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diff --git a/old/stlfg10.txt b/old/stlfg10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..36a9107 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/stlfg10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11382 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stella Fregelius, by H. Rider Haggard +#44 in our series by H. Rider Haggard + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Stella Fregelius + +Author: H. Rider Haggard + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6051] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 28, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STELLA FREGELIUS *** + + + + +Etext prepared by John Bickers, jbickers@ihug.co.nz + and Dagny, dagnypg@yahoo.com + + + + + +STELLA FREGELIUS +By H. Rider Haggard + +First Published 1904. + + + + STELLA FREGELIUS + + A TALE OF THREE DESTINIES + + BY + + H. RIDER HAGGARD + + + + "Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, + Atque metus omnes, et inexorabile fatum + Subjecit pedibus; strepitumque Acherontis avari." + + + + DEDICATION + + My Dear John Berwick, + + When you read her history in MS. you thought well of "Stella + Fregelius" and urged her introduction to the world. Therefore I + ask you, my severe and accomplished critic, to accept the burden + of a book for which you are to some extent responsible. Whatever + its fate, at least it has pleased you and therefore has not been + written quite in vain. + + H. Rider Haggard. + + Ditchingham, + 25th August, 1903. + + + + AUTHOR'S NOTE + +The author feels that he owes some apology to his readers for his +boldness in offering to them a modest story which is in no sense a +romance of the character that perhaps they expect from him; which has, +moreover, few exciting incidents and no climax of the accustomed +order, since the end of it only indicates its real beginning. + +His excuse must be that, in the first instance, he wrote it purely to +please himself and now publishes it in the hope that it may please +some others. The problem of such a conflict, common enough mayhap did +we but know it, between a departed and a present personality, of which +the battle-ground is a bereaved human heart and the prize its complete +possession; between earthly duty and spiritual desire also; was one +that had long attracted him. Finding at length a few months of +leisure, he treated the difficult theme, not indeed as he would have +wished to do, but as best he could. + +He may explain further that when he drafted this book, now some five +years ago, instruments of the nature of the "aerophone" were not so +much talked of as they are to-day. In fact this aerophone has little +to do with his characters or their history, and the main motive of its +introduction to his pages was to suggest how powerless are all such +material means to bring within mortal reach the transcendental and +unearthly ends which, with their aid, were attempted by Morris Monk. + +These, as that dreamer learned, must be far otherwise obtained, +whether in truth and spirit, or perchance, in visions only. + +1903. + + + + + + STELLA FREGELIUS + + + + CHAPTER I + + MORRIS, MARY, AND THE AEROPHONE + +Above, the sky seemed one vast arc of solemn blue, set here and there +with points of tremulous fire; below, to the shadowy horizon, +stretched the plain of the soft grey sea, while from the fragrances of +night and earth floated a breath of sleep and flowers. + +A man leaned on the low wall that bordered the cliff edge, and looked +at sea beneath and sky above. Then he contemplated the horizon, and +murmured some line heard or learnt in childhood, ending "where earth +and heaven meet." + +"But they only seem to meet," he reflected to himself, idly. "If I +sailed to that spot they would be as wide apart as ever. Yes, the +stars would be as silent and as far away, and the sea quite as +restless and as salt. Yet there must be a place where they do meet. +No, Morris, my friend, there is no such place in this world, material +or moral; so stick to facts, and leave fancies alone." + +But that night this speculative man felt in the mood for fancies, for +presently he was staring at one of the constellations, and saying to +himself, "Why not? Well, why not? Granted force can travel through +ether,--whatever ether is--why should it stop travelling? Give it time +enough, a few seconds, or a few minutes or a few years, and why should +it not reach that star? Very likely it does, only there it wastes +itself. What would be needed to make it serviceable? Simply this--that +on the star there should dwell an Intelligence armed with one of my +instruments, when I have perfected them, or the secret of them. Then +who knows what might happen?" and he laughed a little to himself at +the vagary. + +From all of which wandering speculations it may be gathered that +Morris Monk was that rather common yet problematical person, an +inventor who dreamed dreams. + +An inventor, in truth, he was, although as yet he had never really +invented anything. Brought up as an electrical engineer, after a very +brief experience of his profession he had fallen victim to an idea and +become a physicist. This was his idea, or the main point of it--for +its details do not in