Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood facing him, with her wonderful eyes looking steadily into his.
- The message that they conveyed to him was such as he could not fail to
- read aright. He knew that if he had said goodbye, he would never have a
- chance of looking into those eyes again.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he made the attempt to speak—to say the word that she had
- challenged him to utter. His lips were parted for more than a moment. He
- suddenly dropped her hand—he had been holding it all the time—and
- turned away from her with a passionate gesture.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot say it—God help me! I cannot say good-bye,” he
- cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had flung himself into a sofa and had buried his face in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a short time he had actually felt that he was desirous to part from
- her. For some minutes he had been quite sincere. The force of the words he
- had made use of to show Beatrice how absolutely necessary it was that they
- should part, had not been felt by her; those words had, however, affected
- him. He had felt—for the first time, in spite of his previous
- self-communing—that he must say good-bye to her, but he found that
- he was too weak to say it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt a hand upon his shoulder. He could feel her gracious presence near
- to him, before her voice came.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold,” she said, “if you had said it, I should never
- have had an hour’s happiness in my life. I would never have seen you
- again. I felt that all the happiness of my life was dependent upon your
- refraining from speaking those words. Cannot you see, my love, that the
- matter has passed out of our hands—that it is out of our power to
- part now? Harold, cannot you see that, let it be for good or evil—for
- heaven or doom—we must be together? Whatever is before us, we are
- not two but one—our lives are joined beyond the power of separation.
- I am yours; you are mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet. He saw that tears were in her eyes. “Let it
- be so,” he cried. “In God’s name let it be so. Whatever
- may happen, no suggestion of parting shall come from me. We stand
- together, and for ever, Beatrice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For ever and ever,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was how their interview came to a close.
- </p>
- <p>
- Did he know when he had set out for her home that this would be the close
- of their interview—this clasping of the hands—this meeting of
- the lips?
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps he did not. But one thing is certain: if it had not had this
- ending, he would have been greatly mortified.
- </p>
- <p>
- His vanity would have received a great blow.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0015" id="link2HBCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIV.—ON THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ALKING Westward to
- his rooms, he enjoyed once again the same feeling of exultation, which had
- been his on the evening of the return from the seal-hunt. He felt that she
- was wholly his.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had done all that was in his power to show her how very much better it
- would be for her to part from him and never to see him again—how
- much better it would be for her to marry the wealthy and distinguished man
- who had, out of the goodness of his heart, expressed to her a deep
- sympathy for his, Harold’s, unfortunate condition of dependence upon
- a wicked father. But he had not been able to convince her that it would be
- to her advantage to adopt this course.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet, instead of feeling deeply humiliated by reason of the failure of his
- arguments, he felt exultant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is mine—she is mine!” he cried, when he found
- himself alone in his room in St. James’s. “There is none like
- her, and she is mine!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He reflected for a long time upon her beauty. He thought of Mrs. Mowbray,
- and he smiled, knowing that Beatrice was far lovelier, though her
- loveliness was not of the same impressive type. One did not seem to
- breathe near Beatrice that atmosphere heavy with the scent of roses, which
- Mrs. Mowbray carried with her for the intoxication of the nations. Still,
- the beauty of Beatrice was not a tame thing. It had stirred him, and it
- had stirred other men.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, it had stirred Edmund Airey—he felt certain of it, although he
- did not doubt the truth of Mrs. Mowbray’s communication on this
- subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even though Edmund Airey had been in a plot with Helen, still Harold felt
- that he had been stirred by the beauty of Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought over this point for some time, and the conclusion that he came
- to was, that he could easily find out if Edmund meant to play no more
- important a <i>rôle</i> than that of partner in Helen Craven’s plot.
- It was perfectly clear, that if Edmund had merely acted as he had done at
- the suggestion of Helen, he would cease to take any further interest in
- Beatrice, unless it was his intention to devote his life to carrying out
- the plot.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of some weeks, he would learn all that could be known on
- this point; but meantime his condition was a peculiar one.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would have felt mortified had he been certain that Edmund Airey had not
- really been stirred by the charm of Beatrice; but he would have been
- somewhat uneasy had he felt certain that Edmund was deeply in love with
- her. He trusted her implicitly—he felt certain of himself in this
- respect. Had he not a right to trust her, after the way in which she had
- spoken to him—the way in which she had given herself up to him? But
- then he felt that he had made use of such definite arguments to her, in
- pointing out the advisability of their parting, as caused it to be quite
- possible that she might begin to perceive—after a year or two of
- waiting—that there was some value in those arguments of his, after
- all.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the time that he had dined with some people, who had sent him a card on
- his return to London, and had subjected himself to the mortifying
- influence of some unfamiliar <i>entrées</i>, and a conversation with a
- woman who was the survivor of the wreck of spiritualism in London, he was
- no longer in the exultant mood of the afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A Fool’s Paradise—a Fool’s Paradise!” he
- murmured, as he sat in an easy-chair, and gazed into his flickering fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had been very glorious to think that he was beloved by that exquisite
- girl—to think of the kisses of her mouth; but whither was the love
- leading him?
- </p>
- <p>
- His father’s words could not be forgotten—those words which he
- had spoken from beneath the eiderdown of his bed at Castle Innisfail; and
- Harold knew that, should he marry Beatrice, his father would certainly
- carry out his threat of cutting off his allowance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it was that he sat in his chair feeling that, even though Beatrice
- had refused to be separated from him, still they were as completely parted
- by circumstances as if she had immediately acknowledged the force of his
- arguments, and had accepted, his invitation to say good-bye for ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it was that he cried, “A Fool’s Paradise—a Fool’s
- Paradise!” as he thought over the whole matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- What were the exact elements of the Paradise in which his exclamation
- suggested that he was living, he might have had some difficulty in
- defining.
- </p>
- <p>
- But then the site of the original Paradise is still a matter of
- speculation.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day he went to take lunch with her and her father—he had
- promised to do so before he had left her, when they had had their
- interview.
- </p>
- <p>
- It so happened, however, that he only partook of lunch with Beatrice; for
- Mr. Avon had, he learned, been compelled to go to Dublin for some days, to
- satisfy himself regarding a document which was in a library in that city.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold did not grumble at the prospect of a long afternoon by her side;
- only he could not help feeling that the <i>ménage</i> of the Avon family
- was one of the most remarkable that he had ever known. The historical
- investigations of Mr. Avon did not seem to induce him to take a
- conventional view of his obligations, as the father of an extremely
- handsome girl—assuming that he was aware of the fact of her beauty—or
- a pessimistic view of modern society. He seemed to allow Beatrice to be in
- every way her own mistress—to receive whatever visitors she pleased;
- and to lay no narrow-minded prohibition upon such an incident as lunching
- <i>tête-à-tête</i> with a young man, or perhaps—but Harold had no
- knowledge of such a case—an old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered if the historian had ever been remonstrated with on this
- subject, by such persons as had not had the advantage of scrutinizing
- humanity through the medium of state papers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold thought that, on the whole, he had no reason to take exception to
- the liberality of Mr. Avon’s system. He reflected that it was to
- this system he was indebted for what promised to be an extremely agreeable
- afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- What he did not reflect upon, however, was, that he was indebted to Mr.
- Avon’s peculiarities—some people would undoubtedly call the
- system a peculiar one—for a charmingly irresponsible relationship
- toward the historian’s daughter. He did not reflect upon the fact,
- that if the girl had had the Average Father, or the Vigilant Mother, to
- say nothing of the Athletic Brother, he would not have been able, without
- some explanation, to visit her, and, on the strength of promising to love
- her, to kiss her, as he had now repeatedly done, on the mouth—or
- even on the forehead, which is somewhat less satisfying. Everyone knows
- that the Vigilant Mother would, by the application of a maternal
- thumb-screw which she always carries attached to her bunch of keys, have
- extorted from Beatrice a full confession as to the incidents of the
- seal-hunt—all except the hunting of the seals—and that this
- confession would have led to a visit to the study of the Average Father,
- in one corner of which reposes the rack, in working order, for the
- reception of the suitor. Everyone knows so much, and also that the
- alternative of the paternal rack, is the fist of the Athletic Brother.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mr. Harold Wynne did not seem to reflect upon these points, when he
- heard the lightly uttered excuses of Beatrice for her father’s
- absence, as they seated themselves at the table in the large dining-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- His practised eye made him aware of the fact that Beatrice understood what
- he considered to be the essentials of a <i>recherché</i> lunch: a lunch
- appeals to the eye; but wine appeals to other senses than the sense of
- seeing; and the result of his judgment was to convince him that, if Mr.
- Avon was as careless in the affairs of the cellar as he was in the affairs
- of the drawing-room, he was to be congratulated upon having about him
- someone who understood still hock at any rate.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the drawing-room, she busied herself in arranging, in Wedgwood bowls,
- some flowers that he had brought her—trifles of sprawling orchids,
- Eucharis lilies, and a fairy tropical fern or two, all of which are quite
- easy to be procured in London in October for the expenditure of a few
- sovereigns. The picture that she made bending over her bowls was
- inexpressibly lovely. He sat silent, watching her, while she prattled away
- with the artless high spirits of a child. She was surely the loveliest
- thing yet made by God. He thought of what the pious old writer had said
- about a particular fruit, and he paraphrased it in his own mind, saying,
- that doubtless God could make a lovelier thing, but certainly He had never
- made it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am delighted to have such sweet flowers now,” she cried, as
- she observed, with critical eyes, the effect of a bit of flaming crimson—an
- orchid suggesting a flamingo in flight—over the turquoise edge of
- the bowl. “I am delighted, because I have a prospect of other
- visitors beside yourself, my lord.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Other visitors?” said he. He wondered if he might venture to
- suggest to her the inadvisability of entertaining other visitors during
- her father’s absence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Other visitors indeed,” she replied. “I did not tell
- you yesterday all that I had to tell. I forget now what we talked about
- yesterday. How did we put in our time?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked up with laughing eyes across the bowl of flowers, that she held
- up to her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t forget—I shall never forget,” said he, in
- a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must never forget,” said she. “But to my visitors—who
- are they, do you fancy? Don’t try to guess, for if you should
- succeed I should be too mortified to be able to tell you that you were
- right. I will tell you now. Three days ago—while we were still on
- the Continent—Miss Craven called. She promised faithfully to do so
- at Castle Innisfail—indeed, she suggested doing so herself; and I
- found her card waiting for me on my return with a few words scrawled on
- it, to tell me that she would return in some days. I don’t think
- that anything should be in the same bowl with a Eucharis lily—even
- the Venus-hair fern looks out of place beside it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had strayed from her firebrand orchids to the white lilies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are quite right, indeed,” said he. “A lily and you
- stand alone—you make everything else in the world seem tawdry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is not the message of the lily,” said she. “But
- supposing that Miss Craven should call upon me to-day—would you be
- glad of such a third person to our party?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should kill her, if she were a thousand times Helen Craven,”
- said he, with a laugh. “But she is only one visitor; who are the
- others?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, there is only one other, and he is interesting to me only,”
- she cried. “Yes, I found Mr. Airey’s card also waiting for me,
- and on it were scrawled almost the very words that were on Miss Craven’s
- card, so that he may be here at any moment.” Harold did not say a
- word. He sat watching her as her hands mingled with their sister-lilies on
- the table. Something cold seemed to have clasped his heart—a cold
- doubt that made him dumb.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she continued; “Mr. Airey asked me one night at
- Castle Innisfail to let him know where we should go after leaving Ireland.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said he, in a slow way; “I heard him make that
- request of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You heard him? But you were taking part in the <i>tableaux</i> in
- the hall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had left the platform and had strayed round to one of the doors.
- You told him where you were going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told him that we should be in this house in October, and he said
- that he would make it a point to be in town early in October, though
- Parliament was not to sit until the middle of January. He has kept his
- word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, he has kept his word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold felt that cold hand tightening upon his heart. “I think that
- he was interested in me,” continued the girl. “I know that I
- was interested in him. He knows so much about everything. He is a close
- friend of yours, is he not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Harold, without much enthusiasm. “Yes, he
- was a close friend of mine. You see, I had my heart set upon going into
- Parliament—upon so humble an object may one’s aspirations be
- centred—and Edmund Airey was my adviser.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what did he advise you to do?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He advised me to—well, to go into Parliament.” He could
- not bring himself to tell her what form exactly Edmund Airey’s
- advice had assumed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure that his advice was good,” said she. “I think
- that I would go to him if I stood in need of advice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you, indeed, Beatrice?” said he. He was at the point of
- telling her all that he had learned from Mrs. Mowbray; he only restrained
- himself by an effort.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that he is both clever and wise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The two do not always go together, certainly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They do not. But Mr. Airey is, I think, both.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has been better than either. To be successful is better than to
- be either wise or clever. Mr. Airey has been successful. He will get an
- Under-Secretaryship if the Government survives the want of confidence of
- the Opposition.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you will go into Parliament, Harold?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That aspiration is past,” said he; “I have chosen the
- more excellent career. Now, tell me something of your aspirations, my
- beloved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To see you daily—to be near you—to—”
- </p>
- <p>
- But the enumeration of the terms of her aspirations is unnecessary.
- </p>
- <p>
- How was it that some hours after this, Harold Wynne left the house with
- that cold feeling still at his heart?
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it a pang of doubt in regard to Beatrice, or a pang of jealousy in
- regard to Edmund Airey?
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0016" id="link2HBCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXV.—ON THE HOME.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD WYNNE
- remembered how he had made up his mind to judge whether or not Edmund
- Airey had been simply playing, in respect of Beatrice, the part which,
- according to Mrs. Mowbray’s story, had been assigned to him by Helen
- Craven. He had made up his mind that unless Edmund Airey meant to go much
- further than—according to Mrs. Mowbray’s communication—Helen
- Craven could reasonably ask him to go, he would not take the trouble to
- see Beatrice again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen could scarcely expect him to give up his life to the furtherance of
- her interests with another man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, he had found that Edmund, so far from showing any intention of
- abandoning the position—it has already been defined—which he
- had assumed toward Beatrice, had shown, in the plainest possible way, that
- he did not mean to lose sight of her.
- </p>
- <p>
- And for such a man as he was, to mean so much, meant a great deal, Harold
- was forced to acknowledge.
- </p>
- <p>
- He spent the remainder of the day which had begun so auspiciously,
- wondering if his friend, Edmund Airey, meant to tell Beatrice some day
- that he loved her, and, what was very much more important, that he was
- anxious to marry her.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then that unworthy doubt of which he had become conscious, returned to
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- If Edmund Airey, who, at first, had merely been attracted to Beatrice with
- a view of furthering what Helen Craven believed to be her interests, had
- come to regard her differently—as he, Harold, assumed that he had—might
- it not be possible, he asked himself, that Beatrice, who had just admitted
- that she had always had some sort of admiration for Edmund Airey, would———-
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never, never, never!” he cried. “She is all that is
- good and true and faithful. She is mine—altogether mine!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But his mind was in such a condition that the thought which he had tried
- to crush down, remained with him to torture him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It should not have been a torturing thought, considering that, a few days
- before, he had made up his mind that it was his duty to relinquish
- Beatrice—to go to her and bid her good-bye for ever. To be sure, he
- had failed to realize this honourable intention of his; but what was
- honourable at one time was honourable at another, so that the thought of
- something occurring to bring about the separation for which he had
- professed to be so anxious, should not have been a great trouble to him—it
- should have been just the contrary.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day found him in the same condition. The thought occurred to him,
- “What if, at this very moment, Edmund Airey is with her,
- endeavouring to increase that admiration which he must know Beatrice
- entertains for him?” The thought was not a consoling one. Its effect
- was to make him think very severely of the laxity of Mr. Avon’s <i>ménage</i>,
- which would make possible such an interview as he had just imagined. It
- was a terrible thing, he thought, for a father to show so utter a
- disregard for his responsibilities as to——-
- </p>
- <p>
- But here he reflected upon something that had occurred to him in
- connection with <i>tête-à-tête</i> interviews, and he thought it better
- not to pursue his course of indignant denunciation of the eminent
- historian.
- </p>
- <p>
- He put on an overcoat and went to pay a visit to his sister, who, he had
- heard the previous day, was in town for a short time. In another week she
- would be entertaining a large party for the pheasant-shooting at her
- country-house in Brackenshire, and Harold was to be her guest as well as
- Edmund Airey and Helen Craven. It was to this visit that Lord Fotheringay
- had alluded in the course of his chamber interview with his son at Castle
- Innisfail.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold had now made up his mind that he would not be able to join his
- sister’s party, and he thought it better to tell her so than to
- write to her to this effect.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Lampson was not at home, the servant said, when he had knocked at the
- door of the house in Eaton Square. A party was expected for lunch,
- however, so that she would probably return within half an hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold said he would wait for his sister, and went upstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was one person already in the drawingroom and that person was Lord
- Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold greeted him, and found that he was in an extremely good humour. He
- had never been in better health, he declared. He felt, he said, as young
- as the best of them—he prudently refrained from defining them—and
- he was still of the opinion that the Home—the dear old English Home—was
- where true and lasting happiness alone was to be found; and he meant to
- try the Principality of Monaco later on; for November was too awful in any
- part of Britain. Yes, he had seen the influence of the Home upon exiles in
- various parts of the world. Had he not seen strong men weep like children—like
- innocent children—at the sight of an English post-mark—the
- post-mark of a simple English village? Why had they wept, he asked his
- son, with the well-gloved forefinger of the professional moralist
- outstretched?
- </p>
- <p>
- His son declined to hazard an answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had wept those tears—those bitter tears—Lord Fotheringay
- said, with solemn emphasis, because their thoughts went back to that
- village home of theirs—the father, the mother, perhaps a sister—who
- could tell?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, my boy,” he continued, “‘’Mid pleasures
- and palaces’—‘’mid pleasures and’—by
- the way, I looked in at the Rivoli Palace last night. I heard that there
- was a woman at that place who did a new dance. I saw it. A new dance! My
- dear boy, it wasn’t new when I saw it first, and that’s—ah,
- never mind—it’s some years ago. I was greatly disappointed
- with it. There’s nothing indecent in it—I will say that for it—but
- there’s nothing enlivening. Ah, the old home of burlesque—the
- old home—that’s what I was talking about—the Home—the
- sentiment of the Home—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of burlesque?” suggested Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of the devil, sir,” said his father. “Don’t try
- to be clever; it’s nearly as bad as being insolent. What about that
- girl—Helen Craven, I mean? Have you seen her since you came to town?
- She’s here. She’ll be at Ella’s next week. Perhaps it
- will be your last chance. Heavens above! To think that a pauper like you
- should need to be urged to marry such a girl! A girl with two hundred
- thousand pounds in cash—a girl belonging to one of the best families
- in all—in all Birmingham. Harold, don’t be a fool! Such a
- chance doesn’t come every day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then Mrs Lampson entered the room and with her, her latest discovery,
- the Coming Dramatist.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Lampson was invariably making discoveries. But they were mostly
- discoveries of quartz; they contained a certain proportion of gold, to be
- sure; but when it came to the crushing, they did not yield enough of the
- precious metal to pay the incidental expenses of the plant for the
- working.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had discovered poets and poetesses—the latter by the score. She
- had discovered at least one Genius in black and white—his genius
- being testified by his refusal to work; and she had discovered a
- pianoforte Genius—his genius being proved by the dishevelment of his
- hair. The man who had the reputation for being the Greatest Living Atheist
- was a welcome guest at her house, and the most ridiculous of living
- socialists boasted of having dined at her table.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was foremost in every philanthropic movement, and wrote articles to
- the magazines, lamenting the low tone of modern society in London.
- </p>
- <p>
- She also sneered (in private) at Lady Innisfail. Her latest discovery, the
- Coming Dramatist, had had, he proudly declared, his plays returned to him
- by the best managers in London, and by the one conscientious manager in
- the United States—the last mentioned had not prepaid the postage, he
- lamented.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was a fearful joy to cherish; but Mrs. Lampson listened to his egotism
- at lunch, and tried to prevent her other guests from listening to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- They would not understand him, she thought, and she did not make a mistake
- in this matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- She got rid of him as soon as possible, and once more breathed freely. He
- had not disgraced her—that was so much in his favour. The same could
- not always be said of her discoveries.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Christian Dynamitard was, people said, the only gentleman who had ever
- been introduced ta society by Mrs. Lampson.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Harold found his sister alone, he explained to her that it would be
- impossible for him to join her party at Abbeylands—Mr. Lampson’s
- Bracken-shire place—and his sister laughed and said she supposed
- that he had something better on his hands. He assured her that he had
- nothing better, only—
- </p>
- <p>
- “There, there,” said she, “I don’t want you to
- invent an excuse. You would only have met people whom you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” said Harold, “you’re not foolish
- enough to ask your discoveries down to shoot pheasants. I should like to
- see some of them in a <i>battue</i> with my best enemies. Yes, I’d
- hire a window, with pleasure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t he behave well—the Coming Dramatist?” said
- she, earnestly. “You cannot say he didn’t behave well—at
- least for a Coming Person.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He behaved—wonderfully,” said Harold. “Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She followed him to the door of the room—nay, outside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the bye,” said she, in a whisper; “do you know
- anything of a Miss Avon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Avon?” said Harold. “Miss Avon. Why, if she is the
- daughter of Julius Anthony Avon, the historian, we met her at Castle
- Innisfail. Why do you ask me, Ella?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is so funny,” said she. “Yesterday Mr. Airey called
- upon me, and before he left he begged of me to call upon her, and even
- hinted—he has got infinite tact—that she would make a charming
- addition to our party at Abbeylands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And just now papa has been whispering to me about this same Miss
- Avon. He commanded me—papa has no tact—to invite her to join
- us for a week. I wonder what that means.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What what means?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That—Mr. Airey and papa.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Heaven! Ella, what should it mean, except that two men, for
- whom we have had a nominal respect, have gone over to the majority of
- fools?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, is that all? I was afraid that—ah, good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0017" id="link2HBCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN OF THE WORLD.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was true then—what
- he had surmised was true! Edmund Airey had shown himself to be actuated by
- a stronger impulse than a desire to assist Helen Craven to realize her
- hopes—so much appeared perfectly plain to Harold Wynne, as he
- strolled back to his rooms.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was now convinced that Edmund Airey was serious in his attitude in
- respect of Beatrice. At Castle Innisfail he had been ready enough to play
- the game with counters, on his side at least, as stakes, but now he meant
- to play a serious game.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold recalled what proofs he had already received, to justify his
- arriving at this conclusion, and he felt that they were ample—he
- felt that this conclusion was the only one possible to be arrived at by
- anyone acquainted with all that had come under his notice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was quite astounded to hear from his sister that Edmund Airey had taken
- so extreme a step as to beg of her to call upon Beatrice, and invite her
- to join the Abbeylands party. Whether or not he had approached Mrs.