the least concern our history: that by means of +a certain machine which he had conceived, but not as yet perfected, it +would be possible to complete all existing systems of aerial +communication, and enormously to simplify their action and enlarge +their scope. His instruments, which were wireless telephones-- +aerophones he called them--were to be made in pairs, twins that should +talk only to each other. They required no high poles, or balloons, or +any other cumbrous and expensive appliance; indeed, their size was no +larger than that of a rather thick despatch box. And he had triumphed; +the thing was done--in all but one or two details. + +For two long years he had struggled with these, and still they eluded +him. Once he had succeeded--that was the dreadful thing. Once for a +while the instruments had worked, and with a space of several miles +between them. But--this was the maddening part of it--he had never +been able to repeat the exact conditions; or, rather, to discover +precisely what they were. On that occasion he had entrusted one of his +machines to his first cousin, Mary Porson, a big girl with her hair +still down her back, rather idle in disposition, but very intelligent, +when she chose. Mary, for the most part, had been brought up at her +father's house, close by. Often, too, she stayed with her uncle for +weeks at a stretch, so at that time Morris was as intimate with her as +a man of eight and twenty usually is with a relative in her teens. + +The arrangement on this particular occasion was that she should take +the machine--or aerophone, as its inventor had named it--to her home. +The next morning, at the appointed hour, as Morris had often done +before, he tried to effect communication, but without result. On the +following day, at the same hour, he tried again, when, to his +astonishment, instantly the answer came back. Yes, as distinctly as +though she were standing by his side, he heard his cousin Mary's +voice. + +"Are you there?" he said, quite hopelessly, merely as a matter of form +--of very common form--and well-nigh fell to the ground when he +received the reply: + +"Yes, yes, but I have just been telegraphed for to go to Beaulieu; my +mother is very ill." + +"What is the matter with her?" he asked; and she replied: + +"Inflammation of the lungs--but I must stop; I can't speak any more." +Then came some sobs and silence. + +That same afternoon, by Mary's direction, the aerophone was brought +back to him in a dog-cart, and three days later he heard that her +mother, Mrs. Porson, was dead. + +Some months passed, and when they met again, on her return from the +Riviera, Morris found his cousin changed. She had parted from him a +child, and now, beneath the shadow of the wings of grief, suddenly she +had become a woman. Moreover, the best and frankest part of their +intimacy seemed to have vanished. There was a veil between them. Mary +thought of little, and at this time seemed to care for no one except +her mother, who was dead. And Morris, who had loved the child, +recoiled somewhat from the new-born woman. It may be explained that he +was afraid of women. Still, with an eye to business, he spoke to her +about the aerophone; and, so far as her memory served her, she +confirmed all the details of their short conversation across the gulf +of empty space. + +"You see," he said, trembling with excitement, "I have got it at +last." + +"It looks like it," she answered, wearily, her thoughts already far +away. "Why shouldn't you? There are so many odd things of the sort. +But one can never be sure; it mightn't work next time." + +"Will you try again?" he asked. + +"If you like," she answered; "but I don't believe I shall hear +anything now. Somehow--since that last business--everything seems +different to me." + +"Don't be foolish," he said; "you have nothing to do with the hearing; +it is my new receiver." + +"I daresay," she replied; "but, then, why couldn't you make it work +with other people?" + +Morris answered nothing. He, too, wondered why. + +Next morning they made the experiment. It failed. Other experiments +followed at intervals, most of which were fiascos, although some were +partially successful. Thus, at times Mary could hear what he said. But +except for a word or two, and now and then a sentence, he could not +hear her whom, when she was still a child and his playmate, once he +had heard so clearly. + +"Why is it?" he said, a year or two later, dashing his fist upon the +table in impotent rage. "It has been; why can't it be?" + +Mary turned her large blue eyes up to the ceiling, and reflectively +rubbed her dimpled chin with a very pretty finger. + +"Isn't that the kind of question they used to ask oracles?" she asked +lazily--"Oh! no, it was the oracles themselves that were so vague. +Well, I suppose because 'was' is as different from 'is' as 'as' is +from 'shall be.' We are changed, Cousin; that's all." + +He pointed to his patent receiver, and grew angry. + +"Oh, it isn't the receiver," she said, smoothing her curling hair; +"it's us. You don't understand me a bit--not now--and that's why you +can't hear me. Take my advice, Morris"--and she looked at him sharply +--"when you find a woman whom you can hear on your patent receiver, +you had better marry her. It will be a good excuse for keeping her at +a distance afterwards." + +Then he lost his temper; indeed, he raved, and stormed, and nearly +smashed the patent receiver in his fury. To a scientific man, let it +be admitted, it was nothing short of maddening to be told that the +successful working of his instrument, to the manufacture of which he +had given eight years of toil and study, depended upon some pre- +existent sympathy between the operators of its divided halves. If that +were so, what was the use of his wonderful discovery, for who could +ensure a sympathetic correspondent? And yet the fact remained that +when, in their playmate days, he understood his cousin Mary, and when +her quiet, indolent nature had been deeply moved by the shock of the +news of her mother's peril, the aerophone had worked. Whereas now, +when she had become a grown-up young lady, he did not understand her +any longer--he, whose heart was wrapped up in his experiments, and who +by nature feared the adult members of her sex, and shrank from them; +when, too, her placid calm was no longer stirred, work it would not. + +She laughed at his temper; then grew serious, and said: + +"Don't get angry, Morris. After all, there are lots of things that you +and I can't understand, and it isn't odd that you should have tumbled +across one of them. If you think of it, nobody understands anything. +They know that certain things happen, and how to make them happen; but +they don't know why they happen, or why, as in your case, when they +ought to happen, they won't." + +"It is all very well for you to be philosophical," he answered, +turning upon her; "but can't you see, Mary, that the thing there is my +life's work? It is what I have given all my strength and all my brain +to make, and if it fails in the end--why, then I fail too, once and +forever. And I have made it talk. It talked perfectly between this +place and Seaview, and now you stand there and tell me that it won't +work any more because I don't understand you. Then what am I to do?" + +"Try to understand me, if you think it worth while, which I don't; or +go on experimenting," she answered. "Try to find some substance which +is less exquisitely sensitive, something a little grosser, more in key +with the material world; or to discover someone whom you do +understand. Don't lose heart; don't be beaten after all these years." + +"No," he answered, "I don't unless I die," and he turned to go. + +"Morris," she said, in a softer voice, "I am lazy, I know. Perhaps +that is why I adore people who can work. So, although you don't think +anything of me, I will do my honest best to get into sympathy with you +again; yes, and to help in any way I can. No; it's not a joke. I would +give a great deal to see the thing a success." + +"Why do you say I don't think anything of you, Mary? Of course, it +isn't true. Besides, you are my cousin, and we have always been good +friends since you were a little thing." + +She laughed. "Yes, and I suppose that as you had no brothers or +sisters they taught you to pray for your cousin, didn't they? Oh, I +know all about it. It is my unfortunate sex that is to blame; while I +was a mere tom-boy it was different. No one can serve two masters, can +they? You have chosen to serve a machine that won't go, and I daresay +that you are wise. Yes, I think that it is the better part--until you +find someone that will make it go--and then you would adore her--by +aerophone!" + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE COLONEL AND SOME REFLECTIONS + +Presently Morris heard a step upon the lawn, and turned to see his +father sauntering towards him. Colonel Monk, C.B., was an elderly man, +over sixty indeed, but still of an upright and soldierly bearing. His +record was rather distinguished. In his youth he had served in the +Crimea, and in due course was promoted to the command of a regiment of +Guards. After this, certain diplomatic abilities caused him to be sent +to one of the foreign capitals as military attache, and in reward of +this service, on retiring, he was created a Companion of the Bath. In +appearance he was handsome also; in fact, much better looking than his +son, with his iron-grey hair, his clear-cut features, somewhat marred +in effect by a certain shiftiness of the mouth, and his large dark +eyes. Morris had those dark eyes also--they redeemed his face from +plainness, for otherwise it showed no beauty, the features being too +irregular, the brow too prominent, and the mouth too large. Yet it +could boast what, in the case of a man at any rate, is better than +beauty--spirituality, and a certain sympathetic charm. It was not the +face which was so attractive, but rather the intelligence, the +personality that shone through it, as the light shines through the +horn panes of some homely, massive lantern. Speculative eyes of the +sort that seem to search horizons and gather knowledge there, but +shrink from the faces of women; a head of brown hair, short cut but +untidy, an athletic, manlike form to which, bizarrely enough, a slight +stoop, the stoop of a student, seemed to give distinction, and hands +slender and shapely as those of an Eastern--such were the +characteristics of Morris Monk, or at least those of them that the +observer was apt to