- Lampson in confidence on this matter, the fact of his having approached
- her was, in some degree, compromising to himself, and no one was better
- aware of this fact than Edmund Airey. He was not an eager boy to give way
- to a passion without counting the cost. There was no more subtle
- calculator of costs than Edmund Airey, and Harold knew it.
- </p>
- <p>
- What, then, was left for Harold to infer?
- </p>
- <p>
- Nothing, except what he had already inferred.
- </p>
- <p>
- What then was left for him to do to checkmate the man who was menacing
- him?
- </p>
- <p>
- He had lived so long in that world, the centre of which is situated
- somewhere about Park Lane, and he had come to believe so thoroughly that
- the leading characteristic of this world is worldliness, that he had lost
- the capacity to trust anyone implicitly. He was unable to bring himself to
- risk everything upon the chance of Beatrice’s loving him, in the
- face of the worst that might occur.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it was that the little feeling of distrust which he experienced the
- previous day remained with him. It did not increase, but it was there. Now
- and again he could feel its cold finger upon his heart, and he knew that
- it was there.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not love with that blind, unreasoning, uncalculating love—that
- love which knows only heaven and hell, not earth. That perfect love, which
- casteth out distrust, was not the love of his world.
- </p>
- <p>
- And thus it was that he walked to his rooms, thinking by what means he
- could bind that girl to him, so that she should be bound beyond the
- possibility of chance, or craft, or worldliness coming between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not arrived at any satisfactory conclusion on this subject when he
- reached his rooms.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was surprised to find waiting for him Mr. Playdell, but he greeted the
- man cordially—he had acquired a liking for him, for he perceived
- that, with all his eccentricities—all his crude theories that he
- tried to vivify by calling them principles, he was still acting faithfully
- toward Archie Brown, and was preventing him from squandering hundreds of
- pounds where Archie might have squandered thousands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are naturally surprised to see me, Mr. Wynne,” said
- Playdell. “I dare say that most men would think that I had taken a
- liberty in making an uninvited call like this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I, at any rate, think nothing of the sort, Mr. Playdell,”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am certain that you do not,” said Mr. Play-dell. “I
- am certain that you are capable of doing me justice—yes, on some
- points.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope that I am, Mr. Playdell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that you are, Mr. Wynne. You are not one of those silly
- persons, wise in their own conceit, who wink at one another when my name
- is mentioned, and suggest that the unfrocked priest is making a very fair
- thing out of his young patron.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that your influence over him is wholly for good, Mr.
- Playdell. If he were to allow you the income of a Bishop instead of that
- of a Dean I believe that he would still save money—a great deal of
- money—by having you near him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you are in no way astray, Mr. Wynne. I was prepared for what
- people would say when I accepted the situation that Archie offered me, but
- the only stipulation that I made was that my accounts were to be audited
- by a professional man, and monthly. Thus it is that I protect myself.
- Every penny that I receive is accounted for.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a very wise plan, Mr. Playdell, but—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it has nothing to do with my coming here to-day? That is what
- you are too polite to say. You are right, Mr. Wynne. I have not come here
- to talk about myself and my systems, but about our friend Archie. You have
- great influence over him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid I haven’t much. If I had, I wouldn’t
- hesitate to tell him that he is making an ass of himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have come to the point at once, Mr. Wynne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Playdell had risen from his chair and was walking up and down the room
- with his head bent. Now he stood opposite to Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The point?” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The point is that he is being robbed right and left through the
- medium of the Legitimate Theatre, and a stop must be put to it,”
- said Playdell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you think that I should make the attempt to put a stop to this
- foolishness of his? My dear Mr. Playdell, if I were to suggest to Archie
- that he is making an ass of himself over this particular matter, I should
- never have another chance of exercising my influence over him for good or
- bad. I have always known that Mrs. Mowbray is one of the most expensive
- tastes in England. But when the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray is to be exploited
- with the beauty of the poetry of Shakespeare, and when these gems are
- enclosed in so elaborate a setting as the Legitimate Theatre—well, I
- suppose Archie’s millions will hold out. There’s a deal of
- spending in three millions, Mr. Playdell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His millions will hold out,” said Mr. Playdell. “And so
- will he,” laughed Harold. “I have known Mrs. Mowbray for
- several years, and she has never ruined any man except her husband, and he
- is not worth talking about. She has always liked young men with wealth so
- enormous that even her powers of spending money can make no impression on
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Wynne, you can have no notion what that theatre has cost Archie—what
- it is daily costing him. Eight hundred pounds a week wouldn’t cover
- the net loss of that ridiculous business—that trailing of
- Shakespeare in the mire, to gratify the vanity of a woman. I know what men
- are when they are very young. If I were to talk to Archie seriously on
- this subject, he would laugh at me; if he did not, he would throw
- something at me. The result would be <i>nil</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unless he was a good shot with a casual missile.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Wynne, he would not listen to me; but he would listen to you—I
- know that he would. You could talk to him with all the authority of a man
- of the world—a man in Society.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, shaking his head, “if there’s
- no fool like the old fool, there’s no ass like the young ass. Now, I
- can assure you, on the authority of a man of the world—you know what
- such an authority is worth—that to try and detach Archie from his
- theatre nonsense just now by means of a lecture, would be as impossible as
- to detach a limpet from a rock by a sermon on—let us say—the
- flexibility of the marriage bond.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! alas!” said Mr. Playdell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The only way that Archie can be induced to throw over Mrs. Mowbray
- and Shakespeare and suchlike follies, is by inducing him to form a
- stronger attachment elsewhere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The last state of that man might be worse than the first, Mr.
- Wynne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Might—yes, it might be, but that is no reason why it should
- be. The young ass takes to thistles, because it has never known the
- enjoyment of a legitimate pasture.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The legitimate pasture is some distance away from the Legitimate
- Theatre, Mr. Wynne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I agree with you. Now, the thought has just occurred to me that I
- might get Archie brought among decent people, for the first time in his
- life. My sister, Mrs. Lampson, is having a party down at her husband’s
- place in Brackenshire, for the pheasant-shooting. Why shouldn’t
- Archie be one of the party? There are a number of decent men going, and
- decent women also. None of the men will try to get the better of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the women will not try to make a fool of him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t promise that—the world can’t cease to
- revolve on its axis because Archie Brown has a tendency to giddiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Playdell was grave. Then he said, thoughtfully, “Whatever the
- women may be, they can’t be of the stamp of Mrs. Mowbray.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may trust my sister for that. You may also trust her to see
- that they are less beautiful than Mrs. Mowbray,” remarked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Playdell pondered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pheasant-shooting is expensive in its way,” said he. “The
- preservation of grouse runs away with a good deal of money also, I am
- told. Race horses, it is generally understood, entail considerable outlay.
- Put them all together, and you only come within measurable distance of
- Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare as a pastime—with nothing to show for
- the money—absolutely nothing to show for the money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Except Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Wynne, I believe that your kind suggestion may be the saving of
- that lad,” said Playdell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it’s the merest chance,” said Harold. “He may
- grow sick of the whole business after the first <i>battue</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He won’t. I’ve known men saved from destruction by
- scoring a century in a first-class cricket match: they gave themselves up
- to cricket, to the exclusion of other games less healthy. If Archie takes
- kindly to the pheasants, he may make up his mind to buy a place and
- preserve them. That will be a healthy occupation for him. You will give
- him to understand that it’s the proper thing to do, Mr. Wynne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may depend upon me. I’ll write to my sister to invite
- him. It’s only an experiment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will succeed, Mr. Wynne—it will succeed, I feel that it
- will. If you only knew, as I do, how he is being fooled, you would
- understand my earnestness—you have long ago forgiven my intrusion.
- Give me a chance of serving you in return, Mr. Wynne. That’s all I
- ask.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HBCH0018" id="link2HBCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVII.—ON THE DEFECTIVE LINK.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD had a note
- written to Mrs. Lampson, begging her to invite his friend, Mr. Archie
- Brown, to join her party at Abbeylands, almost before Mr. Playdell had
- left the street. He knew that his sister would be very glad to have
- Archie. All the world had a general notion of Archie’s millions; and
- Abbeylands was one of those immense houses that can accommodate a
- practically unlimited number of guests. The property had been bought from
- a nobleman, who had been brought to the verge of bankruptcy by trying to
- maintain it. Mr. Lampson, a patriotic American, had come to his relief,
- and had taken the place off his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- That is what all truly patriotic Americans do when they have an
- opportunity.
- </p>
- <p>
- The new-world democracy comes to the rescue of the old-world aristocracy,
- and thus a venerable institution is preserved from annihilation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold posted his letter as he went out to dine with a man who was a
- member of the Carlton Club, and zealous in heating up recruits for the
- Conservative party. He thought that Harold might possibly be open to
- conviction, not, of course, on the question of the righteousness of
- certain principles, but on the question of the direction in which the cat
- was about to jump. The jumping cat is the dominant power in modern
- politics.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold ate his dinner, and listened patiently to the man whose
- acquaintance with the tendencies of every genus of the political <i>felis</i>
- was supposed to be extraordinary. He said little. Before he had gone to
- Castle Innisfail the subject would have interested him greatly, but now he
- thought that Archie Brown’s inanities were preferable to those of
- the politician.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was just enough to acknowledge, however, that the cigar with which he
- left the Carlton was as good a one as he had ever smoked. So that there
- was some advantage in being a Conservative after all.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked round St. James’s Square, for the night was warm and fine.
- His mind was not conscious of having received anything during the previous
- two hours upon which it would be profitable to ponder. He thought over the
- question which he had put to himself previously—the question of how
- he could bind Beatrice to him—how he could make her certainly his
- own, and thus banish that cold distrust of which he now and again became
- aware—no, it was not exactly distrust, it was only a slightly
- defective link in the chain of complete trust.
- </p>
- <p>
- She loved him and she promised to love him. He reflected upon this, and he
- asked himself what more could he want. What bond stronger than her word
- could he desire to have?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I will trust her for ever—for ever,” he murmured.
- “If she is not true, then there never was truth on earth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He fancied that he had dismissed the matter from his mind with this
- exorcism.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so he had.
- </p>
- <p>
- But it so happens that some persons are so constituted that there is but
- the slenderest connection between their mind and their heart. Something
- that appeals very forcibly to their mind will not touch their heart in the
- least. They are Nature’s “sports.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold Wynne was one of these people. He had made up his mind that, on the
- question of implicitly trusting Beatrice, nothing more remained to be
- said. There was still, however, that cold finger upon his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- But having made up his mind that nothing more remained to be said on the
- question, he was logical enough—for logic is also a mental
- attribute, though by no means universally distributed—to think of
- other matters.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to think about Mr. Playdell, and his zeal for the reform of
- Archie. Harold’s respect for Mr. Playdell had materially increased
- since the morning. At first he had been inclined to look with suspicion
- upon the man who had, by the machinery of the Church, been prohibited from
- discharging the functions of a priest of that Church, though, of course,
- he was free to exercise that unimportant function known as preaching. He
- could not preach within a church, however. If he wished to try and save
- souls by preaching, that was his own business. He would not do so with the
- sanction of the Church. He was anxious to save the soul of Archie Brown,
- at any rate. He assumed that Archie had a soul in embryo, ready to be
- hatched, and it was clear to Harold that Mr. Playdell was anxious to save
- it from being addled before it had pecked its way out of its shell.
- Therefore Harold had a considerable respect for Mr. Playdell, though he
- had been one of the unprofitable servants of the Church.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought of the earnest words of the man—of the earnest way in
- which he had begged to be given the chance of returning the service, which
- he believed was about to be done to him by Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been greatly in earnest; but that fact only made his words the more
- ridiculous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What service could he possibly do me?” Harold thought, when
- he had had his laugh, recalling the outstretched hand of Mr. Playdell, and
- his eager eyes. “<i>What service could he possibly do me? What
- service?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was rooted to the pavement. The driver of a passing hansom pulled up
- opposite him, taking the fact of his stopping so suddenly as an indication
- that he wanted a hansom.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took no notice of the hansom, and it passed up the square. He remained
- so long lost in thought, that his cigar, so strongly impregnated with
- sound Conservative principles, went out like any Radical weed, or the
- penny Pickwick of the Labour Processionist.
- </p>
- <p>
- He dropped the unsmoked end, and felt for his pocket-handkerchief. He
- raised his hat and wiped his forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he took a stroll into Piccadilly and on to Knightsbridge. He went
- down Sloane Street, and into Chelsea, returning by the Embankment to
- Westminster—the clock was chiming the hour of 2 a.m. as he passed.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the same clock had struck three before he got into bed, and five
- before he fell asleep.
- </p>
- <h3>
- END OF VOL. II.
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <p>
- ====
- </p>
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- A GRAY EYE OR SO
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Frank Frankfort Moore
- </h2>
- <h3>
- In Three Volumes—Volume III
- </h3>
- <h3>
- Sixth Edition
- </h3>
- <h4>
- London
- </h4>
- <h4>
- Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1893
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001_"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007c.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007c.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HC_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO, VOLUME 3</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0001"> CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE
- WORLD. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0002"> CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0003"> CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0004"> CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A
- CRISIS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0005"> CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0006"> CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0007"> CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A
- SYSTEM. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0008"> CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0009"> CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0010"> CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0011"> CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL
- INCIDENT. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0012"> CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF
- CONFESSION. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0013"> CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0014"> CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND
- OTHERS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0015"> CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND
- FATE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0016"> CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0017"> CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A
- POWER. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0018"> CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE
- BROWN. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0019"> CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCCH0020"> CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HC_4_0001" id="link2HC_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- A GRAY EYE OR SO.
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0001" id="link2HCCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>HORTLY after noon
- he was with her. He had left his rooms without touching a morsel of
- breakfast, and it was plain that such sleep as he had had could not have
- been of a soothing nature. He was pale and haggard; and she seemed
- surprised—not frightened, however, for her love was that which
- casteth out fear—at the way he came to her—with outstretched
- hands which caught her own, as he said, “My beloved—my
- beloved, I have a strange word for you—a strange proposal to make.
- Dearest, can you trust me? Will you marry me—to-morrow—to-day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She scarcely gave a start. He was only conscious of her hands tightening
- upon his own. She kept her eyes fixed upon his. The silence was long. It
- was made the more impressive by the distinctness with which the jocularity
- of the fishmonger’s hoy with the cook at the area railings, was
- heard in the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold,” she said, in a voice that had no trace of distrust,
- “Harold, you are part of my life—all my life! When I said that
- I loved you, I had given myself to you. I will marry you any time you
- please—to-morrow—to-day—this moment!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was in his arms, sobbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- His “God bless you, my darling!” sounded like a sob also.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few moments she was laughing through her tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, tell me what you mean, my beloved,” said she, with a
- hand on each of his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me what you mean by coming to frighten me like this. What has
- happened?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing has happened, only I want to feel that you are my own—my
- own beyond the possibility of being separated from me by any power on
- earth. I do not want to take you away from your father’s house—I
- cannot offer you any home. It may be years before we can live together as
- those who love one another as we love, may live with the good will of
- heaven. I only want you to become my wife in name, dearest. Our marriage
- must be kept a secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But my own love,” said she, “why should you wish to go
- through this ceremony? Are we not united by the true bond of love? Can we
- be more closely united than we are now? The strength of the marriage bond
- is only strong in proportion as the love which is the foundation of
- marriage is strong. Now, why should you wish for the marriage rite before
- we are prepared to live for ever under the same roof?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, why?” he cried passionately, as he looked into the
- depths of her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- He left her and went across the room to one of the windows and looked out.
- (It was the greengrocer’s boy who was now jocular with the cook at
- the area railings.)
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Beatrice—” Harold had returned to her from his
- scrutiny of the pavement. “My Beatrice, you have not seen all that I
- have seen in the world. You do not know—you do not know me as I know
- myself. Why should there come to me sometimes an unworthy thought—no,
- not a doubt—oh, I have seen so much of the world, Beatrice, I feel
- that if anything should come between us it would kill me. I must—I
- must feel that we are made one—that there is a bond binding us
- together that nothing can sever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, my Harold—no, I will not interpose any buts. You would
- not ask me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you
- know the world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and
- knowing you and loving you with all my heart—with all my soul—I
- trust you implicitly—without a question—without the shadow of
- a doubt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to
- regret loving me—trusting me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is my life—it is my life, Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer
- with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must be to-morrow,” he said, returning to her. “I
- shall come here at noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can
- part us. You will still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God
- hasten the day when you can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the
- world and call yourself by my name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be here at noon to-morrow,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unless,” said he, returning to her after he had kissed her
- forehead and had gone to the door. “Unless”—he framed
- her face with his hands, and looked down into the depths of her eyes.—“Unless,
- when you have thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot
- trust me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another man who knew the world was Pontius Pilate.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was why he asked “What is Truth?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold Wynne was in Archie Brown’s room in Piccadilly within half an
- hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie was at the Legitimate Theatre, Mr. Playdell said—Mr. Playdell
- was seated at the dining-room table surrounded by papers. A trifling
- difference of opinion had arisen between Mrs. Mowbray and her manager, he
- added, and (with a smile) Archie had hurried to the theatre to set matters
- right.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is kind of you to call, Mr. Wynne,” continued Mr.
- Playdell. “But I hope it is not to tell me that you regret the
- suggestion that you made yesterday—that you do not see your way to
- write to your sister to invite Archie to her place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wrote to her the moment you left me,” said Harold. “Archie
- will get his invitation this evening. It is not about him that I came here
- to-day, Mr. Playdell. I came to see you. You asked me yesterday to give
- you an opportunity of doing something for me. I can give you that
- opportunity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I promise you that I shall embrace it with gladness, Mr. Wynne,”
- said Playdell, rising from the table. “Tell me how I can serve you
- and you will find how ready I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You still hold to your original principles regarding marriage, Mr.
- Playdell?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How could I do otherwise than hold to them, Mr. Wynne? They are the
- result of thought; they are not merely a fad to gain notoriety. Let me
- prove the position that I take up on this matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You need not, Mr. Playdeil. I heard all your case when it was
- published. I confess that I now think differently respecting you from what
- I thought at that time. Will you perform the ceremony of marriage between
- a lady who has promised to marry me and myself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is only one condition that I make, Mr. Wynne. You must take
- an oath that you consider the rite, as I perform it, to be binding upon
- you, and that you will never recognize a divorce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will take that oath willingly, Mr. Playdeil. I have promised my
- <i>fiancée</i> that we shall be with her at noon to-morrow. She will be
- prepared for us. By the way, do you require a ring for the ceremony as
- performed by you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Playdeil looked grave—almost scandalized.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Wynne,” said he, “that question suggests to me a
- certain disbelief on your part in the validity in the sight of heaven of
- the rite of marriage as performed by a man with a full sense of his high
- office, even though unfrocked by a Church that has always shown too great
- a readiness to submit to secular guidance—secular restrictions in
- matters that were originally, like marriage, purely spiritual. The Church
- has not only submitted to civil restrictions in the matter of the
- celebration of the holy rite of matrimony, but, while declaring at the
- altar that God has joined them whom the Church has joined, and while
- denying the authority of man to put them asunder, she recognizes the
- validity of divorce. She will marry a man who has been divorced from his
- wife, when he has duly paid the Archbishop a sum of money for sanctioning
- what in the sight of God is adultery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, “I recollect very
- clearly the able manner in which you defended your—your—principles,
- when they were called in question. I do not desire to call them in
- question now. I believe in your sincerity in this matter and in other
- matters. I shall drive here for you at half past eleven o’clock
- to-morrow. I need scarcely say that I mean my marriage to be kept a
- secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may depend upon my good faith in that respect,” said Mr.