notice. + +"Hullo! Morris, are you star-gazing there?" said Colonel Monk, with a +yawn. "I suppose that I must have fallen asleep after dinner--that +comes of stopping too long at once in the country and drinking port. I +notice you never touch it, and a good thing, too. There, my cigar is +out. Now's the time for that new electric lighter of yours which I can +never make work." + +Morris fumbled in his pocket and produced the lighter. Then he said: + +"I am sorry, father; but I believe I forgot to charge it." + +"Ah! that's just like you, if you will forgive my saying so. You take +any amount of trouble to invent and perfect a thing, but when it comes +to making use of it, then you forget," and with a little gesture of +impatience the Colonel turned aside to light a match from a box which +he had found in the pocket of his cape. + +"I am sorry," said Morris, with a sigh, "but I am afraid it is true. +When one's mind is very fully occupied with one thing----" and he +broke off. + +"Ah! that's it, Morris, that's it," said the Colonel, seating himself +upon a garden chair; "this hobby-horse of yours is carrying you--to +the devil, and your family with you. I don't want to be rough, but it +is time that I spoke plain. Let's see, how long is it since you left +the London firm?" + +"Nine years this autumn," answered Morris, setting his mouth a little, +for he knew what was coming. The port drunk after claret had upset his +father's digestion and ruffled his temper. This meant that to him-- +Morris--Fate had appointed a lecture. + +"Nine years, nine wasted years, idled and dreamt away in a village +upon the eastern coast. It is a large slice out of a man's life, my +boy. By the time that I was your age I had done a good deal," said his +father, meditatively. When he meant to be disagreeable it was the +Colonel's custom to become reflective. + +"I can't admit that," answered Morris, in his light, quick voice--"I +mean I can't admit that my time has either been idled away or wasted. +On the contrary, father, I have worked very hard, as I did at college, +and as I have always done, with results which, without boasting, I may +fairly call glorious--yes, glorious--for when they are perfected they +will change the methods of communication throughout the whole world." +As he spoke, forgetting the sharp vexation of the moment, his face was +irradiated with light--like some evening cloud on which the sun +strikes suddenly. + +Watching him out of the corner of his eye, even in that low moonlight, +his father saw those fires of enthusiasm shine and die upon his son's +face, and the sight vexed him. Enthusiasm, as he conceived, perhaps +with justice, had been the ruin of Morris. Ceasing to be reflective, +his tone became cruel. + +"Do you really think, Morris, that the world wishes to have its +methods of communication revolutionised? Aren't there enough +telephones and phonograms and aerial telegraphs already? It seems to +me that you merely wish to add a new terror to existence. However, +there is no need to pursue an academical discussion, since this +wretched machine of yours, on which you have wasted so much time, +appears to be a miserable failure." + +Now, to throw the non-success of his invention into the teeth of the +inventor, especially when that inventor knows that it is successful +really, although just at present it does not happen to work, is a very +deadly insult. Few indeed could be deadlier, except, perhaps, that of +the cruelty which can suggest to a woman that no man will ever look at +her because of her plainness and lack of attraction; or the coarse +taunt which, by shameless implication, unjustly accuses the soldier of +cowardice, the diplomat of having betrayed the secrets of his country, +or the lawyer of having sold his brief. All the more, therefore, was +it to Morris's credit that he felt the lash sting without a show of +temper. + +"I have tried to explain to you, father," he began, struggling to +free his clear voice from the note of indignation. + +"Of course you have, Morris; don't trouble yourself to repeat that +long story. But even if you were successful--which you are not--er--I +cannot see the commercial use of this invention. As a scientific toy +it may be very well, though, personally, I should prefer to leave it +alone, since, if you go firing off your thoughts and words into space, +how do you know who will answer them, or who will hear them?" + +"Well, father, as you understand all about it, it is no use my +explaining any further. It is pretty late; I think I will be turning +in." + +"I had hoped," replied the Colonel, in an aggrieved voice, "that you +might have been able to spare me a few minutes' conversation. For some +weeks I have been seeking an opportunity to talk to you; but somehow +your arduous occupations never seem to leave you free for ordinary +social intercourse." + +"Certainly," replied Morris, "though I don't quite know why you should +say that. I am always about the place if you want me." But in his +heart he groaned, guessing what was coming. + +"Yes; but you are ever working at your chemicals and machinery in the +old chapel; or reading those eternal books; or wandering about rapt in +contemplation of the heavens; so that, in short, I seldom like to +trouble you with my mundane but necessary affairs." + +Morris made no answer; he was a very dutiful son and humble-spirited. +Those who pit their intelligences against the forces of Nature, and +try to search out her secrets, become humble. He could not altogether +respect his father; the gulf between them was too wide and deep. But +even at his present age of three and thirty he considered it a duty to +submit himself to him and his vagaries. Outside of other reasons, his +mother had prayed him to do so almost with her last breath, and, +living or dead, Morris loved his mother. + +"Perhaps you are not aware," went on Colonel Monk, after a solemn +pause, "that the affairs of this property are approaching a crisis." + +"I know something, but no details," answered Morris. "I have not liked +to interfere," he added apologetically. + +"And I have not not liked to trouble you with such sordid matters," +rejoined his parent, with sarcasm. "I presume, however, that you are +acquainted with the main facts. I succeeded to this estate encumbered +with a mortgage, created by your grandfather, an extravagant and +unbusiness-like man. That mortgage I looked to your mother's fortune +to pay off, but other calls made this impossible. For instance, the +sea-wall here had to be built if the Abbey was to be saved, and half a +mile of sea-walling costs something. Also very extensive repairs to +the house were necessary, and I was forced to take three farms in hand +when I retired from the army fifteen years ago. This has involved a +net loss of about ten thousand pounds, while all the time the interest +had to be paid and the place kept up in a humble fashion." + +"I thought that my uncle Porson took over the mortgage after my +mother's death," interrupted Morris. + +"That is so," answered his father, wincing a little; "but a creditor +remains a creditor, even if he happens to be a relative by marriage. I +have nothing to say against your uncle John, who is an excellent +person in his way, and well-meaning. Of course, he has been justified, +perfectly justified, in using his business abilities--or perhaps I +should say instincts, for they are hereditary--to his own advantage. +In fact, however, directly or indirectly, he has done well out of this +property and his connection with our family--exceedingly well, both +financially and socially. In a time of stress I was forced to sell him +the two miles of sea-frontage building-land between here and Northwold +for a mere song. During the last ten years, as you know, he has cut +this up into over five hundred villa sites, which he has sold upon +long lease at ground-rents that to-day bring in annually as much as he +paid for the whole property." + +"Yes, father; but you might have done the same. He advised you to +before he bought the land." + +"Perhaps I might, but I am not a tradesman; I do not understand these +affairs. And, Morris, I must remind you that in such matters I have +had no assistance. I do not blame you any more than I blame myself--it +is not in your line either--but I repeat that I have had no +assistance." + +Morris did not argue the point. "Well, father," he asked. "what is the +upshot? Are we ruined?" + +"Ruined? That is a large word, and an ugly one. No, we are no more +ruined than we have been for the last half-dozen years, for, thank +Heaven, I still have resources and--friends. But, of course, this +place is in a way expensive, and you yourself would be the last to +pretend that our burdens have been lessened by--your having abandoned +the very strange profession which you selected, and devoted yourself +to researches which, if interesting, must be called abstract----" + +"Forgive me, father," interrupted Morris with a ring of indignation in +his voice; "but you must remember that I put you to no expense. In +addition to what I inherited from my mother, which, of course, under +the circumstances I do not ask for, I have my fellowship, out of which +I contribute something towards the cost of my living and experiments, +that, by the way, I keep as low as possible." + +"Of course, of course," said the Colonel, who did not wish to pursue +this branch of the subject, but his son went on: + +"You know also that it was at your express wish that I came to live +here at Monksland, as for the purposes of my work it would have suited +me much better to take rooms in London or some other scientific +centre." + +"Really, my dear boy, you should control yourself," broke in his +father. "That is always the way with recluses; they cannot bear the +slightest criticism. Of course, as you were going to devote yourself +to this line of research it was right and proper that we should live +together. Surely you would not wish at my age that I should be +deprived of the comfort of the society of an only child, especially +now that your mother has left us?" + +"Certainly not, father," answered Morris, softening, as was his +fashion at the thought of his dead mother. + +Then came a pause, and he hoped that the conversation was at end; a +vain hope, as it proved. + +"My real object in troubling you, Morris," continued his father, +presently, "was very different to the unnecessary discussions into +which we have drifted." + +His son looked up, but said nothing. Again he knew what was coming, +and it was