- Playdell. “Mr. Wynne,” he added, impressively, “this
- land of ours will never be a moral one so long as the Church is content to
- accept a Parliamentary definition of morality. The Church ought certainly
- to know her own business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There I quite agree with you,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- He refrained from asking Mr. Playdell if the Church, in dispensing with
- his services as one of her priests, had not made an honest attempt to
- vindicate her claims to know her own business. He merely said, “Half
- past eleven to-morrow,” after shaking hands with Mr. Playdell, who
- opened the door for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0002" id="link2HCCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD WYNNE shut
- himself up in his rooms without even lunching. He drew a chair in front of
- the fire and seated himself with the sigh of relief that is given by a man
- who has taken a definite step in some matter upon which he has been
- thinking deeply for some time. He sat there all the day, gazing into the
- fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he had taken the step that had suggested itself to him the previous
- night. He had made up his mind to take advantage of the opportunity that
- was afforded him of binding Beatrice to him by a bond which she at least
- would believe incapable of rupture. The accident of his meeting with the
- man whose views on the question of marriage had caused him to be thrust
- out of the Church, and whose practices left him open to a criminal
- prosecution, had suggested to him the means for binding to him the girl
- whose truth he had no reason to doubt.
- </p>
- <p>
- He meant to perpetrate a fraud upon her. He had known of men entrapping
- innocent girls by means of a mock marriage, and he had always regarded
- such men as the most unscrupulous of scoundrels. He almost succeeded,
- after a time, in quieting the whisperings by his conscience of the word
- “fraud”—its irritating repetitions of this ugly word—by
- giving prominence to the excellence of his intentions in the transaction
- which he was contemplating. It was not a mock marriage—no, it was
- not, as ordinary mock marriages, to be gone through in order to give a man
- possession of the body of a woman, and to admit of his getting rid of her
- when it would suit his convenience to do so. It was, he assured his
- conscience, no mock marriage, since he was seeking it for no gross
- purpose, but simply to banish the feeling of cold distrust which he had
- now and again experienced. Had he not offered to free the girl from the
- promise which she had given to him? Was that like the course which would
- be adopted by a man endeavouring to take advantage of a girl by means of a
- mock marriage? Was there anything on earth that he desired more strongly
- than a real marriage with that same girl? There was nothing. But it was,
- unfortunately, the case that a real marriage would mean ruin to him; for
- he knew that his father would keep his word—when it suited his own
- purpose—and refuse him his allowance upon the day that he refused to
- sign a declaration to the effect that he was unmarried.
- </p>
- <p>
- The rite which Mr. Playdell had promised to perform between him and
- Beatrice would enable him to sign the declaration with—well, with a
- clear conscience.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in the meantime this same conscience continued gibing him upon his
- defence of his conduct; asking him with an irritating sneer, if he would
- mind explaining his position to the girl’s father?—if he was
- not simply taking advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s
- life—of the remarkable independence which she enjoyed, apparently
- with the sanction of her father, to perpetrate a fraud upon her?
- </p>
- <p>
- For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound
- argument—that is, argument that sounds well—and for general
- obstinacy, there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in
- moderately good working order.
- </p>
- <p>
- After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, he
- sprang from his seat crying, “I’ll not do it—I’ll
- not do it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the
- words, “I’ll not do it—I’ll not do it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote a
- note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on second
- thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an equally
- short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be advisable
- to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan which he had
- suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into its cover; but
- when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his stamp-drawer was
- empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going to his club to dine,
- and he knew that he could get stamps from the hall-porter.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on
- entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe
- conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. He
- brightened up at the appearance of Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to
- dine with me,” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry that I can’t congratulate you upon finding
- one,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I congratulate myself,” said Mr. Durdan, brightly.
- “You’re the most companionable man that I know in town at
- present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, then you’re not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is
- here just now,” said Harold with a shrewd laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Edmund Airey? Edmund Airey?” said Mr. Durdan. “Let me
- tell you that your friend Edmund Airey is——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t say it in the open air,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come inside and make the revelation to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you will dine with me? Good! My dear fellow, my medical man
- has warned me times without number of the evil of dining alone, or with a
- newspaper—even the <i>Telegraph</i>. It’s the beginning of
- dyspepsia, he says; so I wait at the door any time I am dining here until
- I get hold of the right man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you’re
- afraid of, you may reckon upon my services,” said Harold. “But
- to tell you the truth, I’m a bit down myself to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the matter with you—nothing serious?” said
- Mr. Durdan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been working out some matters,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know what’s the matter with you,” said the other.
- “That friend of yours has been trying to secure you for the
- Government, and you were too straightforward to be entrapped? Airey is a
- clever man—I don’t deny his cleverness for a moment. Oh, yes;
- Mr. Airey is a very clever man.” It seemed that he was now levelling
- an accusation against Mr. Airey that his best friends would find
- difficulty in repudiating. “Yes, but you and I, Wynne, are not to be
- caught by a phrase. The moment he fancied that I was attracted to her—I
- say, fancied, mind—and that he fancied—it may have been the
- merest fancy—that she was not altogether indifferent to me, he
- forced himself forward, and I have good reason to believe that he is now
- in town solely on her account. I give you my word, Wynne, I never spoke a
- sentence to Miss Avon that all the world mightn’t hear. Oh, there’s
- nothing so contemptible as a man like Airey—a fellow who is
- attracted to a girl only when he sees that she is attracting other men.
- Yes, I met a man yesterday who told me that Airey was in town. ‘Why
- should he be in town now?’ I inquired. ‘There’s nothing
- going on in town.’ He winked and said, ‘<i>cherchez la femme</i>’—he
- did upon my word. Oh, the days of the Government are numbered. Will you
- try Chablis or Sauterne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis.
- </p>
- <p>
- For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan’s
- prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of
- Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any
- stamps.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat the
- two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small pieces.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling of
- distrust.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he would make sure of her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He unlocked one of the drawers in his writing-table and brought out a
- small <i>boule</i> case. When he had found—not without a good deal
- of searching—the right key for the box, he opened it. It contained
- an ivory miniature of his mother, in a Venetian mounting, a few jewels,
- and two small rings. One of them was set with a fine chrysoprase cameo of
- Eros, and surrounded by rubies. The other was an old <i>in memoriam</i>
- ring.
- </p>
- <p>
- He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time,
- slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept turning
- it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and relocked the
- box and the drawer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be hers,” he said. “Would I use my mother’s
- ring for this ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud—if I meant to
- take advantage of it to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with
- her, so may God deal with me when my hour comes.” It was a ring that
- had been left to him with a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had
- now chosen it for the ceremony which was to be performed the next day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence
- the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument
- had done.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after
- noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had been
- repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once been a
- priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, did not
- consider the rite a mockery.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a
- dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell
- forward until his face was buried in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her hand—his mother’s ring was upon the third finger—was
- upon his head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, “My
- husband—my husband—I shall be a true wife to you for ever and
- ever. We shall live trusting one another for ever, my beloved!”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands for
- a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head
- against his.
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him,
- looking into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my love, my love,” he cried. “What am I that you
- should have given to me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I
- should have asked you to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as
- yours, Beatrice? Was there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive
- me, Beatrice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only once,” said she, “I felt that—I scarcely
- know what I felt, dear—I think it was that your hurrying on our
- marriage showed—was it a want of trust?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was a fool—a fool!” he said bitterly. “The
- temptation to bind you to me was too great to be resisted. But now—oh,
- Beatrice, I will give up my life to make you happy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0003" id="link2HCCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next afternoon
- when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with two letters in her
- hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, letting her know
- that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least a fortnight longer;
- the second was from Mrs. Lampson—she had paid Beatrice a ten minutes’
- visit the previous day—inviting her to stay for a week at
- Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What am I to do in the matter, my husband—you see how quickly
- I have come to recognize your authority?” she cried, while he
- glanced at his sister’s invitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and
- other matters, by pleasing yourself,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said she. “I will only do what you advise me.
- That, you should see as a husband—I see it clearly as a wife—will
- give me a capital chance of throwing the blame on you in case of any
- disappointment. Oh, yes, you may be certain that if I go anywhere on your
- recommendation and fail to enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at
- your door. That’s the way with wives, is it not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t say,” said he. “I’ve never had one
- from whom to get any hints that would enable me to form an opinion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to
- please myself?” said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was
- extremely charming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve seen other men’s wives now and again,” said
- he. “It was a great privilege.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And they pleased themselves?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They did not please me, at any rate. I don’t see why you
- shouldn’t go down to my sister’s place next week. You should
- enjoy yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will be there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was to have been there,” said he; “but when I
- promised to go I had not met you. When I found that you were to be in
- town, I told Ella, my sister, that it was impossible for me to join her
- party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course that decides the matter,” said she. “I must
- remain here, unless you change your mind and go to Abbeylands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where she
- was opening the old mahogany escritoire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I particularly want you to go to my sister’s,” he said.
- “A reason has just occurred to me—a very strong reason, why
- you should accept the invitation, especially as I shall not be there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no,” said she, “I could not go without you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean
- to be so graceful an exponent?” said he, standing behind her with a
- hand on each of her shoulders. “The fact is, dearest, that far more
- than you can imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to
- throw people—my relations in particular—off the notion that
- something came of our meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go
- to Abbeylands while it was known that I had excused myself, you can
- understand what the effect would be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The effect, so far as I’m concerned, would be that I should
- be miserable, all the time I was away from you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The effect would be, that those people who may have been joining
- our names together, would feel that they have been a little too
- precipitate in their conclusions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That seems a very small result for so much self-sacrifice on our
- part, Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s not so small as it may seem to you. I see now how
- important it would be to me—to both of us—if you were to go
- for a week to Abbeylands while I remain in town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then of course I’ll go. Yes, dear; I told you that I would
- trust you for ever. I placed all my trust in you yesterday. How many
- people would condemn me for marrying you in such indecent haste—that
- is what they would call it—and without a word of consultation with
- my father either? When I showed my trust in you at that time—the
- most important in my life—you may, I think, have confidence that I
- will trust you in everything. Yes, I’ll go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had turned away from her. How could he face her when she was talking in
- this way about her trust in him?
- </p>
- <p>
- “There has never been trust like yours, my beloved,” said he,
- after a pause. “You will never regret it for a moment, my love—never,
- never!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it—I know it,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fact is, Beatrice,” said he, after another pause, “my
- relatives think that if I were to marry Helen Craven I should be doing a
- remarkably good stroke of business. They were right: it would be a good
- stroke—of business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How odd,” cried Beatrice. She had become thoroughly
- interested. “I never thought of such a possibility at Castle
- Innisfail. She is nice, I think; only she does not know how to dress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant there came to his memory Mrs. Mowbray’s cynical words
- regarding the extent of a woman’s forgiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The question of being nice or of dressing well does not make any
- difference so far as my friends are concerned,” said he. “All
- that is certain is that Helen Craven has several thousands of pounds a
- year, and they think that I should be satisfied with that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so you should,” she cried, with the light of triumph in
- her eyes. “I wonder if Mr. Airey knew what the wishes of your
- relatives were in this matter. I should like to know that, because I now
- recollect that he suggested something in that way when we talked together
- about you one evening at the Castle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Edmund Airey gave me the strongest possible advice on the subject,”
- said Harold. “Yes, he advised me to ask Helen Craven to be my wife.
- More than that—I only learnt it a few days ago—so soon as you
- appeared at the Castle, and he saw—he sees things very quickly—that
- I was in love with you, he thought that if he were to interest you
- greatly, and that if you found out that he was wealthy and distinguished,
- you might possibly decline to fall in love with me, and so——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so fall in love with him?” she cried, starting up from
- her chair at the desk. “I see now all that he meant. He meant that I
- should be interested in him—I was, too, greatly interested in him—and
- that I should be attracted to him, and away from you. But all the time he
- had no intention of allowing himself to be attracted by me to the point of
- ever asking me to marry him. In short, he was amusing himself at my
- expense. Oh, I see it all now. I must confess that, now and again, I
- wondered what Mr. Airey meant by placing himself so frequently by my side.
- I felt flattered—I admit that I felt flattered. Can you imagine
- anything so cruel as the purpose that he set himself to accomplish?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her face had become pale. This only gave emphasis to the flashing of her
- eyes. She was in a passion of indignation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Edmund Airey and his tricks were defeated,” said Harold in a
- low voice. “Yes, we have got the better of him, Beatrice, so much is
- certain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the cruelty of it—the cruelty—oh, what does it
- matter now?” she cried. Then her paleness vanished into a delicate
- roseate flush, as she gave a laugh, and said, “After all, I believe
- that my indignation is due only to my wounded vanity. Yes, all girls are
- alike, Harold. Our vanity is our dominant quality.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not so with you, Beatrice,” he said. “I know you
- truly, my dear. I know that you would be as indignant if you heard of the
- same trickery being carried on in respect of another girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would—I know I would,” she cried. “But what
- does it matter? As you say, I—we—have defeated this Mr. Airey,
- so that my vanity at least can find sweet consolation in reflecting that
- we have been cleverer than he was. I don’t suppose that he could
- imagine anyone existing cleverer than himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I think that we have got the better of him,” said
- Harold. He was a little surprised to find that she felt so strongly on the
- subject of Edmund’s attitude in regard to herself. He did not think
- it wise to tell her that that attitude was due to the timely suggestion of
- Helen. He could not bring himself to do so. He felt that his doing so
- would be to place himself on a level with the man who gives his wife
- during the first year of their married life, a circumstantial account of
- the many wealthy and beautiful young women who were anxious—to a
- point of distraction—to marry him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that there was no need for him to say anything about Helen—he
- almost wished that he had said nothing about Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We got the better of him,” he said a second time. “Never
- mind Edmund Airey. You must go to Abbeylands and amuse yourself. You will
- most likely meet with Archie Brown there. Archie is the plainest looking
- and probably the richest man of his age in England. He is to be made the
- subject of an experiment at Abbeylands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is he to be vivisected?” said she. She was now neither pale
- nor roseate. She was herself once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s no need to vivisect poor Archie,” said he.
- “Everyone knows that there’s nothing particular about Archie.
- No; we are merely trying a new cure for him. He has not been in a very
- healthy state lately.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he is delicate, I suppose he will be thrown a good deal with us—the
- females, the incapables—while the pheasant-shooting is going on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will see how matters are managed at Abbeylands,” said
- Harold. “If you find that Archie is attracted toward any girl who is
- distinctly nice, you might—how does a girl assist her weaker sister
- to make up her mind to look with friendly eyes upon such a one as Archie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me see,” said she. “Wouldn’t the best way be
- for girl number one to look with friendly eyes on him herself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold lay back on his chair and laughed at first; then he gazed at her in
- wonder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are cleverer than Edmund Airey and Helen Craven when they
- combine their wisdom,” said he. “Your woman’s instinct
- is worth more than their experience.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never knew what the instincts of a woman were before this
- morning,” said she. “I never felt that I had any need to
- exercise the instinct of defence. I suppose the young seal, though it has
- never been in the water, jumps in by instinct should it be attacked. Oh,
- yes, I dare say I could swim as well as most girls of my age.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only when he had returned to his rooms that he fully comprehended
- the force of her parable of the young seal.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0004" id="link2HCCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning
- Archie drove one of his many machines round to Harold’s rooms and
- broke in upon him before he had finished his breakfast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hallo, my tarty chip,” cried Archie; “what’s the
- meaning of this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw on the table an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting of
- Mrs. Lampson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the meaning of what?” said Harold. “Have
- you got beyond the restraint of Mr. Playdell alcoholically, that you ask
- me what’s the meaning of that envelope?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean what does the inside mean?” said Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure you know better than I do, if you’ve read what’s
- inside it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you’re like one of the tarty chips in the courts that
- cross-examine other tarty chips until their faces are blue,” said
- Archie. “There’s no show for that sort of thing here. So just
- open the envelope and see what’s inside.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I do that and eat my kidneys?” said Harold. “I
- wish to heavens you wouldn’t come here bothering me when I’m
- trying to get through a tough kidney and a tougher leading article. What’s
- the matter with the letter, Archie, my lad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all right,” said Archie. “It’s an
- invite from your sister for a big shoot at Abbeylands. What does it mean—that’s
- what I’d like to know? Does it mean that decent people are going to
- make me the apple of their eye, after all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think it goes quite so far as that,” said
- Harold. “I expect it means that my sister has come to the end of her
- discoveries and she’s forced to fall back on you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, is that all?” Archie looked disappointed. “All? Isn’t
- it enough?” said Harold. “Why, you’re in luck if you let
- her discover you. I knew that her atheists couldn’t hold out. She
- used them up too quickly. One should he economical of one’s genuine
- atheists nowadays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Godfrey! does she take me for an atheist?” shouted
- Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you ever hear of an atheist shooting pheasants?” said
- Harold. “Not likely. An atheist is a man that does nothing except
- talk, and talks about nothing except himself. Now, you’re asked to
- the shoot, aren’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s in the invite anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course. And that shows that you’re not taken for an
- atheist.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad of that. I draw the line at atheism,” Archie
- replied with a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you’ll have a good time among the pheasants.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you suppose that I’ll go?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure you will. I may have thought you a bit of a fool
- before I came to know you, Archie—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And since you heard that I had taken the Legitimate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yes, even after that masterpiece of astuteness. But I would
- never think that you’d be fool enough to throw away this chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Chance—chance of what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of getting among decent people. I told you that my sister has
- nothing but decent people when there’s a shoot—there’s
- no Coming Man in anything among the house-party. Yes, it’s sure to
- be comfortable. It’s the very thing for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it? I’m not so certain about it. The people there are
- pretty sure to allude in a friendly spirit to my red hair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yes, I think you may depend upon that. That means that you’ll
- get on so well among them that they will take an interest in your
- personality. If you get on particularly well with them they may even
- allude to the simplicity of your mug. If they do that, you may be certain
- that you are a great social success.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie mused.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in this musing spirit that he took in a contemplative way a lump of
- sugar out of the sugar bowl, turned it over between his fingers as though
- it was something altogether new to him. Then he threw the lump up to the
- ceiling, his face became one mouth, and the sugar disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I’ll go,” he said, as he crunched the lump.
- “Yes, I’ll be hanged if I don’t go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s more than probable,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I’d like to clear off for a bit from this kennel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What kennel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This kennel—London. Do you go the length of denying that
- London’s a kennel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t do anything of the sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’d best not. I was thinking if a run to Australia, or
- California, or Timbuctoo would not be healthy just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I made up my mind yesterday, that if I don’t have better
- hands soon, I’ll chuck up the whole game. That’s the sort of
- new potatoes that I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Legitimate?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Legitimate be frizzled! Am I to continue paying for the suppers
- that other tarty chips eat? That’s what I want you to tell me. You
- know what a square deal is, Wynne, as well as most people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, you can tell me if I’m to pay for dry champagne
- for her guests.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whose guests?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Godfrey! haven’t I been telling you? Mrs. Mowbray’s
- guests. Who else’s would they be? Do you mean to tell me that, in
- addition to giving people free boxes at the Legitimate every night to see
- W. S. late of Stratford upon Avon, it’s my business to supply dry
- champagne all round after the performance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Harold, “to speak candidly to you, I’ve
- always been of the opinion that the ideal proprietor of a theatre is one
- who supplies really comfortable stalls free, and has really sound
- champagne handed round at intervals during the performance. I also frankly
- admit that I haven’t yet met with any manager who quite realized my
- ideas in this matter. Archie, my lad, the sooner you get down to
- Abbeylands the better it will be for yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll go. Mind you, I don’t cry off when I know the
- chaps that she asks to supper—I’ll flutter the dimes for
- anyone I know; but I’m hanged if I do it for the chaps that chip in
- on her invite. They’ll not draw cards from my pack, Wynne. No, I’ll
- see them in the port of Hull first. That’s the sort of new potatoes
- that I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me your hand, Archie,” cried Harold. “I always
- thought you nothing better than a millionaire, but I find that you’re
- a man after all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll make things hum at the Legitimate yet,” said
- Archie—his voice was fast approaching the shouting stage. “I’ll
- send them waltzing round. I thought once upon a time that, when she laid
- her hand upon my head and said, ‘Poor old Archie,’ I could go
- on for ever—that to see the decimals fluttering about her would be
- the loveliest sight on earth for the rest of my life. But I’m tired
- of that show now, Wynne. Great Godfrey! I can get my hair smoothed down at
- a barber’s for sixpence, and yet I believe that she charged me a
- thousand pounds for every time she patted my head. A decimal for a pat—a
- pat!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You could buy the whole Irish nation for less money, according to
- some people’s ideas—but they’re wrong,” said
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wynne,” said Archie, solemnly. “I’ve been going
- it blind for some time. Shakespeare’s a fraud. I’ll shoot
- those pheasants.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had picked up his hat, and in another minute Harold saw him sending his
- pair of chestnuts down the street at a pace that showed a creditable
- amount of self-restraint on the part of Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- Three days afterwards Harold got a letter from Mrs. Lampson, giving him a
- number of commissions to execute for her—delicate matters that could
- not be intrusted to any one except a confidential agent. The postscript
- mentioned that Archie Brown had arrived a few days before and had charmed
- every one with his shyness. On this account she could scarcely believe,
- she said, that he was a millionaire. She added that Lady Innisfail and her
- daughter had just arrived at Abbeylands, that the Miss Avon about whom she
- had inquired, had accepted her invitation and was coming to Abbeylands on
- the next day; and finally, Mrs. Lampson said that her father was dull
- enough to make people believe that he was really reformed. He was
- inquiring when Miss Avon was coming, and he shared the fate of all men
- (and women) who were unfortunate enough to be reformed: he had become
- deadly dull. Lady Innisfail had assured her, however, that it was very
- rarely that a Hardened Reprobate permanently reformed—even with the
- incentive of acute rheumatism—before he was sixty-five, so that it
- would be unwise to be despondent about Lord Fotheringay. If this was so—and
- Lady Innisfail was surely an authority—Mrs. Lampson said that she
- looked forward to such a lapse on the part of her father as would restore
- him to the position of interest which he had always occupied in the eyes
- of the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold lay back in his chair and laughed heartily at the reference made by
- his sister to the shyness of Archie, and also to the fact of Norah
- Innisfail’s sitting at the table with the Young Reprobate as well as
- the Old. He wondered if the conversation had yet turned upon the
- management of the Legitimate Theatre.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was after he had lunched on the next Tuesday that Harold received this
- letter—written by his sister the previous day. He had passed an hour
- with Beatrice, who was to start by the four-twenty train for Abbeylands
- station. He had said goodbye to her for a week, and already he was feeling
- so lonely that he was soon pacing his room calling himself a fool for
- having elected to remain in town while she was to go.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought how they might have had countless strolls through the fine park
- at Abbeylands—through the picturesque ruins of the old Abbey—on
- the banks of the little trout stream. Instead of being by her side among
- those interesting scenes, he would have to remain—he had been
- foolish enough to make the choice—in the neighbourhood of nothing
- more joyous than St. James’s Palace.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was bad enough; but not merely would he be away from the landscapes
- at Abbeylands, the elements of life in those landscapes would be
- represented by Beatrice and Another.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes; she would certainly appear with someone at her side—in the
- place he might have occupied if he had not been such a fool.
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour had passed before he had got the better of his impulse to call a
- hansom and drive to the railway terminus and take a seat beside her in the
- train. When the clock had struck four, and it was therefore too late for
- him to entertain the idea of going with her, he became more inclined to
- take a reasonable view of the situation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was right.” he said, as he seated himself in front of the
- fire, and stared into the smouldering coals. “Yes, I was right. No
- one must suspect that we are—bound to one another”—the
- words were susceptible of a sufficiently liberal interpretation. “The
- penetration of Edmund Airey will be at fault for the first time, and the
- others who had so many suspicions at Castle Innisfail, will find
- themselves completely at fault.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to think how, though he had been cruelly dealt with by Fate in
- some respects—in respect of his own father, for instance, and also
- in respect of his own poverty—he had still much to be thankful for.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beloved by the loveliest woman whom he had ever seen—the only
- woman for whom he had ever felt a passion. And the peculiar position which
- she occupied, had enabled him to see her every day and to kiss her
- exquisite face—there was none to make him afraid. Such obstacles in
- the way of a lover’s freedom as the Average Father, the Vigilant
- Mother and the Athletic Brother he had never encountered. And then a
- curious circumstance—the thought of Beatrice as a part of the
- landscapes around Abbeylands caused him to lay special emphasis upon this—had
- enabled him to bind the girl to him with a bond which in her eyes at least—yes,
- in his eyes too, by heaven, he felt—was not susceptible of being
- loosened.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, the ways of Providence were wonderful, he felt. If he had not met Mr.
- Playdell.... and so forth.
- </p>
- <p>
- But now Beatrice was his own. She might stray through the autumn woods by
- the side of Edmund Airey or any man whom she might meet at Abbeylands; she
- would feel upon her finger the ring that he had placed there—the
- ring that——
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet with a sudden cry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God! the Ring! the Ring!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It pointed to four-seventeen.
- </p>
- <p>
- He pulled out his watch. It pointed to four-twenty-two.
- </p>
- <p>
- He rushed to the sofa where an overcoat was lying. He had it on him in a
- moment. He snatched up a railway guide and stuffed it into his pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another minute he was in a hansom, driving as fast as the hansomeer
- thought consistent with public safety—a trifle over that which the
- police authorities thought consistent with public safety—in the
- direction of the Northern Railway terminus.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0005" id="link2HCCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E tried, while in
- the hansom, to unravel the mysteries of the system by which passengers
- were supposed to reach Brackenshire. He found the four-twenty train from
- London indicated in its proper order. This was the train by which he had
- invariably travelled to Abbeylands—it was the last train in the day
- that carried passengers to Abbeylands Station, for the station was on a
- short branch line, the junction being Mowern.
- </p>
- <p>
- On reaching the terminus he lost no time in finding a responsible official—one
- whose chastely-braided uniform looked repressful of tips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to get to Mowern Junction before the four-twenty train from
- here goes on to Abbeylands. Can I do it?” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Next train to the Junction five-thirty-two, sir,” said the
- official.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s too late for me,” said Harold. “The train
- leaves the Junction for Abbeylands a quarter of an hour after arriving at
- Mowern. Is there no local train that I might manage to catch that would
- bring me to the Junction?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None that would serve your purpose, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold clearly saw how it was that this company could never get their
- dividend over four per cent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why is there so long a wait at Mowern?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Waits for Ditchford Mail, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And at what time does a train start for Ditch-ford?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can’t tell, sir. Ditchford is on the Nethershire system—they
- have running powers over our line to Mowern.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold whipped out his guide, and found Ditch-ford in the index. By an
- inspiration he turned at once to the page devoted to the Nethershire
- service of trains. He found that, by an exquisite system of timing the
- trains, it was possible to reach a station a mile from Ditchford on the
- one line, just six minutes after the departure of the last local train to
- Ditchford on the other line. It took a little ingenuity, no doubt, on the
- part of the Directors of both lines to accomplish this, but still they
- managed to do it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg pardon, sir,” said an official wearing a uniform that
- suggested tolerance of views in the matter of tips—the more
- important official had moved away. “I beg pardon, sir. Why not take
- the four-fifty-five to Mindon, and change into the Ditchford local train—that’ll
- reach the junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was
- stationed at change into the Ditchford local train—that’ll
- reach the junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was
- stationed at that part of the system.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To glance at the clock, and to perceive that he had time enough to drive
- to the Nethershire terminus, and to transfer a coin to the unconscious but
- not reluctant hand of the official of the liberal views, occupied Harold
- but a moment. At four-fifty-five he was in the Nethershire train on his
- way to Mindon.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not waited to verify the man’s statement as to the trains,
- but in the railway carriage he did so, and he found that the beautiful
- complications of the two systems were at least susceptible of the
- interpretation put on them.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the next two hours Harold felt that he could devote himself, if he had
- the mind, to the problem of the ring that had been so suddenly suggested
- to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It did not require him to spend more than the merest fraction of this time
- in order to convince him that the impulse upon which he had acted, was one
- that he would have been a fool to repress.
- </p>
- <p>
- The ring which he had put on her finger, and which she had worn since, and
- would most certainly wear—he had imagined her doing so—at
- Abbeylands, could not fail to be recognized both by his father and his
- sister. It had belonged to his mother, and it was unique. It had flashed
- upon him suddenly that, unless he was content that his father and sister
- should learn that he had given her that ring, it would be necessary for
- him to prevent Beatrice from wearing it even for an hour at Abbeylands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Apart altogether from the question of the circumstances under which he had
- put the ring upon her finger—circumstances which he had good reason
- for desiring to conceal—the fact that he had given to her the object
- which he valued most highly in the world, and which his father and sister
- knew that he so valued, would suggest to both these persons as much as
- would ruin him.
- </p>
- <p>
- His father would, he knew, be extremely glad to discover some pretext to
- cut off the last penny of his allowance; and assuredly he would regard
- this gift of the ring as an ample pretext for adopting such a course of
- action. Indeed, Lord Fotheringay had never been at a loss for a pretext
- for reducing his son’s allowance; and now that he was posing—with
- but indifferent success, as Harold had learned from Mrs. Lampson’s
- postscript—as a Reformed Sinner, he would, his son knew, think that,
- in cutting off his son’s allowance, he was only acting consistently
- with the traditions of Reformed Sinners.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Reformed Sinner is usually a sinner whose capacity to enjoy the
- pleasures of sin has become dulled, and thus he is intolerant of the sins
- of others, and particularly intolerant of the capacity of others to enjoy
- sin. This is why he reduces the allowances of his children. Like the man
- who advances to the position of teetotal lecturer, after having served for
- some time as the teetotal lecturer’s Example, he knows all about the
- evil which he means to combat—to be more exact, which he means his
- children to combat.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this Harold knew perfectly well. He knew that the only difference that
- the reform of his father would make to him, was that, while his father had
- formerly cut down his allowance with a courteously worded apology, he
- would now stop it altogether without an apology.
- </p>
- <p>
- How could he have failed to remember, when he put that ring upon her
- finger, how great were the chances that it would be seen there by his
- father or his sister?
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the question which occupied his thoughts for the first hour of
- his journey. He lay back looking out on the gray October landscapes
- through which the train rushed—the wood glowing in crimson and brown
- like a mighty smouldering furnace—the groups of children picking
- blackberries on the embankments—the canal boat moving slowly along
- the gray waterway—and he asked himself how he had been such a fool
- as to overlook the likelihood of the ring being seen on her hand by his
- father or his sister.
- </p>
- <p>
- The truth was, that he had at that time not considered the possibility of
- her going to Abbey-lands. He knew that Mrs. Lampson intended inviting her;
- but he felt certain that, when she heard that he was not going, she would
- not accept the invitation. She would not have accepted it, if it had not
- suddenly occurred to him that the fact of her going while he remained in
- town would be to his advantage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Would he be in time to prevent the disaster which he foresaw would occur
- if she appeared in the drawing-room at Abbeylands wearing the ring?
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at his watch. The train was three minutes late in reaching
- several of the stations on its route, and it was delayed for another three
- minutes when there was only a single line of rails. How would it be
- possible for the train to make up so great a loss during the remainder of
- the journey?
- </p>
- <p>
- He reminded the guard at one of many intolerable stoppages, that the train
- was long behind its time. The guard could not agree with him, it was only
- about seven minutes late, he assured Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- On it went, and it seemed as if the engine-driver had a clearer sense of
- his responsibilities than the guard, for during the next thirty miles, he
- managed to save over two minutes. All this Harold noticed with more
- interest than he had ever taken in the details of any railway journey.
- </p>
- <p>
- When at last Mindon was reached, and he left the train to change into the
- one which was to carry him on to the Junction, he found that this train
- had not yet come up. Here was another point to be considered. Would the
- train come up in time?
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not left for long in suspense. The long row of lighted carriages
- ran up to the platform before he had been waiting for two minutes, and in
- another two minutes the train was steaming away with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at his watch once more, and then he was able to give himself a
- rest, for he saw that unless some accident were to happen, he would be at
- Mowern Junction before the train should leave for Abbeylands Station on
- the branch line.
- </p>
- <p>
- In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the
- branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of
- one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment
- and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold! How on earth—” she began.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have a rather important message for you,” he said. “Will
- you take a turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The
- train does not start for six minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was out of the carriage in a moment. “Mr. Wynne has a message
- for me—it is probably from Mrs. Lampson,” she said to her
- maid, who was in the same compartment.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0006" id="link2HCCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HAT can be the
- matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have travelled by the
- same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am so glad to see you.
- You have changed your mind—you are coming on with me? Oh, I see it
- all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful surprise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm—he
- could feel the ring on her finger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no,” said he; “everything remains as it was this
- morning. I only wish that I were going on with you. Providentially
- something occurred to me when I was sitting alone after lunch. That is why
- I came. I managed to catch a train that brought me here just now—the
- train I was in ran past this platform and I saw your face.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can have occurred to you that you could not tell me in a
- letter?” she asked, her face still bearing the look of glad surprise
- that had come to it when she had heard the sound of his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall have to go into a waiting-room, or—better still—an
- empty carriage,” said he. “I see several men whom I know, and—worse
- luck! women—they are on their way to Abbeylands, and if they saw us
- together in this confidential way, they would never cease chattering when
- they arrived. We shall get into a compartment—there is one that
- still remains unlighted, it will be the best for our purpose; there will
- be no chance of a prying face appearing at the window.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall we have time?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Plenty of time. By getting into the carriage you will run no chance
- of being left behind—the worst that can happen is that I may be
- carried on with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The worst? Oh, that is the best—the best.” They had
- strolled to the end of the platform where it was dimly lighted, and in an
- instant, apparently unobserved by anyone, they had got into an unlighted
- compartment at the rear of the train, and Harold shut the door quietly, so
- as not to attract the attention of the three or four men in knickerbockers
- who were stretching their legs on the platform until the train was ready
- to start.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are fortunate,” said he. “Those men outside will be
- your fellow-guests for the week. None of them will think of glancing into
- a dark carriage; but if one of them does so, he will be nothing the wiser.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now—and now,” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now, my dearest, you remember the ring that I put upon your
- finger?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This ring? Do you think it likely that I have forgotten it already?”
- she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no, dearest; it was I who forgot it,” he said. “It
- was I who forgot that my father and my sister are perfectly certain to
- recognize that ring if you wear it at Abbeylands: they will be certain to
- see it on your linger, and they will question you as to how it came into
- your possession.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course they will,” she said, after a pause. “You
- told me that it was a ring that belonged to your mother. There can only be
- one such ring in the world. Oh, they could not fail to recognize it. The
- little chubby wicked Eros surrounded by the rubies—I have looked at
- the design every day—every night—sometimes the firelight
- gleaming upon the circle of rubies has made them seem to me a band of
- blood. Was that the idea of the artist who made the design, I wonder—a
- circle of blood with the god Eros in the centre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had taken off her glove, and had laid the hand with the ring in one of
- his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never felt her hand so soft and warm before. His hand became hot
- through holding hers. His heart was beating as it had never beaten before.
- </p>
- <p>
- The force of his grasp pressed the sharply cut cameo into his flesh. The
- image of that wicked little god, the son of Aphrodite, was stamped upon
- him. It seemed as if some of his blood would mingle with the blood that
- sparkled and beat within the heart of the rubies.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had forgotten the object of his mission to her. Still holding her hand
- with the ring, he put his arm under the sealskin coat that reached to her
- feet, and held her close to him while he kissed her as he had never before
- kissed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he seemed to recollect why he was with her. He had not hastened
- down from London for the sake of the kiss.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My beloved, my beloved!” he murmured—each word sounded
- like a sob—“I should like to remain with you for ever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not say a word. She did not need to say a word. He could feel the
- tumult of her heart, and she knew it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake, Beatrice, let me speak to you,” he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a strange entreaty. His arm was about her, his hand was holding one
- of hers, she was simply passive by his side; and yet he implored of her to
- let him speak to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was some moments before she could laugh, however; which was also
- strange, for the humour of the matter which called for that laugh, was
- surely capable of being appreciated by her immediately.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a laugh and then a sigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- The carriage was dark, but a stray gleam of light from a side platform now
- and again came upon her face, and her features were brought into relief
- with the clearness and the whiteness of a lily in a jungle.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she gave that laugh—or was it a sigh?—he started,
- perceiving that the expression of her features was precisely that which
- the artist in the antique had imparted to the features of the little
- chrysoprase Eros in the centre of that blood-red circle of the ring.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you laugh, Beatrice?8 said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I laugh, Harold?” said she. “No—no—I
- think—yes, I think it was a sigh—or was it you who sighed, my
- love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God knows,” said he. “Oh, the ring—the ring!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It feels like a band of burning metal,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is almost a pain for me to wear it. Have you not heard of the
- curious charms possessed by rings, Harold—the strange spells which
- they carry with them? The ring is a mystery—a mystic symbol. It
- means what has neither beginning nor ending—it means perfection—completeness—it
- means love—love’s completeness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what your ring must mean to us, my beloved,” said he.
- “Whether you take it from your finger or let it remain there, it
- will still mean the completeness of such love as is ours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I am to take it off, Harold?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only so long as you stay at Abbeylands, Beatrice. What does it
- matter for one week? You will see, dearest, how my plans—my hopes—must
- certainly he destroyed if that ring is seen on your finger by my father or
- my sister. It is not for the sake of my plans only that I wish you to
- refrain from wearing it for a week; it is for your sake as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would they fancy that I had stolen it, dear?” she asked,
- looking up to his face with a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They might fancy worse things than that, Beatrice,” said he.
- “Do not ask me. You may be sure that I am advising you aright—that
- the consequences of that ring being recognized on your finger would be
- more serious than you could understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I not say something to you a few days ago about the
- completeness of my trust in you, Harold?” she whispered. “Well,
- the ring is the symbol of this completeness also. I trust you implicitly
- in everything. I have given myself up to you. I will do whatever you may
- tell me. I will not take the ring off until I reach Abbeylands, but I
- shall take it off then, and only replace it on my finger every night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My darling, my darling! Such love as you have given to me is God’s
- best gift to the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had committed himself to an opinion practically to the same effect upon
- more than one previous occasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now, as then, the expression of that opinion was followed by a long
- silence, as their faces came together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice,” he said, in a tremulous voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall go on with you to Abbeylands. Come what may, we shall not
- now be separated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But they were separated that very instant. The carriage was flooded with
- light—the chastened flood that comes from an oil lamp inserted in a
- hollow in the roof—and they were no longer in each others arms. They
- heard the sound of the porter’s feet on the roof of the next
- carriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is so good of you to come,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was now perhaps three inches of a space separating them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good?” said he. “I’m afraid that’s not the
- word. We shall be under one roof.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said slowly, “under one roof.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tickets for Ashmead,” intoned a voice at the carriage window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are for Abbeylands Station,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Abb’l’ns,” said the guard. “Why, sir, you
- know the Abb’l’ns train started six minutes ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0007" id="link2HCCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A SYSTEM.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD was out of
- the compartment in a moment. Did the guard mean that the train had
- actually left for Abbeylands? It had left six minutes before, the guard
- explained, and the station-master added his guarantee to the statement.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold looked around—from platform to platform—as if he
- fancied that there was a conspiracy between the officials to conceal the
- train.
- </p>
- <p>
- How could the train leave without taking all its carriages with it?
- </p>
- <p>
- It did nothing of the kind, the station-master said, firmly but
- respectfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- The guard went on with his business of cutting neat triangles out of the
- tickets of the passengers in the carriages that were alongside the
- platform—passengers bound for Ashmead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I—we—my—my wife and I got into one of the
- carriages of the Abbeylands train,” said Harold, becoming indignant,
- after the fashion of his countrymen, when they have made a mistake either
- on a home or foreign railway. “What sort of management is it that
- allows one portion of a train to go in one direction and another part in
- another direction?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s our system, sir,” said the official. “You
- see, sir, there’re never many passengers for either the Abbeyl’n’s”—being
- a station-master he did not do an unreasonable amount of clipping in
- regard to the names—“or the Ashm’d branch, so the
- Staplehurst train is divided—only we don’t light the lamps in
- the Ashm’d portion until we’re ready to start it. Did you get
- into a carriage that had a lamp, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve seen some bungling at railway stations before now,”
- said Harold, “but bang me if I ever met the equal of this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This isn’t properly speaking a station, sir, it’s a
- junction,” said the official, mildly, but with the force of a man
- who has said the last word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That simply means that greater bungling may be found at a junction
- than at a station,” said Harold. “Is it not customary to give
- some notice of the departure of a train at a junction as well as a
- station, my good man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The official became reasonably irritated at being called a good man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The train left for Abbeyl’n’s according to reg’lation,
- sir,” said he. “If you got into a compartment that had no lamp——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I’ve no time for trifling,” said Harold. “When
- does the next train leave for Abbey-lands?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At eight-sixteen in the morning,” said the official.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! You mean to say that there’s no train
- to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, if a carriage isn’t lighted, sir, we——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man perceived the weakness of Harold’s case—from the
- standpoint of a railway official—and seemed determined not to lose
- sight of it. “Contributory negligence” he knew to be the most
- valuable phrase that a railway official could have at hand upon any
- occasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And how do you expect us to go on to Abbeylands to-night?”
- asked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s a very respectable hotel a mile from the junction,
- sir,” said the man. “Ruins of the Priory, sir—dates back
- to King John, page 84 <i>Tourist’s Guide to Brackenshire</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” said Harold, “this is quite preposterous.”
- He went to where Beatrice was seated watching, with only a moderate amount
- of interest, the departure of five passengers for Ashmead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, dear?” said she, as Harold came up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For straightforward, pig-headed stupidity I’ll back a railway
- company against any institution in the world,” said he. “The
- last train has left for Abbeylands. Did you ever know of such stupidity?
- And yet the shareholders look for six per cent, out of such a system.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps,” said she timidly—“perhaps we were in
- some degree to blame.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed. It was so like a woman to suggest the possibility of some
- blame attaching to the passengers when a railway company could be
- indicted. To the average man such an idea is as absurd as beginning to
- argue with a person at whom one is at liberty to swear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems that there is a sort of hotel a mile away,” said he.
- “We cannot be starved, at any rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I—you—we shall have to stay there?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave a sort of shrug—an Englishman’s shrug—about as
- like the real thing as an Englishman’s bow, or a Chinaman’s
- cheer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can we do?” said he. “When a railway company such
- as this—oh, come along, Beatrice. I am hungry—hungry—hungry!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught her by the arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Harold—husband,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- He started.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Husband! Husband!” he said. “I never thought of that.