worse than anything that had gone before. + +"This place seems very solitary with the two of us living in its great +rooms. I, who am getting an old fellow, and you a student and a +recluse--no, don't deny it, for nowadays I can barely persuade you to +attend even the Bench or a lawn-tennis party. Well, fortunately, we +have power to add to our numbers; or at least you have. I wish you +would marry, Morris." + +His son turned sharply, and answered: + +"Thank you, father, but I have no fancy that way." + +"Now, there's Jane Rose, or that handsome Eliza Layard," went on the +Colonel, taking no notice. "I have reason to know that you might have +either of them for the asking, and they are both good women without a +breath against them, and, what in the state of this property is not +without importance, very well to do. Jane gets fifty thousand pounds +down on the day of her marriage, and as much more, together with the +place, upon old Lady Rose's death; while Miss Layard--if she is not +quite to the manner born--has the interest in that great colliery and +a rather sickly brother. Lastly--and this is strange enough, +considering how you treat them--they admire you, or at least Eliza +does, for she told me she thought you the most interesting man she had +ever met." + +"Did she indeed!" ejaculated Morris. "Why, I have only spoken three +times to her during the last year." + +"No doubt, my dear boy, that is why she thinks you interesting. To her +you are a mine of splendid possibilities. But I understand that you +don't like either of them." + +"No, not particularly--especially Eliza Layard, who isn't a lady, and +has a vicious temper--nor any young woman whom I have ever met." + +"Do you mean to tell me candidly, Morris, that at your age you detest +women?" + +"I don't say that; I only say that I never met one to whom I felt much +attracted, and that I have met a great many by whom I was repelled." + +"Decidedly, Morris, in you the strain of the ancestral fish is too +predominant. It isn't natural; it really isn't. You ought to have been +born three centuries ago, when the old monks lived here. You would +have made a first-class abbot, and might have been canonised by now. +Am I to understand, then, that you absolutely decline to marry?" + +"No, father; I don't want you to understand anything of the sort. If I +could meet a lady whom I liked, and who wouldn't expect too much, and +who was foolish enough to wish to take me, of course I should marry +her, as you are so bent upon it." + +"Well, Morris, and what sort of a woman would fulfil the conditions, +to your notion?" + +His son looked about him vaguely, as though he expected to find his +ideal in some nook of the dim garden. + +"What sort of a woman? Well, somebody like my cousin Mary, I suppose-- +an easy-going person of that kind, who always looks pleasant and +cool." + +Morris did not see him, for he had turned his head away; but at the +mention of Mary Porson's name his father started, as though someone +had pricked him with a pin. But Colonel Monk had not commanded a +regiment with some success and been a military attache for nothing; +having filled diplomatic positions, public and private, in his time, +he could keep his countenance, and play his part when he chose. +Indeed, did his simpler-minded son but know it, all that evening he +had been playing a part. + +"Oh! that's your style, is it?" he said. "Well, at your age I should +have preferred something a little different. But there is no +accounting for tastes; and after all, Mary is a beautiful woman, and +clever in her own way. By Jove! there's one o'clock striking, and I +promised old Charters that I would always be in bed by half-past +eleven. Good night, my boy. By the way, you remember that your uncle +Porson is coming to Seaview to-morrow from London, and that we are +engaged to dine with him at eight. Fancy a man who could build that +pretentious monstrosity and call it Seaview! Well, it will condemn him +to the seventh generation; but in this world one must take people as +one finds them, and their houses, too. Mind you lock the garden door +when you come in. Good night." + +"Really," thought Colonel Monk to himself as he took off his dress- +shoes and, with military precision, set them side by side beneath a +chair, "it does seem a little hard on me that I should be responsible +for a son who is in love with a damned, unworkable electrical machine. +And with his chances--with his chances! Why he might have been a +second secretary in the Diplomatic Service by now, or anything else to +which interest could help him. And there he sits hour after hour +gabbling down a little trumpet and listening for an answer which never +comes--hour after hour, and month after month, and year after year. Is +he a genius, or is he an idiot, or a moral curiosity, or simply +useless? I'm hanged if I know, but that's a good idea about Mary; +though, of course, there are things against it. Curious that I should +never have considered the matter seriously before--because of the +cousinship, I suppose. Would she have him? It doesn't seem likely, but +you can never know what a woman will or will not do, and as a child +she was very fond of Morris. At any rate the situation is desperate, +and if I can, I mean to save the old place, for his sake and our +family's, as well as my own." + +He went to the window, and, lifting a corner of the blind, looked out. +"There he is, still staring at the sea and the sky, and there I +daresay he will be till dawn. I bet he has forgotten all about Mary +now, and is thinking of his electrical machine. What a curiosity! Good +heavens; what a curiosity! Ah, I wonder what they would have made of +him in my old mess five and thirty years ago?" And quite overcome by +this reflection, the Colonel shook his grizzled head, put out the +candle, and retired to rest. + + + +His father was right. The beautiful September dawn was breaking over +the placid sea before Morris brushed the night dew from his hair and +cloak, and went in by the abbot's door. + +What was he thinking of all the time? He scarcely knew. One by one, +like little clouds in the summer sky, fancies arose in his mind to +sail slowly across its depth and vanish upon an inconclusive and +shadowy horizon. Of course, he thought about his instruments; these +were never absent from his heart. His instinct flew back to them as an +oasis, as an island of rest in the wilderness of this father's thorny +and depressing conversation. The instruments were disappointing, it is +true, at present; but, at any rate, they did not dwell gloomily upon +impending ruin or suggest that it was his duty to get married. They +remained silent, distressingly silent indeed. + +Well, as the question of marriage had been started, he might as well +face it out; that is, argue it in his mind, reduce it to its +principles, follow it to its issues in a reasonable and scientific +manner. What were the facts? His family, which, by tradition, was +reported to be Danish in its origin, had owned this property for +several hundred years, though how they came to own it remained a +matter of dispute. Some said the Abbey and its lands were granted to a +man of the name of Monk by Henry VIII., of course for a consideration. +Others held, and evidence existed in favour of this view, that on the +dissolution of the monastery the abbot of the day, a shrewd man of +easy principles, managed to possess himself of the Chapter House and +further extensive hereditaments, of course with the connivance of the +Commissioners, and, providing himself with a wife, to exchange a +spiritual for a temporal dignity. At least this remained certain, that +from the time of Elizabeth onwards Morris's forefathers had been +settled in the old Abbey house at Monksland; that the first of them +about whom they really knew anything was named Monk, and that Monk was +still the family name. + +Now they were all dead and gone, and their history, which was +undistinguished, does not matter. To come to the present day. His +father succeeded to a diminished and encumbered estate; indeed, had it +not been for the fortune of his mother, a Miss Porson and one of a +middle class and business, but rather wealthy family, the property +must have been sold years before. That fortune, however, had long ago +been absorbed--or so he gathered--for his father, a brilliant and +fashionable army officer, was not the man to stint himself or to nurse +a crippled property. Indeed, it was wonderful to Morris how, without +any particular change in their style of living, which, if +unpretentious, was not cheap, in these bad times they had managed to +keep afloat at all. + +Unworldly as Morris might be, he could easily guess why his father +wished that he should marry, and marry well. It was that he might +bolster up the fortunes of a shattered family. Also--and this touched +him, this commanded his sympathy--he was the last of his race. If he +died without issue the ancient name of Monk became extinct, a +consummation from which his father shrank with something like horror. + +The Colonel was a selfish man--Morris could not conceal it, even from +himself--one who had always thought of his own comfort and convenience +first. Yet, either from idleness or pride, to advance these he had +never stooped to scheme. Where the welfare of his family was +concerned, however, as his son knew, he was a schemer. That desire was +the one real and substantial thing in a somewhat superficial, +egotistic, and finessing character. + +Morris saw it all as he leaned there upon the railing, staring at the +mist-draped sea, more clearly, indeed, than he had ever seen it +before. He understood, moreover, what an unsatisfactory son he must be +to a man like his father--if it had tried, Providence could hardly +have furnished him with offspring more unsuitable. The Colonel had +wished him to enter the Diplomatic Service, or the Army, or at least +to get himself called to the Bar; but although a really brilliant +University career and his family influence would have given him +advantages in any of these professions, he had declined them all. So, +following his natural bent, he became an electrician, and now, +abandoning the practical side of that modest calling, he was an +experimental physicist, full of deep but unremunerative lore, and--an +unsuccessful inventor. Certainly he owed something to his family, and +if his father wished that he should marry, well, marry he must, as a +matter of duty, if for no other reason. After all, the thing was not +pressing; for