- Oh, my beloved—my beloved!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood irresolute for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he gave a curious laugh, and she felt his hand tighten upon her arm
- for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he whispered. “You heard the words that—that
- man said while our hands were together? ‘Whom God hath joined’—God—that
- is Love. Love is the bond that binds us together. Every union founded on
- Love is sacred—and none other is sacred—in the sight of
- heaven.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you do not doubt my love,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doubt it? oh, my Beatrice, I never knew what it was before now.”
- They left the station together, after he had written and despatched in her
- name a telegram to her maid, directing her to explain to Mrs. Lampson that
- her mistress had unfortunately missed the train, but meant to go by the
- first one in the morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- By chance a conveyance was found outside, and in it they drove to the
- Priory Hotel which, they were amazed to find, promised comfort as well as
- picturesqueness.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a long ivy-covered house, and bore every token of being a portion
- of the ancient Priory among the ruins of which it was standing. Great elms
- were in front of the house, and on one side there were apple trees, and at
- the other there was a garden reaching almost to where a ruined arch was
- held together by its own ivy.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they were in the act of entering the porch, a ray of moonlight gleamed
- upon the ruins, and showed the trimmed grass plots and neat gravel walks
- among the cloisters.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold pointed out the picturesque effect to Beatrice, and they stood for
- some moments before entering the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old waiter, whose moderately white shirt front constituted a very
- distinctive element of the hall with its polished panels of old oak, did
- not bustle forward when he saw them admiring the ruins.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Upon my word,” said Harold, entering, “this is a place
- worth seeing. That touch of moonlight was very effective.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said the waiter; “I’m glad you’re
- pleased with it. We try to do our best in this way for our patrons. Mrs.
- Mark will be glad to know that you thought highly of our moonlight, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man was only a waiter, but he was as solemn as a butler, as he opened
- the door of a room that seemed ready to do duty as a coffee-room. It had a
- low groined ceiling, and long narrow windows.
- </p>
- <p>
- An elderly maid was lighting candles in sconces round the walls.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really,” said Harold, “we may be glad that the bungling
- at the junction brought us here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said the man with waiter-like acquiescence;
- “they do bungle things sometimes at that junction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We were on our way to Abbeylands,” said Harold, “but
- those idiots on the platform allowed us to get into the wrong carriages—the
- carriages that were going to Ashmead. We shall stay here for the night.
- The station-master recommended us to go here, and I’m much obliged
- to him. It’s the only sensible—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir: he’s a brother to Mrs. Mark—Mrs. Mark is our
- proprietor,” said the waiter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Mrs</i>. Mark,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir: she’s our proprietor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold thought that, perhaps, when the owner of an hotel was a woman, she
- might reasonably be called the proprietor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, perhaps a maid might show my—my wife to a room,
- while I see what we can get for dinner—supper, I suppose we should
- call it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The middle-aged woman who was lighting the candles came forward smiling,
- as she adroitly extinguished the wax taper by the application of her
- finger and thumb. With her Beatrice disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold quite expected that he was about to come upon the weak element in
- the management of this picturesque inn. But when he found that a cold
- pheasant as well as some hot fish was available for supper, he admitted
- that the place was perfect. There was no wine card, but the old waiter
- promised a Champagne for which, he said, Mr. Lampson, of Abbeylands, had
- once made an offer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will do for us very well,” said Harold. “Mr.
- Lampson would not make an offer for anything—wine least of all—of
- which he was uncertain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The waiter went off in the leisurely style that was only consistent with
- the management of an establishment that dated back to King John; and in a
- few minutes Beatrice appeared, having laid aside her sealskin coat, and
- her hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- How exquisite she seemed as she stood for an instant in the subdued light
- at the door!
- </p>
- <p>
- And she was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0008" id="link2HCCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span> HE was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt the joy of it as she stood at the door in her beautifully fitting
- travelling dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought sent an exultant glow through his veins, as he looked at her
- from where he was standing at the hearth. (There was no “cosy corner”
- abomination.)
- </p>
- <p>
- She was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went forward to meet her, and put out both his hands to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She placed a hand in each of his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How delightfully warm you are,” she said. “You were
- standing at the fire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said. “I was at the fire; in addition, I was
- also thinking that you are mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Altogether yours now,” she said looking at him with that
- trustful smile which should have sent him down on his knees before her,
- but which did not do more than cause his eyes to look at her throat
- instead of gazing straight into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- They seated themselves on one of the old window-seats, and talked face to
- face, listlessly watching the old waiter lay a white cloth on a portion of
- the black oak table.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had eaten their fish and pheasant—Harold wondered if the
- latter had come from the Abbeylands’ preserves, and if Archie Brown
- had shot it—they returned to the window-seat, and there they
- remained for an hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to
- the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom
- candlestick with a box of matches.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I require nothing, thank you,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “The candles in the
- sconces will burn for another hour. If that will not be long enough—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely
- comfortable, and I wish you goodnight,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon
- the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At last—at last!” whispered Harold, as he put an arm on
- the deep embrasure of the window behind her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She let her shapely head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. Then
- she looked up to his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who could have thought it?” she cried. “Who could have
- predicted that evening when I stood on the cliffs and sent my voice out in
- that wild way across the lough, that we should be sitting here to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew it when I got down to the boat and drew your hands into mine
- by that fishing-line,” said he. “When the moon showed me your
- face, I knew that I had seen the face for which I had been searching all
- my life. I had caught glimpses of that face many times in my life. I
- remember seeing it for a moment when a great musician was performing an
- incomparable work—a work the pure beauty of which made all who
- listened to it weep. I can hear that music now when I look upon your face.
- It conveys to me all that was conveyed to me by the music. I saw it again
- when, one exquisite dawn, I went into a garden while the dew was
- glistening over everything. There came to me the faint scent of violets. I
- thought that nothing could be lovelier; but in another moment, the
- glorious perfume of roses came upon me like a torrent. The odour of the
- roses and the scent of the violets mingled, and before my eyes floated
- your face. When the moonlight showed me your face on that night beside the
- Irish lough I felt myself wondering if it would vanish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has come to stay,” she whispered, in a way that gave the
- sweetest significance to the phrase that has become vulgarized.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It came to stay with me for ever,” he said. “I knew it,
- and I felt myself saying, ‘Here by God’s grace is the one maid
- for me.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not falter as he looked down upon her face—he said the words
- “God’s grace” without the least hesitancy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The moonlight that had been glistening on the ivy of the broken arches of
- the ancient Priory, was now shining through the diamond panes of the
- window at which they were sitting. As her head lay back it was illuminated
- by the moon. Her hair seemed delicate threads of spun glass through which
- the light was shining.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the candles flared up for a moment in its socket, then dwindled
- away to a single spark and then expired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You remember?” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The seal-cave,” he said. “I have often wondered how I
- dared to tell you that I loved you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you told me the truth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The truth. No, no; I did not love you then as I regard loving now.
- Oh, my Beatrice, you have taught me what ‘tis to love. There is
- nothing in the world but love, it is life—it is life!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And there are none in the world who love as you and I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face shut out the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence before
- she said, “It was only when you had parted from me every day that I
- knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad
- Good-byes—sad Good-nights out of the moonlight from hers. There was
- a long silence before she said, “It was only when you had parted
- from me every day that I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those
- bitter moments! Those sad Good-byes—sad Good-nights!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are over, they are over!” he cried. The lover’s
- triumph rang through his words. “They are over. We have come to the
- night when no more Good-nights shall be spoken. What do I say? No more
- Good-nights? You know what a poet’s heart sang—a poet over
- whose head the waters of passion had closed? I know the song that came
- from his heart—beloved, the pulses of his heart beat in every
- line:"=
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “‘Good-night! ah, no, the hour is ill
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- That severs those it should unite:
- </p>
- <p class="indent10">
- Let us remain together still,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Then it will be good night.=
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- ”’ How can I call the lone night good,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Be it not said—thought—understood;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Then it will be good night.=
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “‘To hearts that near each other move
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- From evening close to morning light,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The night is good because, oh, Love,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- They never say Good-night.’”=
- </p>
- <p>
- His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were closed
- and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh—a sigh that had
- something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his neck,
- and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- How had she gone?
- </p>
- <p>
- Whither had she gone?
- </p>
- <p>
- How long had he been alone?
- </p>
- <p>
- He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his
- arms? Had he been repeating Shelley’s poem in the hearing of no one?
- </p>
- <p>
- He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old
- Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch
- where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. It
- was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one window
- above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had no drapery—he could see through it half way into the room
- beyond.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from the
- wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved Head
- of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies.
- </p>
- <p>
- He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until—until....
- </p>
- <p>
- There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling
- whiteness beneath the light of the candles.
- </p>
- <p>
- He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which
- he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand on
- the handle of the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly
- watching the struggle.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man’s fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his
- hands across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started up,
- and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled—madly—blindly—away
- from the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone—he only
- fell upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot
- of an ancient prostrate Cross.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his
- parched lips the cry, “Christ have mercy upon me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp stone.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was saved!
- </p>
- <p>
- And he—he had saved his soul alive!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0009" id="link2HCCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NWARD he fled, he
- knew not whither; he only knew that he was flying for the safety of his
- soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- He passed far beyond the limits of the Priory grounds, but he did not
- reach the high road. He crossed a meadow and came upon a trout stream. He
- walked beside it for an hour. At the end of that time there was no
- moonlight to glitter upon its surface. Clouds had come over the sky and
- drops of rain were beginning to fall.
- </p>
- <p>
- He crossed the stream by a little bridge, and reached the border of a
- wood. It was now long past midnight. He had been walking for two hours,
- but he had no consciousness of weariness. It was not until the rain was
- streaming off his hair that he recollected that he had no hat. But on
- still he went through the darkness and the rain, as though he were being
- pursued, and that every step he took was a step toward safety.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came upon a track that seemed to lead through the wood, and upon this
- track he went for several miles. The ground was soft, and at some places
- the rain had turned it into a morass. The autumn leaves lay in drifts,
- sodden and rotting. Into more than one of these he stumbled, and when he
- got upon his feet again, the damp leaves and the mire were clinging to
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- For three more hours he went on by the winding track through the wood. In
- the darkness he strayed from it frequently, but invariably found it again
- and struggled on, until he had passed right through the wood and reached a
- high road that ran beside it.
- </p>
- <p>
- As though he had been all the night wandering in search for this road, so
- soon as he saw it he cried, “Thank God, thank God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But something else may have been in his mind beyond the satisfaction of
- coming upon the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the border of the wood where the track broadened out, there was a
- woodcutter’s rough shed. It was piled up with logs of various sizes,
- and with trimmed boughs awaiting the carts to come along the road to carry
- them away. He entered the shed, and, overpowered with weariness, sank down
- upon a heap of boughs; his head found a resting place in a forked branch
- and in a moment he was sound asleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it
- might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the
- window.
- </p>
- <p>
- True; but his soul was saved.
- </p>
- <p>
- He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that came
- from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with the
- smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small
- branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices.
- </p>
- <p>
- He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not
- realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself.
- Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he said,
- “Thank God, thank God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held
- bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a
- constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable.
- </p>
- <p>
- The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They stood
- shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them,
- whether in regard to attack or defence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you’re awake, my gentleman,” said the man with
- the truncheon.
- </p>
- <p>
- The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of strength,
- aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in the shed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I believe I’m awake,” said Harold. “Is the
- morning far advanced?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s as may be,” said the truncheon-holder, shrewdly,
- and after a pause of considerable duration.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not the man to compromise yourself by a hasty
- statement,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said the man, after another pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I ask what is the meaning of this rather imposing
- demonstration?” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, you may, maybe,” replied the man. “But it’s
- my business to tell you that—” here he paused and inflated his
- lungs and person generally— “that all you say now will be used
- as evidence against you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s very official,” said Harold. “Does it mean
- that you’re a constable?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That it do; and that you’re in my charge now. Close up,
- bill-hooks, and stand firm,” the man added to his companions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t trumle for we,” said one of the billhook-holders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see there’s no use broadening vi’lent-like,”
- said the truncheon-holder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s clear enough,” said Harold. “Would it be
- imprudent for me to inquire what’s the charge against me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know,” said the policeman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, my man,” said Harold; “I’m not disposed to
- stand this farce any longer. Can’t you see that I’m no vagrant—that
- I haven’t any of your logs concealed about me. What part of the
- country is this? Where’s the nearest telegraph office?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No matter what’s the part,” said the constable; “I’ve
- arrested you before witnesses of full age, and I’ve cautioned you
- according to the Ack o’ Parliament.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the charge?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The charge is the murder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Murder—what murder?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know—the murder of the Right Honourable Lord Fotheringay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What!” shouted Harold. “Lord—oh, you’re
- mad! Lord Fotheringay is my father, and he’s staying at Abbeylands.
- What do you mean, you idiot, by coming to me with such a story?” The
- policeman winked in by no means a subtle way at the two men with the
- bill-hooks; he then looked at Harold from head to foot, and gave a guffaw.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The son of his lordship—the murdered man—you heard
- that, friends, after I gave the caution according to the Ack o’
- Parliament?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, ay, we heard—leastways to that effeck,” replied one
- of the men.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then down it goes again him,” said the constable. “He’s
- a gentleman-Jack tramp—and that’s the worst sort—without
- hat or head gear, and down it goes that he said he was his lordship’s
- son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake tell me what you mean by talking of the murder
- of Lord Fotheringay,” said Harold. “There can be no truth in
- what you said. Oh, why do I wait here talking to this idiot?” He
- took a few steps toward one end of the shed. The men raised their
- bill-hooks, and the constable made an aggressive demonstration with his
- truncheon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Against Stupidity the gods fight in vain, but now and again a man with
- good muscles can prevail against it. Harold simply dealt a kick upon the
- heavy handle of the bill-hook nearest to him, and it swung round and
- caught in the stomach the second man, who immediately dropped his
- implement. He needed both hands to press against his injured person.
- </p>
- <p>
- The constable ran to the other end of the shed and blew his whistle.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold went out in the opposite direction and got upon the high road; but
- before he had quite made up his mind which way to go, he heard the clatter
- of a horse galloping. He saw that a mounted constable was coming up, and
- he also noticed with a certain amount of interest, that he was drawing a
- revolver.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold stood in the centre of the road and held up his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the few occasions when a man of well developed muscles, if he is
- wise, thinks himself no better than the gods, is when Stupidity is in the
- act of drawing a revolver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you the sergeant of constabulary?” Harold inquired, when
- the man had reined in. He still kept his revolver handy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I’m the sergeant of constabulary. Who are you, and what
- are you doing here?” said the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s the gentleman-Jack tramp that the lads found asleep in
- the shed, sergeant,” said the constable, who had hurried forward
- with the naked truncheon. “The lads came on him hiding here, when
- they were setting about their day’s work. They ran for me, and that’s
- why I sent for you. I’ve arrested him and cautioned him. He was nigh
- clearing off just now, but I never took an eye off him. Is there a reward
- yet, sergeant?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Officer,” said Harold. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s
- son. For God’s sake tell me if what this man says is true—is
- Lord Fotheringay dead—murdered?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s dead. You seem to know a lot about it, my gentleman,”
- said the sergeant. “You’re charged with his murder. If you
- make any attempt at resistance, I’ll shoot you down like a dog.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man had now his revolver is his right hand. Harold looked first at
- him, and then at the foolish man with the truncheon. He was amazed. What
- could the men mean? How was it that they did not touch their helmets to
- him? He had never yet been addressed by a policeman or a railway porter
- without such a token of respect. What was the meaning of the change?
- </p>
- <p>
- This was really his first thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mind was not in a condition to do more than speculate upon this point.
- It was not capable of grasping the horrible thing suggested by the men.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood there in the middle of the road, dazed and speechless. It was not
- until he had casually looked down and had seen the condition of his feet
- and legs and clothes that, passing from the amazed thought of the
- insolence of the constables, into the amazement produced by his raggedness—he
- was apparently covered with mire from head to foot—the reason of his
- treatment flashed upon him; and in another instant every thought had left
- him except the thought that his father was dead. His head fell forward on
- his chest. He felt his limbs give way under him. He staggered to the low
- hank at the side of the road and managed to seat himself. He supported his
- head on his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.
- </p>
- <p>
- There he remained, the four men watching him; for the interest which
- attaches to a distinguished criminal in the eyes of ignorant rustics, is
- almost as great as that which he excites among the leaders of society, who
- scrutinize him in the dock through opera glasses, and eat <i>pâté de foie
- gras</i> sandwiches beside the judge.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0010" id="link2HCCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>OME minutes had
- passed before Harold had sufficiently recovered to be able to get upon his
- feet. He could now account for everything that had happened. His father
- must have been found dead under suspicious circumstances the previous day,
- and information had been conveyed to the county constabulary. The instinct
- of the constabulary being to connect all crime with tramps, and his own
- appearance, after his night of wandering, as well as the conditions under
- which he had been found, suggesting the tramp, he had naturally been
- arrested.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew that he could only suffer some inconvenience for an hour or so.
- But what would be the sufferings of Beatrice?
- </p>
- <p>
- “The circumstances under which I am found are suspicious enough to
- justify my arrest,” he said to the mounted man. “I am Lord
- Fotheringay’s son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gammon! but it’ll be took down,” said the constable
- with the truncheon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold your tongue, you fool!” cried the sergeant to his
- subordinate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can, of course, account for every movement of mine, yesterday and
- the day before,” said Harold. “What hour is the crime supposed
- to have taken place? It must have been after four o’clock, or I
- should have received a telegram from my sister, Mrs. Lampson. I left
- London shortly before five last evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you can prove that, you’re all right,” said the
- sergeant. “But you’ll have to give us your right name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll find it on the inside of my watch,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the sergeant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re a fool!” said the sergeant, looking at the hack
- of the watch. “This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It
- has a crown over a crest, and arms with supporters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” said Harold. “I forgot that it was my
- father’s watch before he gave it to me.” The sergeant smiled.
- The constable and the two bill-hook men guffawed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me the watch,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve put a rope round your neck this minute,” said
- he. “Handcuffs, Jonas.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold’s
- hands instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his revolver
- out of its case.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has never occurred before this minute,” said the
- constable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean? Where’s the handcuffs?” cried the
- sergeant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never before,” said the constable, “I took them out to
- clean them with sandpaper, sergeant—emery and oil’s
- recommended, but give me sandpaper—not too fine but just fine
- enough. Is there any man in the county that can show as bright a pair of
- handcuffs as myself, sergeant? You know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Show them now,” said the sergeant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll have to come to the house with me, for there they be
- to be,” replied the constable. “Ay, but I’ve my
- truncheon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which way am I to go with you?” said Harold. “You don’t
- think that I’m such a fool as to make the attempt to resist you? I
- can’t remain here all day. Every moment is precious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll be off soon enough, my good man,” said the
- sergeant. “Keep alongside my horse, and if you try any game on with
- me, I’ll be equal to you.” He wheeled his horse and walked it
- in the direction whence he had come. Harold kept up with it, thinking his
- thoughts. The man with the truncheon and the two men who had wielded the
- billhooks marched in file beside him. Marching in file had something
- official about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a strange procession that appeared on the shining wet road, with
- the dripping autumn trees on each side, and the gray sodden clouds
- crawling up in the distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- How was he to communicate with her? How was he to let Beatrice know that
- she was to return to London immediately?
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the question which occupied all his thoughts as he walked with
- bowed head along the road. The thought of the position which he occupied—the
- thought of the tragic incident which had aroused the vigilance of the
- constable—the desire to learn the details of the terrible thing that
- had occurred—every thought was lost in that question:
- </p>
- <p>
- “How am I to prevent her from going on to Abbeylands?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it possible that she might learn at the hotel early in the morning,
- that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered? When the news of the murder had
- spread round the country—and it seemed to have done so from the
- course that the woodcutters had adopted on coming upon him asleep—it
- would certainly be known at the hotel. If so, what would Beatrice do?
- </p>
- <p>
- Surely she would take the earliest train back to London.
- </p>
- <p>
- But if she did not hear anything of the matter, would she then remain at
- the hotel awaiting his return?
- </p>
- <p>
- What would she think of him? What would she think of his desertion of her
- at that supreme moment?
- </p>
- <p>
- Can a woman ever forgive such an act of desertion? Could Beatrice ever
- forgive his turning away from her love?
- </p>
- <p>
- Was he beginning to regret that he had fled away from the loveliest vision
- that had ever come before his eyes?
- </p>
- <p>
- Did Saint Anthony ever wish that he had had another chance?
- </p>
- <p>
- If for a single moment Harold Wynne had an unworthy thought, assuredly it
- did not last longer than a single moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever may happen now—whether she forgives me or forsakes
- me—thank God—thank God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was what his heart was crying out all the time that he walked along
- the road with bowed head. He felt that he had been strong enough to save
- her—to save himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- The procession had scarcely passed over more than a quarter of a mile of
- the road, when a vehicle appeared some distance ahead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Steady,” said the sergeant. “It’s the Major in
- his trap. I sent a mounted man for him. You’ll be in trouble about
- the handcuffs, Jonas, my man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe the murderer would keep his hands together to oblige us,”
- suggested the constable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll not be a party to deception,” said his superior.
- “Halt!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold looked up and saw a dog-cart just at hand. It was driven by a
- middle-aged gentleman, and a groom was seated behind. Harold had an
- impression that he had seen the driver previously, though he could not
- remember when or where he had done so. He rather thought he was an officer
- whom he had met at some place abroad.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dog-cart was pulled up, and the officials saluted in their own way, as
- the gentleman gave the reins to his groom and dismounted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “An arrest, sir,” said the sergeant. “The two
- woodcutters came upon him hiding in their shed at dawn, and sent for the
- constable. Jonas, very properly, sent for me, and I despatched a man for
- you, sir. When arrested, he made up a cock-and-bull story, and a watch,
- supposed to be his murdered lordship’s, was found concealed about
- his person. It’s now in my possession.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good,” said the stranger. Then he subjected Harold to a close
- scrutiny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know now where I met you,” said Harold. “You are
- Major Wilson, the Chief Constable of the County, and you lunched with us
- at Abbeylands two years ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! Mr. Wynne!” cried the man. “What on earth can be
- the meaning of this? Your poor father—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I want to learn,” said Harold eagerly. “Is
- it more than a report—that terrible thing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A report? He was found at six o’clock last evening by a
- keeper on the outskirts of one of the preserves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A bullet—an accident? he may have been out shooting,”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A knife—a dagger.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold turned away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Remain where you are, sergeant,” said Major Wilson. “Let
- me have a word with you, Mr. Wynne,” he added to Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly,” said Harold. His voice was shaky. “I wonder
- if you chance to have a flask of brandy in your cart. You can understand
- that I’m not quite—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry that I have no brandy,” said Major Wilson.
- “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind sitting on the bank with me while
- you explain—if you wish—I do not suggest that you should—I
- suppose the constables cautioned you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Amply,” said Harold. “I find that I can stand. I don’t
- suppose that any blame attaches to them for arresting me. I am, I fear,
- very disreputable looking. The fact is that I was stupid enough to miss
- the train from Mowern junction last night, and I went to the Priory Hotel.
- I came out when the night was fine, without my hat, and I——
- had reasons of my own for not wishing to return to the hotel. I got into
- the wood and wandered for several hours along a track I found. I got
- drenched, and taking shelter in the woodcutters’ shed, I fell
- asleep. That is all I have to say. I have not the least idea what part of
- the country this is: I must have walked at least twenty miles through the
- night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not a mile from the Priory Hotel,” said Major Wilson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is impossible,” cried Harold. “I walked pretty
- hard for five hours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Through the wood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I practically never left the track.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood
- instead of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone Woods.
- Mr. Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard of or saw
- in my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I
- shall be inconvenienced for long,” said Harold. “It is a
- shocking thing for a son to be suspected even for a moment of the murder
- of his own father; but sometimes a curious combination of circumstances——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course—of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg
- of you. Did you leave London yesterday?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, by the four-fifty-five train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the
- collector, the return portion is in my pocket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and
- took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?” he
- then inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the
- train to go to Abbeylands without me,” said Harold. “That was
- at ten minutes past seven o’clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I
- made elaborate inquiries from the railway officials in London between half
- past four and the hour of the train’s starting. I also spoke to the
- station-master at Mindon, asking him if he was certain that the train
- would arrive at the junction in time.” Major Wilson’s face
- brightened. Before it had been somewhat overcast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up
- everything,” said Major Wilson. “Yes, everything except—wasn’t
- that midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Harold, after a pause. “It was extremely
- odd. So odd that I know that you will pardon my attempting to explain it—at
- least just now. You will, I think, be satisfied if you have evidence that
- I was in London yesterday afternoon. I am anxious to go to my sister
- without delay. Surely some clue must be forthcoming as to the ruffian who
- did the deed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The only clue—if it could be termed a clue—is the
- sheath of the dagger,” replied Major Wilson. “It is the sheath
- of an ordinary belt dagger, such as is commonly worn by the peasantry in
- Southern Italy and Sicily. Lord Fotheringay lived a good deal abroad. Do
- you happen to know if he became involved in any quarrel in Italy—if
- there was any reason to think that his life had been threatened?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor father returned from abroad a couple of months ago, and
- joined Lady Innisfail’s party in Ireland. I have only seen him once
- in London since then. He must have been followed by some one who fancied
- that—that—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That he had been injured by your father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I fear. But my father never confided his suspicions—if
- he had any on this matter—to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had walked some little way up the road. They now returned slowly and
- silently.
- </p>
- <p>
- A one-horse-fly appeared in the distance. When it came near, Harold
- recognized it as the one in which he had driven with Beatrice from the
- station to the hotel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you will allow me,” said Harold to Major Wilson, “I
- will send to the hotel for my overcoat and hat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do so by all means,” said Major Wilson. “There is a
- decent little inn some distance on the road, where you will be able to get
- a brush down—you certainly need one. I’ll give my sergeant
- instructions to send some telegrams at the junction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you will kindly ask him to return to me my watch,”
- said Harold. “I don’t suppose that he will need it now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold stopped the fly, and wrote upon a card of his own the following
- words, “<i>A shocking thing has happened that keeps me from you. My
- poor father is dead. Return to town by first train.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- He instructed the driver to go to the Priory Hotel and deliver the card
- into the hand of the lady whom he had driven there the previous evening,
- and then to pay Harold’s bill, drive the lady to the junction, and
- return with the overcoat and hat to the inn on the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold gave the man a couple of sovereigns, and the driver said that he
- would be able easily to convey the lady to the junction in time for the
- first train.
- </p>
- <p>
- While the sergeant went away to send the Chief Constable’s
- telegrams, Major Wilson and Harold drove off together in the dog-cart—the
- man with the truncheon and the men who had carried the bill-hooks
- respectfully saluted as the vehicle passed.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of another half hour, Harold was in the centre of a cloud of
- dust, produced by the vigorous action of an athlete at the little inn, who
- had been engaged to brush him down. When he caught sight of himself in a
- looking-glass on entering the inn, Harold was as much amazed as he had
- been when he heard from the Chief Constable that he had been wandering
- round the wood all night. He felt that he could not blame the woodcutters
- for taking him for a tramp.
- </p>
- <p>
- He managed to eat some breakfast, and then he fly came up with his
- overcoat and hat. He spoke only one sentence to the driver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You brought her to the train?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He handed Harold an envelope.
- </p>
- <p>
- Inside was a sheet of paper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Dearest—dearest—You have all my sympathy—all
- my love. Come to me soon.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the bed
- and burst into tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was ten years since he had wept.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was ten years since he had prayed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0011" id="link2HCCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL INCIDENT.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HIS is not the
- story of a murder. However profitable as well as entertaining it would be
- to trace through various mysteries, false alarms, and intricacies the
- following up of a clue by the subtle intelligence of a detective, until
- the rope is around the neck of the criminal, such profit and entertainment
- must be absent from this story of a man’s conquest of the Devil
- within himself. Regarding the incident of the murder of Lord Fotheringay
- much need not be said.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sergeant appeared at the inn with replies to the telegrams that he had
- been instructed to send to the railway officials, and they were found to
- corroborate all the statements made by Harold. A ticket of the number of
- that upon the one which Harold still retained, had been issued previous to
- the departure of the four-fifty-five train from London.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, I knew what the replies would be,” said Major
- Wilson. “But you can understand my position.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly I can,” said Harold. “It needs no apology.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They drove to the junction together to catch the train to Abbeylands
- station. An astute officer from Scotland Yard had been telegraphed for, to
- augment the intelligence of the County Constabulary Force in the endeavour
- to follow up the only clue that was available, and Major Wilson was to
- travel with the London officer to the scene of the crime.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few minutes the London train came up, and the passengers for the
- Abbeylands line crossed to the side platform. Among them Harold perceived
- his own servant. The man was dressed in black, and carried a portmanteau
- and hat-box. He did not see his master until he had reached the platform.
- Then he walked up to Harold, laid down the portmanteau and endeavoured—by
- no means unsuccessfully—to impart some emotion—respectful
- emotion, and very respectful sympathy, into the act of touching his hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard the sad news, my lord,” said the man, “and I
- took the liberty of packing your lordship’s portmanteau and taking
- the first train to Abbeylands. I took it for granted that you would be
- there, my lord.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You acted wisely, Martin,” said Harold. “I will ask you
- not to make any change in addressing me for some days, at least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good, my lord—I mean, sir,” said the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not acquired for more than a minute the new mode of address, and
- yet he had difficulty in relinquishing it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Abbeylands was empty of the guests who, up to the previous evening, had
- been within its walls. From the mouth of the gamekeeper, who had found the
- body of Lord Fotheringay, Harold learned a few more particulars regarding
- his ghastly discovery, but they were of no importance, though the astute
- Scotland Yard officer considered them—or pretended to consider them—to
- be extremely valuable.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a week the detectives were very active, and the newspapers announced
- daily that they had discovered a clue, and that an arrest might be looked
- for almost immediately.
- </p>
- <p>
- No arrest took place, however; the detectives returned to their
- head-quarters, and the mild sensation produced by the heading of a
- newspaper column, “The Murder of Lord Fotheringay” was
- completely obliterated by the toothsome scandal produced by the appearance
- of a music-hall artist as the co-respondent in a Duchess’s divorce
- case. It was eminently a case for sandwiches and plovers’ eggs; and
- the costumes which the eaters of these portable comestibles wore, were
- described in detail by those newspapers which everyone abuses and—reads.
- The middle-aged rheumatic butterfly was dead and buried; and though many
- theories were started—not by Scotland Yard, however—to account
- for his death, no arrests were made. Whoever the murderer was, he remained
- undetected. (A couple of years had passed before Harold heard a highly
- circumstantial story about the appearance of a foreign gentleman with
- extremely dark eyes and hair, in the neighbourhood of Castle Innisfail,
- inquiring for Lord Fotheringay a few days after Lord Fotheringay had left
- the Castle).
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Lampson, the only daughter of the deceased peer, had received so
- severe a shock through the tragic circumstances of her father’s
- death, that she found it necessary to take a long voyage. She started for
- Samoa with her husband in his steam yacht. It may be mentioned
- incidentally, however, that, as the surface of the Bay of Biscay was
- somewhat ruffled when the yacht was going southward, it was thought
- advisable to change the cruise to one in the Mediterranean. Mrs. Lampson
- turned up on the Riviera in the spring, and, after entertaining freely
- there for some time, an article appeared above her signature in a leading
- magazine deploring the low tone of society at Monte Carlo and on the
- Riviera generally.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in the railway carriage on their way to London from Abbeylands—the
- exact time was when Harold was in the act of repeating the stanzas from
- Shelley—that Helen Craven and Edmund Airey conversed together,
- sitting side by side for the purpose.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is Lord Fotheringay now,” remarked Miss Craven,
- thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund looked at her with something of admiration in his eyes. The young
- woman who, an hour or two after being shocked at the news of a tragedy
- enacted at the very door of the house where she had been a guest, could
- begin to discuss its social bearing, was certainly a young woman to be
- wondered at—that is, to be admired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Edmund, “he is now Lord Fotheringay,
- whatever that means.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It means a title and an income, does it not?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, a sort of title and, yes, a sort of income,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Either would be quite enough to marry and live on,” said
- Helen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He contrived to live without either up to the present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, poorly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not palatially, certainly, but still pleasantly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will he ask her to marry him now, do you think?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you know—Beatrice Avon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh—I think that—that I should like to know what you
- think about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think he will ask her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that she will accept him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not know how much thought he had been giving to this question
- during some hours—how eagerly he was waiting her reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.” she said; “I believe that she will not accept him,
- because she means to accept you—if you give her a chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The start that he gave was very well simulated. Scarcely so admirable from
- a standpoint of art was the opening of his eyes accompanied by a little
- exclamation of astonishment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why are you surprised?” she said, as if she was surprised at
- his surprise—so subtly can a clever young woman flatter the
- cleverest of men.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am surprised because I have just heard the most surprising
- sentence that ever came upon my ears. That is saying a good deal—yes,
- considering how much we have talked together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should it be surprising?” she said. “Did you not
- call upon her in town?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I called upon her,” he replied, wondering how she had
- come to know it. (She had merely guessed it.)
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would give her hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hope?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hope. And it was this hope that induced her to accept Mrs. Lampson’s
- invitation, although she must have known that Mrs. Lampson’s brother
- was not to be of the party. I have often wondered if it was you or Lord
- Fotheringay who asked Mrs. Lampson to invite her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was I,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes brightened—so far as it was possible for them to brighten.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if she came to know that,” said Helen musingly.
- “It would be something of a pity if she did not know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For that matter, nearly everything that happens is a pity,”
- said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not everything,” said she. “But it is certainly a pity
- that the person who had the bad taste to stab poor Lord Fotheringay did
- not postpone his crime for at least one day. You would in that case have
- had a chance of returning by the side of Beatrice Avon instead of by the
- side of some one else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is infinitely cleverer,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- At this point their conversation ended—at least so far as Harold and
- Beatrice were concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen felt, however, that even that brief exchange of opinions had been
- profitable. Her first thought on hearing of the ghastly discovery of the
- gamekeeper, was that all her striving to win Harold had been in vain—that
- all her contriving, by the help of Edmund Airey, had been to no purpose.
- Harold would now be free to marry Beatrice Avon—or to ask her to
- marry him; which she believed was much the same thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in the course of a short time she did not feel so hopeless. She
- believed that Edmund Airey only needed a little further flattery to induce
- him to resume his old attitude in regard to Beatrice; and the result of
- her little chat with him in the train showed her not merely that, in
- regard to flattery, he was pretty much as other men, only, of course, he
- required it to be subtly administered—but also that he had no
- intention of allowing his compact in regard to Beatrice to expire with
- their departure from Castle Innisfail. He admitted having called upon her
- in London, and this showed Helen very plainly that his attitude in respect
- of Beatrice was the result of a rather stronger impulse than the desire to
- be of service to her, Helen, in accordance with the suggestions which she
- had ventured to make during her first frank interview with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She made up her mind that he would not require in future to be frequently
- reminded of that frank interview. She knew that there exists a more
- powerful motive for some men’s actions than a desire to forward the
- happiness of their fellow-men.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was her reflection at the precise moment that Harold’s face was
- bent down to the face of Beatrice, while he whispered the words that
- thrilled her.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for Edmund Airey, he, too, had his thoughts, and, like Helen, he
- considered himself quite capable of estimating the amount of importance to
- be attached to such an incident as the murder of Lord Fotheringay, as a
- factor in the solution of any problem that might suggest itself. A murder
- is, of course, susceptible of being regarded from a social standpoint. The
- murder of Lord Fotheringay, for instance, had broken up what promised to
- be an exceedingly interesting party at Abbeylands. A murder is very
- provoking sometimes; and when Edmund Airey heard Lady Innisfail complain
- to Archie Brown—Archie had become a great friend of hers—of
- the irritating features of that incident—when he heard an
- uncharitable man declare that it was most thoughtless of Lord Fotheringay
- to get a knife stuck into his ribs just when the pheasants were at their
- best, he could not but feel that his own reflections were very plainly
- expressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not been certain of himself during the previous two months. For the
- first time in his life he did not see his way clearly. It was in order to
- improve his vision that he had begged Mrs. Lampson—with infinite
- tact, she admitted to her brother—to invite Beatrice to Abbeylands.
- He rather thought that, before the visit of Beatrice should terminate, he
- would be able to see his way clearly in certain directions.
- </p>
- <p>
- But now, owing to the annoying incident that had occurred, the opportunity
- was denied him of improving his vision in accordance with the prescription
- which he had prepared to effect this purpose; therefore——
- </p>
- <p>
- He had reached this point in his reflections when the special train, which
- Mr. Lampson had chartered to take his guests back to town, ran alongside
- the platform at the London terminus.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was just the moment when Harold looked up to the window from the
- Priory grounds and saw that vision of white glowing beauty.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0012" id="link2HCCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CONFESSION.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E stood silent,
- without taking a step into the room, when the door had been closed behind
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a cry she sprang from her seat in front of the fire and put out her
- hands to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still he did not move a step toward her. He remained at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something of fear was upon her face as she stood looking at him. He was
- pale and haggard and ghostlike. She could not but perceive how strongly
- the likeness to his father, who had been buried the previous day, appeared
- upon his face now that it was so worn and haggard—much more so than
- she had ever seen his father’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold—Harold—my beloved!” she cried, and there
- was something of fear in her voice. “Harold—husband—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake, do not say that, Beatrice!”
- </p>
- <p>
- His voice was hoarse and quite unlike the voice that had whispered the
- lines of Shelley, with his face within the halo of moonlight that had
- clung about her hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was more frightened still. Her hands were clasped over her heart—the
- lamplight gleamed upon the blood-red circle of rubies on the one ring that
- she wore—it had never left her finger.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came into the room. She only retreated one step.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake, Beatrice, do not call me husband! I am not
- your husband!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She came toward him; and now the look of fear that she had worn, became
- one of sympathy. Her eyes were full of tears as she said, “My poor
- Harold, you have all the sympathy—the compassion—the love of
- my heart. You know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said, “I know it. I know what is in your
- heart. I know its purity—its truth—its sweetness—that is
- why I should never have come here, knowing also that I am unworthy to
- stand in your presence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are worthy of all—all—that I can give you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Worthy of contempt—contempt—worthy of that for which
- there is no forgiveness. Beatrice, we have not been married. The form
- through which we went in this room was a mockery. The man whom I brought
- here was not a priest. He was guilty of a crime in coming here. I was
- guilty of a crime in bringing him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him for a few moments, and then turned away from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went without faltering in the least toward the chair that still
- remained in front of the fire. But before she had taken more than a few
- steps toward it, she looked back at him—only for a second or two,
- however; then she reached the chair and seated herself in it with her back
- to him. She looked into the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence before he spoke again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I must have been mad,” he said. “Mad to
- distrust you. It was only when I was away from you that madness came upon
- me. The utter hopelessness of ever being able to call you mine took
- possession of me, body and soul, and I felt that I must bind you to me by
- some means. An accident suggested the means to me. God knows, Beatrice,
- that I meant never to take advantage of your belief that we were married.
- But when I felt myself by your side in the train—when I felt your
- heart beating against mine that night—I found myself powerless to
- resist. I was overcome. I had cast honour, and truth, yes, and love—the
- love that exists for ever without hope of reward—to the winds. Thank
- God—thank God that I awoke from my madness. The sight which should
- have made me even more powerless to resist, awoke me to a true sense of
- the life which I had been living for some hours, and by God’s grace
- I was strong enough to fly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again there was a long silence. He could see her finely-cut profile as she
- sat upright, looking into the fire. He saw that her features had undergone
- no change whatever while he was speaking. It seemed as if his recital had
- in no respect interested her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The silence was appalling.
- </p>
- <p>
- She put out her hand and took from a small table beside her, the hook
- which apparently she had been reading when he had entered. She turned over
- the leaves as if searching for the place at which she had been
- interrupted.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came beside her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you no word for me—no word of pity—of forgiveness—of
- farewell?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had apparently found her place. She seemed to be reading.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice, Beatrice, I implore of you—one word—one word—any
- word!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had clutched her arm as he fell on his knees passionately beside her.
- The book dropped to the floor. She was on her feet at the same instant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh God—oh God, what have I done that I should be the victim
- of these men?” she cried, not in a strident voice, but in a low
- tone, tremulous with passion. “One man thinks it a good thing to
- amuse himself by pretending that I interest him, and another whom I
- trusted as I would have trusted my God, endeavours to ruin my life—and
- he has done it—he has done it! My life is ruined!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had never looked at him while he was speaking to her. She had not been
- able for some time to comprehend the full force of the revelation he had
- made to her; but so soon as she had felt his hand upon her arm, she seemed
- in a moment to understand all.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now she looked at him as he knelt at her feet with his head bowed down to
- the arm of the chair in which she had been sitting—she looked down
- upon him; and then with a cry as of physical pain, she flung herself
- wildly upon a sofa, sobbing hysterically.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beside her in a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Beatrice, my love, my love, tell me what reparation I can make,”
- he cried. “Beatrice, have pity upon me! Do not say that I have
- ruined your life. It was only because I could not bear the thought that
- there was a chance of losing you, that I did what I did. I could not face
- that, Beatrice!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She still lay there, shaken with sobs. He dared not put his hand upon her.
- He dared not touch one of her hands with his. He could only stand there by
- her side. Every sob that she gave was like a dagger’s thrust to him.
- He suffered more during those moments than his father had done while the
- hand of the assassin was upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The long silence was broken only by her sobs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice—Beatrice, you will say one word to me—one
- word, Beatrice, for God’s sake!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Some moments had passed while she struggled hard to control herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was long before she was successful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go—go—go!” she cried, without raising her head
- from the satin cushion of the sofa. “Oh, Harold, Harold, go!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go,” he said, after another long pause. “I will
- go. But I leave here all that I love in the world—all that I shall
- ever love. I was false to myself once—only once; I shall never be so
- again. I shall never cease loving you while I live, Beatrice. I never
- loved you as I do now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made no sign.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even when she heard the door of the room open and close, she did not rise.
- </p>
- <p>
- And the fire burnt itself out, and the lamp burnt itself out, but still
- she lay there in her tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0013" id="link2HCCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>IS worst
- forebodings had come to pass. That was the one feeling which Harold had on
- leaving her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had scarcely ventured to entertain a hope that the result of his
- interview with her and of his confession to her would be different.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew her.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was why he had gone to her without hope. He knew that her nature was
- such as made it impossible for her to understand how he could have
- practised a fraud upon her; and he knew that understanding is the first
- step toward forgiving.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still, there ever pervades the masculine mind an idea that there is no
- limit to a woman’s forgiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- The masculine mind has the best of reasons for holding fast to this idea.
- It is the result of many centuries of experience of woman—of many
- centuries of testing the limits of woman’s forgiveness. The belief
- that there is nothing that a woman will not forgive in a man whom she
- loves, is the heritage of man—just as the heritage of woman is to
- believe that nothing that is done by a man whom she loves, stands in need
- of forgiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it is that men and women make (occasionally) excellent companions for
- one another, and live together (frequently) in harmony.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it was that, in spite of the fact that his reason and his knowledge
- of the nature of Beatrice assured him that his confession of the fraud in
- which he had participated against her would not be forgiven by her, there
- still remained in the mind of Harold Wynne a shadowy hope that she might
- yet be as other women, who, understanding much, forgive much.
- </p>
- <p>
- He left her presence, feeling that she was no as other women are.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the only grain of comfort that remained with him. He loved her
- more than he had ever done before, because she was not as other women are.
- </p>
- <p>
- She could not understand how that cold distrust had taken possession of
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew nothing of that world in which he had lived all his life—a
- world quite full of worldliness—and therefore she could not
- understand how it was that he had sought to bind her to him beyond the
- possibility (as he meant her to think) of ever being separated from him.
- She had laid all her trust in him. She had not even claimed from him the
- privilege of consulting with someone—her father or someone with whom
- she might be on more confidential terms—regarding the proposition
- which he had made to her. No, she had trusted him implicitly, and yet he
- had persevered in regarding her as belonging to the worldly ones among
- whom he had lived all his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had lost her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had lost her, and he deserved to lose her. This was his thought as he
- walked westward. He had not the satisfaction of feeling that he was badly
- treated.
- </p>
- <p>
- The feeling on the part of a man that he has been badly treated by a
- woman, usually gives him much greater satisfaction than would result from
- his being extremely well treated by the same, or, indeed, by any other
- woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- But this blessed consciousness of being badly treated was denied to Harold
- Wynne. He had been the ill-treater, not the ill-treated. He reflected how
- he had taken advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s
- life—upon the absence of her father—upon her own trustful
- innocence—to carry out the fraud which he had perpetrated upon her.
- Under ordinary circumstances and with a girl of an ordinary stamp, such a
- fraud would have been impossible. He was well aware that a girl living
- under the conditions to which most girls are subjected, would have laughed
- in his face had he suggested the advisability of marrying him privately.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she
- enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not cause
- him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot.
- </p>
- <p>
- One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was why
- he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, “Thank God—thank
- God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord,”
- said Martin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The lady?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come
- to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, my lord; Miss Craven,” said Martin, handing him the
- card. “But she said that perhaps you would see her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Only for a minute</i>,” were the words written in pencil
- on Miss Craven’s card.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good, my lord.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood at the door. The light outside was very low; so was the light in
- the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Between two dim lights was where Helen looked her best. A fact of which
- she was well aware.
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed almost pretty as she stood there.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had made up pale, which she considered appropriately sympathetic on
- her part. And, indeed, there can scarcely be a difference of opinion on
- this point.
- </p>
- <p>
- In delicate matters of taste like this she rarely-made a mistake.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was so good of you to come,” said he, taking her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could not help it, Harold,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mamma is in the brougham; she desired me to convey to you her
- deepest sympathy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am indeed touched by her thoughtfulness,” said Harold.
- “You will tell her so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mamma is not very strong,” said Helen. “She would not
- come in with me. She, too, has suffered deeply. But I felt that I must
- tell you face to face how terribly shocked we were—how I feel for
- you with all my heart. We have always been good friends—the best of
- friends, Harold—at least, I do not know where I should look in the
- world for another such friend as you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we were always good friends, Helen,” said he; “and
- I hope that we shall always remain so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall—I feel that we shall, Harold,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were overflowing with tears, as she put out a hand to him—a
- hand which he took and held between both his own, but without speaking a
- word. “I felt that I must go to you if only for a moment—if
- only to say to you as I do now, ‘I feel for you with all my heart.
- You have all my sympathy.’ That is all I have to say. I knew you
- would allow me to see you, and to give you my message. Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are so good—so kind—so thoughtful,” said he.
- “I shall always feel that you are my friend—my best friend,
- Helen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you may always trust in my friendship—my—my—friendship,”
- said she. “You will come and see us soon—mamma and me. We
- should be so glad. Lady Innisfail wanted me to go with her to Netherford
- Hall—several of your sister’s party are going with Lady
- Innisfail; but of course I could not think of going. I shall go nowhere
- for some time—a long time, I think. We shall be at home whenever you
- call, Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you may be certain that I shall call soon,” said he.
- “Pray tell Mrs. Craven how deeply touched—how deeply grateful
- I am for her kindness. And you—you know that I shall never forget
- your thoughtfulness, Helen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were still glistening as he took her hand and pressed it. She
- looked at him through her tears; her lips moved, but no words came. She
- turned and went down the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, and then
- Martin met her, opened the hall-door, and saw her put into the brougham by
- her footman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said her mother, when the brougham got upon the wood
- pavement. “Well, did you find the poor orphan in tears and comfort
- him?” Mrs. Craven was not devoid of an appreciation of humour of a
- certain form. She had lived in Birmingham for several years of her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear mamma,” said Helen, “I think you may always trust
- to me to know what is right to do upon all occasions. My visit was a
- success. I knew that it would be a success. I know Harold Wynne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know one thing,” said Mrs. Craven, “and that is, that
- he will never marry you. Whatever Harold Wynne might have done, Lord
- Fotheringay will never marry you, my dear. Make up your mind to that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her daughter laughed in the way that a daughter laughs at a prophetic
- mother clad in sables, with a suspicion of black velvet and beads
- underneath.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0014" id="link2HCCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND OTHERS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING the next few
- days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot have his father murdered
- without attracting a considerable amount of attention to himself. Cards
- “<i>With deepest sympathy</i>” were left upon him by the
- hundred, and the majority of those sympathizers drove away to say to their
- friends at their clubs what a benefactor to society was the person who had
- run that knife into the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some suggested that a
- presentation should be got up for that man; and when someone asked what
- the police meant by taking so much trouble to find the man, another
- ventured to formulate the very plausible theory that they were doing so in
- order to force him to give sittings to an eminent sculptor for a statue of
- himself with the knife in his hand, to be erected by public subscription
- outside the House of Lords.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; <i>pour encourager les autres!</i>” said one of the
- sympathizers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now?
- </p>
- <p>
- It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic
- end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated.
- </p>
- <p>
- It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a
- standpoint.
- </p>
- <p>
- They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord
- Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of
- displaying their ingenuity.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of
- questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his
- tastes.
- </p>
- <p>
- They wondered if he had an enemy.
- </p>
- <p>
- They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the
- daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy
- they would be on the track of the assassin.
- </p>
- <p>
- After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure of
- Providence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through the
- medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered in
- order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of
- Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective
- force.
- </p>
- <p>
- Other newspapers—they were mostly the organs of the Opposition—sneered
- at the Home Secretary.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of his
- club, that the days of the Government were numbered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers; and
- as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family than any
- of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he was
- determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and to do
- so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes, as well
- as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the result of
- his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the trouble
- that they entailed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve
- thousand pounds a year, if he really wished—as he said he did—to
- make provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping
- in repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county.
- </p>
- <p>
- Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under twelve
- hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on twelve
- thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so soon as
- he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was that, by
- his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying this sudden
- increase in revenue.
- </p>
- <p>
- If he had only been patient—if he had only been trustful for one
- week longer!
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly—his cruelty—his
- fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of
- individual responsibility.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise
- he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided carrying
- out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer puppy—where
- would the Evolutionists be without their pointer puppy?—can avoid
- pointing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done
- would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question.
- The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of
- relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few
- persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from
- swearing; which seems rather a pity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr.
- Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing his
- sympathy for his friend’s bereavement. His only allusion to the
- bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard.
- </p>
- <p>
- Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything,
- Harold might depend on his doing it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold said, “Thank you, old chap, I don’t think I can
- reasonably ask you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of
- leases that have yet to run from ten to sixty years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Therein the patient must minister to himself,” said Edmund.
- “I suppose it is, after all, only a question of administration. If
- you want any advice—well, you have asked my advice before now. You
- have even gone the length of taking my advice—yes, sometimes. That’s
- more than the majority of people do—unless my advice bears out their
- own views. Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of
- another when he has made up his mind what course to adopt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have always found your counsel good,” said Harold. “You
- know men and their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything
- about women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well acquainted
- with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that suggested a doubt
- of his capacity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Women—and their motives?” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite so,” said Harold. “Their motives. You once
- assured me that there was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps,
- assuming that that is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous
- to talk of the motives of woman; though it would be reasonable—at
- least as reasonable as most talk of women—to speak of the motives of
- a woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What woman do you speak of?” said Edmund, quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I speak as a fool—broadly,” said Harold. “I feel
- myself to be a fool, when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told
- to us by Brian the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the
- revenue of the country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the
- doorway of an Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both
- those stories, and they put all questions of women and their motives out
- of our heads while Brian was telling them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s no doubt about that,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the way, didn’t you ask me for my advice on some point
- during one of those days on the Irish lough?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I did, I’m certain that I received good counsel from you,”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did. But you didn’t take it,” said Edmund, with a
- laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told you once that you hadn’t given me time. I tell you so
- again,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You understand women—and their motives,” said Harold.
- “Yes, Miss Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have
- often wondered why you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an
- agreeable addition to the party at Abbeylands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour—not for a second did
- his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fact was,” said he—and he smiled as he spoke—“I
- was under the impression that your father—ah, well, if he hadn’t
- that mechanical rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the
- walking doll and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me
- upon one occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was
- amused.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am
- beginning to understand something of men—and their motives,”
- remarked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and
- fathom the object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about
- Siberia. They are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the
- horrors of exile in Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible
- for what goes on there. And the worst of it is that they’ll do it,
- too. Do you remember Bulgaria?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong
- programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m trying to think out something at the present moment.
- Well, good-bye. Don’t fail to let me know if I can do anything for
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been gone some time before Harold smiled—not the smile of a
- man who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but
- the sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at
- fault when he has thought the worst about one of his friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part
- of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as much
- to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect composure
- with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding his motive
- in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson—with infinite tact—that Beatrice
- Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he had an
- interest to know.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey’s acquaintance with men—and women—had led
- him to feel sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the
- suggestion made by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if
- he had any particular reason for making that suggestion. This was
- perfectly plain to Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking
- about for some time with that answer ready for the question which had just
- been put to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment,” said
- Harold, while that bitter smile was still upon his features.
- </p>
- <p>
- And he was right.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0015" id="link2HCCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>R. AIREY had
- called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy entertainment at
- Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to find her at home. Now,
- however, he was more lucky. She had already two visitors with her in the
- big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he entered.
- He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so; only he
- hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he knew himself
- to be. He would not have liked them—whoever they were—-to
- leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were
- close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider
- themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her
- quick flush as he entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of pleasure
- made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was so good of
- him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush would
- increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he quickly
- perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his sudden
- appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale rather
- than roseate.
- </p>
- <p>
- He noticed this when her visitors—they were feeble folk, the head of
- a department in the Museum and his sister—had left the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is delightful to be face to face with you once more,” he
- said. “I seem to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am
- beside you again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a little laugh—did he detect something of scorn in its
- ring?—as she said, “Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater
- ocean that we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men
- that flows around us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide,” said
- he. “I see you with your feet among the purple heather—I
- wonder if there was a sprig of white about it—along the shores of
- the Irish lough. I see you in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing
- from the west, making the green one red.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been witnessed
- from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond the
- headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and pretended
- to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know how close the
- tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh?
- </p>
- <p>
- “So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan’s views on
- the Irish question, I shall be quite satisfied,” said she. “Poor
- Mr. Durdan! How he saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the
- phenomena of Nature! The sunset—the sea—the clouds—all
- had more or less to do with the Irish question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he was not altogether wrong,” said Edmund. “Mr.
- Durdan is a man of scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes
- stumbles across a truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish
- question——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe,”
- said she. “Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the
- Government are numbered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of
- persons,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we
- not?” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have talked confidently at least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, perhaps, I made some reservations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations
- of mine—some day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not be
- overlooked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her.
- The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was what the effect suggested to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining through
- her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her word,
- “confidently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He repeated the word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Confidently—confidently;” then he shook his head.
- “Alas! no. A man who speaks confidently on the subject of his
- aspirations—on the subject of a supreme aspiration—is a fool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man
- was master of his fate,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I?” said he. “That must have been when you first
- appeared among us at Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since
- then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For example?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned,”
- he replied, with scarcely a pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely
- resembling in its tone her first—that one which caused him to wonder
- if there was a touch of scorn in its ripple.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing that
- he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on?
- </p>
- <p>
- She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading him
- on when at Castle Innis-fail—among the purple heather or the crimson
- sunsets about which he had been talking—and yet he had been led on.
- He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an
- understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of the
- slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is when
- aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative of every
- change—of every motive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you,”
- said he, and his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he
- had been saying—had he not been announcing an acquirement of
- modesty?—“Yes, if you had been with us at Abbeylands you might
- have become associated in my mind with the glory of the colour of an
- autumn woodland. But it was, of course, fortunate for you that you got the
- terrible news in time to prevent your leaving town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the
- rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her gown.
- The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had said, or
- from what she fancied he was about to say?
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a nice question.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming
- that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord
- Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without
- emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if you care for German Opera,” said he. There could
- scarcely be even the most subtle connection between this and his last
- remark. She looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he
- had spoken. Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and
- German Opera become apparent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “German Opera, Mr. Airey?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the
- Opera House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every
- performance, I believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German
- Opera—she has even sat out a performance of ‘Parsifal’—and
- I know that she is eager to make converts. She would be delighted to call
- upon you when she returns from Brighton.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will
- be there—I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave of
- her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, “You
- will be there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases,
- “I should love to go. You will be there?” She was looking
- critically at the toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make
- a thorough examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were
- busy tying knots on the girdle of her gown.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was
- conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward silence
- by saying—not quite casually, of course, but still in not too
- pointed a way, “Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my
- devotion will be for German Opera, however.” The words were well
- chosen, he felt. They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those
- words that she had uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so
- charming. Only, of course, being a man, he could choose his words. They
- were artificial—the result of a choice; whereas it was plain that
- she could not choose but utter the phrases that had come from her. She was
- a girl, and so spoke impulsively and from her heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meantime,” said she—she had now herself almost under
- control again, and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she
- put out her hand to meet his. “Meantime, you will come again to see
- me? My father is greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also
- would, I know, be very pleased to see you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope that you will be pleased,” said he. “If so, I
- will call—occasionally—frequently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frequently,” said she, and once again—but only for a
- moment this time—she scrutinized her foot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frequently,” said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could
- choose his tones as well as his words.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him—the
- satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken
- cleverly, but acted cleverly—which is quite a different thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling upon
- her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had been under
- the impression that he would do well to see her and make his proposal to
- her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The moment that he
- had heard of Lord Fotheringay’s death, it had occurred to him that
- he would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After due
- consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in the
- first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to make him
- feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>I should love to go—you will be there</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence of
- the phrases had not been the result of art or thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon an
- impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days that
- he had passed by her side—carrying out the compact which he had made
- with Helen Craven—had produced an impression upon her far more
- powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a
- space of time.
- </p>
- <p>
- In short, she was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his
- resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing his
- views on this point.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was he in love with her?
- </p>
- <p>
- He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0016" id="link2HCCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was commonly
- reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of publicity that the
- days of the Government were numbered.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before the
- month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of Siberia
- was spreading through the length and breadth of the land. The active and
- observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of England, Scotland,
- and perhaps—so far as they allowed themselves to be understood—of
- Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the question altogether.
- </p>
- <p>
- Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his
- campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an
- agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try to
- move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings remained
- intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are burst that the
- British householder will join in any agitation that may be started. The
- British farmer invariably turns out the Government after a bad harvest;
- and there can be but little doubt that a succession of wet summers would
- make England republican.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the
- atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this England
- of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years became
- the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of great
- commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet summer, and
- none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the household
- water-pipes.
- </p>
- <p>
- The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees
- Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the
- agitation made itself felt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled,” we
- were told. “Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush
- down the manhood of England,” we were assured. “The Heart was
- still there—it was beating still; and wherever the Heart of an
- Englishman beats there was found a foe—a determined, resolute foe—nay,
- an irresistible foe, to tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known
- that was equal to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble
- men and women—women—women—to a living death among the
- snows of Siberia? Could any one present form an idea of the horrors of a
- Siberian winter?” (Cries of “Yes, yes,” from
- householders whose water-pipes had burst.) “Well, in the name of our
- common humanity—in the name of our common sympathies—in the
- name of England (cheers)—England, mind you, with her fleet, that in
- spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part of the Government,
- was still the mistress of the main—(loud cheers) England, mind you,
- whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity of a Government that had
- refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at Woolwich and Aldershot—(tremendous
- cheers) in the name of this grand old England of ours let those who were
- responsible for Siberia—that blot upon the map of Europe”—(the
- agitator is superior to geography)—“let them be told that
- their day is over. Let the Government that can look with callous eyes upon
- such horrors as are enacted among the frosts and snows of Siberia be told
- that its day is over (cheers). Did anyone wish to know something of these
- horrors?” (‘Yes, yes!’) “Well, here was a book
- written by a correspondent to a New York journal, and which, consequently,
- was entitled to every respect”.... and so forth.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every meeting.
- And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed up the
- labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the agricultural
- question, and several other questions, with the stories of Siberian
- horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of the
- Government.
- </p>
- <p>
- The friends of the Government were at their wits’ end to know how to
- reply to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out that
- England was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this
- sophistry was too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst, and
- those who were responsible for it were hooted on every platform.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a Dinner
- at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully sensible
- of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only carrying out
- the desire of the people of England, in postponing consideration of this
- vast question until a still greater question had been settled. After long
- and careful deliberation, Her Majesty’s Ministers had resolved to
- submit to the country a programme the first item of which was the
- Conversion of the Jews.
- </p>
- <p>
- The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The
- friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days they knew
- that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a political
- factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A Government that
- had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be supported by
- England—this great Christian England of ours.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Lords and Gentlemen,” said the Prime Minister, “the
- contest on which we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is
- a contest of England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My
- Lords and Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty’s Ministers will be
- on the side of Religion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were
- broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal for
- making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon pretty
- frequently—much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone in
- all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and upon
- several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey’s box by the side
- of the enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having
- remained in her stall from the beginning to the end of “Parsifal.”
- Mr. Airey never missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He
- missed all the others.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only once did he venture to introduce Harold’s name in her
- drawing-room. He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and
- then he watched her narrowly as he said, “By the way, I have never
- come upon him here. Does he not call upon you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was only a little brightening of her eyes—was it scorn?—as
- she replied: “Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a
- very different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly
- changed, poor fellow!” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Greatly changed—not ill?” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety—or was
- it merely womanly curiosity?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father’s
- death and the circumstances attending it affected him deeply.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It gave him a title at any rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer
- suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are too hard on him, Beatrice,” said Edmund. She had come
- to be Beatrice to him for more than a week—a week in which he had
- been twice in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his
- opera box.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too hard on him?” said she. “How is it possible for you
- to judge what is hard or the opposite on such a point?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have always liked Harold,” said he; “that is why I
- must stand up for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that is your own kindness of heart,” said she. “I
- remember how you used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember
- that when you told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter
- against the destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others,
- not nearly so good, were wealthy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that.
- Oh, yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist
- on your not being too hard on him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed, and so did she—yes, after a little pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come again—soon,” she said, as she gave him her hand,
- which he retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes—they
- were more than usually lustrous—and said,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don’t you remember what I
- said to you in this room—it seems long ago, we have come to be such
- close friends since—what I said about my aspirations—my
- supreme aspiration?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember it,” said she—her voice was very low.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he dropped her hand and was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the
- residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he found
- about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large circle.
- </p>
- <p>
- It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of
- manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for
- him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room—an alcove
- that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The advice that I gave to you was good,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your advice was that I should make no move whatever,” said
- she. “That could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to
- make any move in my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once,
- and then we were out. Have you learned anything?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry
- Harold Wynne,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so
- apt to rush at conclusions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process,
- though it is the slower.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a confession—crawling! But how have you found out
- that she will not marry him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has treated her very badly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If
- women declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of
- spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She will not marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will she marry you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and it
- was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will she marry you?” she cried, in a voice that had a
- strident ring about it. “Will she marry you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it highly probable,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him in silence for a long time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us return to the room,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0017" id="link2HCCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was a few days
- after Edmund Airey had made his revelation—if it was a revelation—to
- Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in the person of Archie
- Brown. The second week in January had now come. The season of German Opera
- was over, and Parliament was about to assemble; but neither of these
- matters was engrossing the attention of Archie. That he was in a state of
- excitement anyone could see, and before he had even asked after Harold’s
- health, he cried, “I’ve fired out the lot of them, Harry; that’s
- the sort of new potatoes I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The lot of what?” asked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists,” said
- Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don’t surely expect me
- to believe that you possess sufficient political power to influence the
- fortunes of a French dynasty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists—the actors,
- the carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare,
- and Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I’ve fired out the lot
- of them, and be hanged to them!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I see; you’ve fired out Shakespeare?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s eternally fired out, so far as I’m concerned. Why
- should I end my days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of
- hundred years ago—may be more?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve made things hum at the Legitimate this morning”—Archie
- had once spent three months in the United States—“and now I’ve
- made the lot of them git. I’ve made W. S. git.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Mrs. Mowbray?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She gits too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’ll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you’re not
- wanting in courage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What courage was there needed for that?”—Archie had
- picked up a quill pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to
- balance it on the toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. “What
- courage is needed to tell a chap that’s got hold of your watch chain
- that the time has come for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn’t I
- the master of the lot of them? Do you fancy that the manager was my
- master? Do you fancy that Mrs. Mowbray was my—I mean, do you think
- that I’m quite an ass?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, no,” said Harold—“not quite.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing
- out a crowd of navvies when he found that they didn’t pay? Not he.
- And do you suppose that I haven’t inherited some of his good
- qualities?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And when does the Legitimate close its doors?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This day week. Those doors have been open too long already.
- Seventy-five pounds for the Widow’s champagne for the Christmas week—think
- of that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray’s friends drink nothing but Clicquot.
- She expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it Shakespeare. If
- you grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained to the tarty
- chips at Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he get off? Don’t
- you believe it, Harry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing shall induce me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The manager’s only claim to have earned his salary is that he
- has been at every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of
- people to send orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that
- the most valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people
- who will accept orders. That’s theatrical enterprise nowadays. They
- say it’s the bicycle that has brought it about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anyhow you’ve quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your
- hand; Archie. You’re a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my
- head again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager’s office.
- She didn’t pat my head, Harry—the day is past for pats, and so
- I told her. The day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She
- gave me a look when I said that—if she could give such looks on the
- stage she’d crowd the house—and then she cried, ‘Nothing
- on earth shall induce me ever to speak to you again.’ ‘I ask
- nothing better,’ said I. After that she skipped. I promised Norah
- that I’d do it, and I have done it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You promised whom?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Norah. Great Godfrey! you don’t mean to say that you haven’t
- heard that Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Norah—Innisfail—and—you—you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced
- Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you laughing about?” said Archie. “You shouldn’t
- laugh, considering that it was you that brought it about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can’t
- for the life of me see how—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and
- didn’t I meet Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I
- fancied that I was getting fond of her mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes; I can understand that,” said Harold, who was fully
- acquainted with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady
- Innisfail’s part—so she explained when—ah—later
- on. Then I went with her to Lord Innisfail’s place at Netherford and—well,
- there’s no explaining these things. Norah is the girl for me! I’ve
- felt a better man for knowing her, Harry. It’s not every girl that a
- chap can say that of—mostly the other way. Lord Innisfail heard
- something about the Legitimate business, and he said that it was about
- time I gave it up; I agreed with him, and I’ve given it up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Archie,” said Harold, “you’ve done a good morning’s
- work. I was going to advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again—never
- to grant her an interview—she’s an edged tool—but after
- what you’ve done, I feel that it would be a great piece of
- presumption on my part to offer you any advice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what it is?” said Archie, in a low and very
- confidential voice: “I’m not quite so sure of her character as
- I used to be. I know you always stood up for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time,”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was that seventy-five pound’s worth of the Widow swallowed by
- one lover in a week?” asked Archie. “Oh, I’m sick of the
- whole concern. Don’t you mention Shakespeare to me again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t,” said Harold. “But it strikes me that
- Shakespeare is like Madame Roland’s Liberty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whose Liberty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madame Roland’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, she’s a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They’re
- all Madames there. I dare say I’ve got a bill from her to pay with
- the rest of them. Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I’m off.
- I thought I’d drop in and tell you all that happened, as you’re
- accountable for my meeting Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations,”
- said Harold. “Accept the same yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn’t
- you?” said Archie. “How was it that you didn’t fall in
- love with Norah when you were there? That’s what has puzzled me. How
- is it that every tarty chip didn’t want to marry her? Oh, I forgot
- that you—well, wasn’t there a girl with lovely eyes in
- Ireland?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She had wonderful gray eyes,” said Archie. Harold became
- grave. “Oh, yes, Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them
- wide open. She told me a good deal about their party in Ireland. She took
- it for granted that you—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Archie,” said Harold, “like a good chap don’t you
- ever talk about that to me again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, I’ll not,” said Archie. “Only, you
- see, I thought that you wouldn’t mind now, as everyone says that she’s
- going to marry Airey, the M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you’d
- be glad to hear that I’d fired out the Legitimate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I am—very glad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to
- balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him gathering
- up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into the square.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had fallen—the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund
- Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Could he blame her?
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the severest
- punishment—such punishment as was now in her power to inflict. She
- had trusted him with all her heart—all her soul. She had given
- herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud. That
- was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any
- bitterness—all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of
- his own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey’s cleverness. He
- did not know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which
- he came, after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of
- the relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund
- Airey’s cleverness was the more abhorrent.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James’s, drove with his
- customary rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to
- Norah.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of Archie
- to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this devotion
- should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that it absorbed
- a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by Archie that no
- one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray’s character, yet, like
- Harold—perhaps even better than Harold—she knew that Mrs.
- Mowbray was an extremely well-dressed woman. She listened with interest to
- Archie’s account of how he had accomplished that process of “firing
- out” in regard to the Legitimate artists; and when he had told her
- all, she could not help wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well
- dressed in the future as she had been in the past.
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how
- Harold had congratulated him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You didn’t forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr.
- Airey is going to marry Miss Avon?” said Norah.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?”
- he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good gracious! You didn’t suggest that you were commissioned
- by me to tell him that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not likely. That’s not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was
- on the cautious side, and I didn’t even mention the name of the
- girl.” He did not think it necessary to say that the reason for his
- adoption of this prudent course was that he had forgotten the name of the
- girl. “No, but when I told him that Airey was going to marry her, he
- gave me a look.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A look? What sort of a look?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a
- surgeon who had just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut
- up. Then he turned to me and said as gravely as a parson—a bit
- graver than some parsons—that he’d feel obliged to me if I’d
- never mention her name again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you hadn’t mentioned her name, you said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Neither I had. He didn’t mention it either. I can only give
- you an idea of what he said, I won’t take my oath about the exact
- words. But I’ll take my oath that he was more knocked down than any
- chap I ever came across.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew it,” said Norah. “He’s in love with her
- still. Mamma says he’s not; but I know perfectly well that he is.
- She doesn’t care a scrap for Mr. Airey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you know that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0018" id="link2HCCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was early on the
- same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received intimation of a visitor—a
- lady, the butler said, who gave the name of Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I’ll see her,”
- was the reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it possible,” she thought, “that her visitor was
- the Mrs. Mowbray whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all
- the illustrated papers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at herself
- in a mirror—for a girl does not like to appear before a woman of the
- highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is consistent
- with tradition—her mind was set at rest. There may have been many
- Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a figure,
- and such a face.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking for
- some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent on the face
- of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray’s set of sables had cost someone—perhaps
- even Mrs. Mowbray herself—seven hundred guineas.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, I will not sit down,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I
- feel that I must apologize for this call.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no,” said Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes; I should,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I will do
- better, however, for I will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss
- Avon, I have heard so much about you during the past few months from—from—several
- people, I could not help being interested in you—greatly interested
- indeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was very kind of you,” said Beatrice, wondering what
- further revelation was coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used
- to know Lady Innisfail long ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?”
- asked Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, not exactly,” said Mrs. Mowbray; “but it was some
- of Lady Innisfail’s guests—some who were entertained at the
- Irish Castle. I used also to know Mrs. Lampson—Lord Fotheringay’s
- daughter. How terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her
- brother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since,” said Beatrice, “but—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say
- that I hope you have seen him—that you still see him? Do not think
- me a gossiping, prying old woman—I suppose I am old enough to be
- your mother—for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss
- Avon. He is the best man on earth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to
- Harold. Her flush had not decreased.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord
- Fotheringay, Mrs. Mowbray,” said Beatrice, somewhat unequally.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not say that,” said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of
- pleading tones. “Do not say that. You would make me feel how very
- gross has been my effrontery in coming to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; please do not think that,” cried Beatrice, yielding,
- as every human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the
- gracious manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece
- of insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming
- from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another woman’s
- compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her resources,
- both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a young cub such
- as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of fascination. She
- knew that she would never pat Archie’s red head again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard
- my visit as an insolent intrusion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully
- appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that
- mellifluous voice—by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes
- that were resting upon her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is so fond of you,” Mrs. Mowbray went on. “There is
- no lover’s quarrel that will not vanish if looked at straight in the
- face. Let me look at yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that
- demon of distrust can be exorcised.” Beatrice had become pale. The
- word <i>distrust</i> had broken the spell of the Siren.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Mowbray,” said she, “I must tell you again that on
- no consideration—on no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord
- Fotheringay with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not with me, my child?” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Because
- I distrust you—no I don’t mean that. I only mean that—that
- you have given me no reason to trust you. Why have you come to me in this
- way, may I ask you? It is not possible that you came here on the
- suggestion of Lord Fotheringay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is
- going to marry,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs.
- Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she took a step toward the bell rope. “One moment,” said
- Mrs. Mowbray. “Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been
- less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled it
- gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, “I
- shall marry him if I please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was feminine.
- </p>
- <p>
- So was Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you?” she said. “Do you fancy for a moment—are
- you so infatuated that you can actually fancy that I—I—Gwendoline
- Mowbray, will allow you—you—to take Edmund Airey away from me?
- Oh, the child is mad—mad!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean to tell me,” said Beatrice, coming close to her,
- “that Edmund Airey is—is—a lover of yours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, “you do not live in
- our world, my child.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I do not,” said Beatrice. “I now see why you have
- come to me to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told you why.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Has been?</i> My child, it is only when I please that a lover of
- mine becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund
- Airey to associate with my ‘have beens.’ It was from him that
- I learned all about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from
- Ireland merely as ‘a gray eye or so.’ You still mean to marry
- him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I still mean to do what I please,” said Beatrice. She had now
- reached the bell rope and she pulled it very gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are an extremely beautiful young person,” said Mrs.
- Mowbray. “But you have not been able to keep close to you a man like
- Harold Wynne—a man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you
- expect—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her sentence
- to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with a
- stranger.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart at
- the door through which her visitor had passed.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she
- retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had
- participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray’s sables were incomparably the
- finest that she had ever seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before the
- butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In another
- minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a true-hearted
- girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry an eligible man,
- or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice,”
- said Norah. “That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the
- news.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the
- least,” said Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My news concerns myself,” said Norah.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it’s sure to interest me,” cried Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s so funny! But yet it’s very serious,” said
- Norah. “The fact is that I’m going to marry Archie Brown.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Archie Brown?” said Beatrice. “I hope he is the best
- man in the world—he should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought perhaps you might have known him,” said Norah.
- “I find that there are a good many people still who do not know
- Archie Brown, in spite of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done
- for Shakespeare.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in
- Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the
- interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the people
- had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is very much
- disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the Lord
- Chamberlain isn’t nearly particular enough in the plays that he
- allows to be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the
- theatres—they are never sure that something objectionable will not
- be played—and go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted.
- Archie says he’ll turn the Legitimate into a Music Hall—that
- is, if he can’t sell the lease.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my
- dearest Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you had come down to Abbeylands in time—before that awful
- thing happened—you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma
- took a great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the
- same. At any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He’s such a
- good fellow, with red hair—not the sort that the old Venetian
- painters liked, but another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features—his
- mouth, for instance—are too large, but if you look at him in one
- position, when he has his face turned away from you, he’s quite—quite—ah—quite
- curious—almost nice. You’ll like him, I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure of it,” said Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; and he’s such a friend of Harold Wynne’s,”
- continued the artful Norah. “Why, what’s the matter with you,
- Beatrice? You are as pale—dearest Beatrice, you and I were always
- good friends. You know that I always liked Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not talk about him, Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is gone—gone away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not he. He’s too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was
- with him to-day, and when he heard that—well, the way some people
- are talking about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog—Archie
- told me so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, do not talk of him, Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because—ah, because he’s the only one worth talking
- about, and now he’s gone from me, and I’ll never see him again—never,
- never again!” Before she had come to the end of her sentence,
- Beatrice was lying sobbing on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa—the
- same cushion that had absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dearest Beatrice,” whispered Norah, kneeling beside her,
- with her face also down a spare corner of the cushion, “I have known
- how you were moping here alone. I’ve come to take you away. You’ll
- come down with us to our place at Netherford. There’s a lake with
- ice on it, and there’s Archie, and many other pretty things. Oh,
- yes, you’ll come, and we’ll all be happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Norah,” cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, “Mr.
- Airey will be here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say
- that he would be here, and I know what he means.” Mr. Airey did call
- in half an hour, and he found Beatrice—as he felt certain she should—waiting
- to receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved
- of.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together beyond
- those just recorded.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0019" id="link2HCCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>DMUND AIREY drank
- his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him, and while doing so, he
- told her of the progress that was being made by the agitation of the
- Opposition and the counter agitation of the Government. There was no
- disguising the fact that the country—like the fool that it was—had
- been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There was nothing like a
- bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of the country. If any cry was
- only bitter enough it would succeed. Fortunately, however, the Government,
- in its appeal against the Atheism of the Continent, had also struck a
- chord that vibrated through the length and breadth of England and
- Scotland. The Government orators were nightly explaining that no really
- sincere national effort had ever been made to convert the Jews. To be
- sure, some endeavours had been made from time to time to effect this great
- object—in the days of Isaac of York the gridiron and forceps had
- been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring about the conversion of the
- Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent agency of drawing-room
- meetings and a house-to-house collection had been resorted to; but the
- results had been disappointing. Statistics were forthcoming—nothing
- impresses the people of Great Britain more than a long array of figures,
- Edmund Airey explained—to show that, whereas, on any part of the
- West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for one pound sterling
- 348 negroes could be converted—the rate was 0.01 where rum was
- prohibited—yet for a subscription of five pounds, one could only
- depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race—something less than half an adult
- Hebrew—being converted. The Government orators were asking how long
- so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue, and so
- forth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days
- Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment to
- the Address, “That in the opinion of this House no programme of
- legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a protest
- against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to a
- Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be compelled
- to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of the
- political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist
- Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, “My sympathies are
- certainly with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed in his superior way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is so like a girl,” said he. “You are carried away
- by your sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any
- question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say you are right,” said she, smiling. “Our
- conscience is not susceptible of those political influences to which you
- referred just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘They are dangerous guides—the feelings’,”
- said he, “at least from a standpoint of politics.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which
- humanity may be viewed,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are,” said he. “And I also join with you in
- saying, ‘thank God!’ Do you fancy that I am here to-day—that
- I have been here so frequently during the past two months, from a
- political motive, Beatrice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot tell,” she replied. “Have you not just said
- that the feelings are dangerous guides?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They lead one into danger,” said he. “There can be no
- doubt about that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you ever allowed them to lead you?” she asked, with
- another smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only once, and that is now,” said he. “With you I have
- thrown away every guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have
- believed it possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all
- things are possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think
- it possible that you could marry me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was
- not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond
- him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A
- full minute had passed before she said, “You should not have come to
- me with that request, Mr. Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other
- impulse than that of my feelings?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I tell?” she said, and now she was looking at him.
- “How can I tell which you hold dearer—political advancement,
- or my love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?” he said
- reproachfully—almost mournfully. “Why am I waiting anxiously
- for your acceptance of my offer, if I do not hold your love more precious
- than all other considerations in the world?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you so hold it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with
- Siberia. Vote for the Amendment of the Opposition.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can you mean, Beatrice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me
- that you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don’t
- make this the price of my love, remember. I don’t make any compact
- to marry you if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you
- will have proved to me that your words are true—that you hold
- something higher than political expediency.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are unreasonable. I cannot do it,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not take
- it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You really mean me to vote against my party?” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party
- considerations?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would mean self-effacement politically,” said he. “Oh,
- you do not appreciate the gravity of the thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- She remained silent where he had left her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this,”
- he continued, from the fireplace. “You do not understand the
- consequences of my voting against my party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I do not,” said she. “But I have given you to
- understand the consequences of not doing so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we must part,” said he, approaching her. “Good-bye,”
- said she, once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then he
- dropped it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?” said he. “Do you
- really mean to put me to this test?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never was more in earnest in my life,” said she. “Think
- over the matter—let me entreat of you to think over it,” he
- said, earnestly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you will think over it also?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to
- be carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman,” said she, very
- meekly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of
- her femininity.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Papa,” said Beatrice, from the door of the historian’s
- study. “Papa, Mr. Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s right, my dear,” said the great historian.
- “Marry him, or anyone else you please, only run away and play with
- your dolls now. I’m very busy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely the
- answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such a <i>ménage</i>
- as that which prevailed under his roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCCH0020" id="link2HCCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next day
- Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their home in
- Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed its doors,
- and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen’s Speech was read, and a
- member of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia. The
- Debate on the Address began.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian’s
- house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting Lady
- Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the debate—the
- Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night—he drove in
- great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was still in
- Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following day.
- </p>
- <p>
- He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram,
- gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office.
- </p>
- <p>
- The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail, Netherford
- Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following words,
- “<i>I will do it. Edmund</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls of
- the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the unhappy
- wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a Siberian exile,
- and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious grounds (ironical
- cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went into the lobby with the Opposition.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an Irish member who yelled out “Judas!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a
- “scene” in the House.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst of an
- African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons express
- themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had been
- present upon the occasion of a “scene” in the House of
- Commons. He would, from a commanding position in the Strangers’
- Gallery, have learned all that he had set his heart upon acquiring—and
- more.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was while the “scene” was being enacted that Edmund Airey
- had put into his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his
- club.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m</i>.,” were
- the words that the hall-porter had written on the back of the form.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day he drove to the historian’s, and inquired if Miss Avon
- had returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was in the drawing-room, the butler said.
- </p>
- <p>
- With triumph—a sort of triumph—in his heart, and on his face,
- he ascended the staircase.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely
- there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were
- more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she had
- on a travelling dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?”
- he cried, exultantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Done what?” she inquired. “I have seen no newspaper
- to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last
- night for the Amendment?” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard nothing,” she replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it,
- but it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could
- not be sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday,
- Beatrice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop,” she said. “I was married to Harold Wynne an hour
- ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have made a fool of me,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said. “I could not do that. If I had got your
- telegram in time last evening I would have replied to it, telling you
- that, whatever step you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me.
- Harold Wynne, you see, came to me again. I had promised to marry him when
- we were together at that seal-hunt, but—well, something came between
- us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey?
- Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you
- entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a
- more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to
- make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing with
- sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of yours,
- Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the terms of
- your compact—or is it a contract?—with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I
- know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her
- little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted with
- the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred to Mrs.
- Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination,”
- said he, rising. “You have ruined my career.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had
- never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled
- him—that was how he put it—to take. She had not even had the
- interest to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she
- had not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were
- plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That was
- his one comforting thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, Mr. Airey,” said she. “Your career is not
- ruined. Clever men are not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever
- man—so clever as to be able to make me clever, if that were
- possible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have crushed me,” he said. “Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I wished to crush you I should have married you,” said
- she. “No woman can crush a man unless she is married to him.
- Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The butler opened the door. “Is my husband in yet?” she asked
- of the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His lordship has not yet returned, my lady,” said the butler,
- who had once lived in the best families—far removed from literature—and
- who was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I’m
- afraid,” she said, turning to Mr. Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now.
- Good-bye, Mr. Airey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven’s house. It
- was the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the
- message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits,
- pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of
- office.
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that
- apartment. She understood its lights.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found that she had read the newspapers.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What on earth did you mean by voting—” she began.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may well ask,” said he. “I was a fool. I was made a
- fool of by that girl. She made me vote against my party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she refuses to marry you now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She married Harold Wynne an hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of
- news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” resumed Edmund. “She is ill-treated by one man,
- but she marries him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn’t that
- like a woman? She has ruined my career.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very unmusical
- laugh—a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about some of
- its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears which that
- paroxysm of laughter had caused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a fool, indeed!” said she. “You are a fool if
- you cannot see that your career is just beginning. People are talking of
- you to-day as the Conscientious One—the One Man with a Conscience.
- Isn’t the reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in
- England?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Helen,” he cried, “will you marry me? With our combined
- money we can make ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will,” she said. “I will marry you with pleasure—now.
- I will marry anyone—now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me your hand, Helen,” he cried. “We understand one
- another—that is enough to start with. And as for that other—oh,
- she is nothing but a woman after all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He never spoke truer words.
- </p>
- <p>
- But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Did she?
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END.
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-
-
-
-
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