it it came to the point, what woman was likely to accept +him? All he had done to-night was to settle the general principles in +his own mind. When it became necessary--if ever--he could deal with +the details. + +And yet this sort of marriage which was proposed to him, was it not an +unholy business? He cared little for women, having no weakness that +way, probably because of the energy which other young men gave to the +pursuit of them was in his case absorbed by intense and brain- +exhausting study. Therefore he was not a man who if left to himself, +would marry, as so many do, merely in order to be married; indeed, the +idea to him was almost repulsive. Had he been a woman-hater, he might +have accepted it more easily, for then to him one would have been as +the other. But the trouble was that he knew and felt that a time might +come when in his eyes one woman would be different from all others, a +being who spoke not to his physical nature only, if at all, but to the +core within him. And if that happened, what then? + +Look, the sun was rising. On the eastern sky of a sudden two golden +doors had opened in the canopy of night, and in and out of them seemed +to pass glittering, swift-winged things, as souls might tread the Gate +of Heaven. Look, too, at the little clouds that in an unending stream +floated out of the gloom--travellers pressed onwards by a breath of +destiny. They were leaden-hued, all of them, black, indeed, at times, +until they caught the radiance, and for a while became like the +pennons of an angel's wings. Then one by one the glory overtook and +embraced them, and they melted into it to be seen no more. + +What did the sight suggest to him? That it was worth while, perhaps, +to be a mere drift of cloud, storm-driven and rain-laden in the bitter +Night of Life, if the Morning of Deliverance brought such +transformation on its wings. That beyond some such gates as these, +gates that at times, greatly daring, he longed to tread, lay the +answer to many a mystery. Amongst other things, perhaps, there he +would learn the meaning of true marriage, and why it is denied to most +dwellers of the earth. Without a union of the spirit was there indeed +any marriage as it should be understood? And who in this world could +hope to find his fellow spirit? + +See, the sun had risen, the golden gates were shut. He had been +dreaming, and was chilled to the bone. Wretchedness, mental and +bodily, took hold of him. Well, often enough such is the fate of those +who dream; those who turn from their needful, daily tasks to shape an +angel out of this world's clay, trusting to some unknown god to give +it life and spirit. + + + + CHAPTER III + + "POOR PORSON" + +Upon the morning following his conversation with Morris, Colonel Monk +spent two hours or more in the library. Painfully did he wrestle there +with balance-sheets, adding up bank books; also other financial +documents. + +"Phew!" he said, when at length the job was done. "It is worse than I +thought, a good deal worse. My credit must be excellent, or somebody +would have been down upon us before now. Well, I must talk things over +with Porson. He understands figures, and so he ought, considering that +he kept the books in his grandfather's shop." + +Then the Colonel went to lunch less downcast than might have been +expected, since he anticipated a not unamusing half-hour with his son. +As he knew well, Morris detested business matters and money +calculations. Still, reflected his parent, it was only right that he +should take his share of the family responsibilities--a fact which he +fully intended to explain to him. + +But "in vain is the net spread," etc. As Morris passed the door of the +library on his way to the old chapel of the Abbey, which now served +him as a laboratory, he had seen his father bending over the desk and +guessed his occupation. Knowing, therefore, what he must expect at +lunch, Morris determined to dispense with that meal, and went out, +much to the Colonel's disappointment and indignation. "I hate," he +explained to his brother-in-law Porson afterwards, "yes, I hate a +fellow who won't face disagreeables and shirks his responsibilities." + +Between Monksland and the town of Northwold lay some four miles of +cliff, most of which had been portioned off in building lots, for +Northwold was what is called a "rising watering-place." About half-way +between the Abbey and this town stood Mr. Porson's mansion. In fact, +it was nothing but a dwelling like those about it, presenting the +familiar seaside gabled roofs of red tiles, and stucco walls decorated +with sham woodwork, with the difference that the house was exceedingly +well built and about four times as large as the average villa. + +"Great heavens! what a place!" said the Colonel to himself as he +halted at the private gateway which opened on to the cliff and +surveyed it affronting sea and sky in all its naked horror. "Show me +the house and I will show you the man," he went on to himself; "but, +after all, one mustn't judge him too hardly. Poor Porson, he did not +arrange his own up-bringing or his ancestors. Hello! there he is. + +"John, John, John!" he shouted at a stout little person clad in a +black alpaca coat, a straw hat, and a pair of spectacles, who was +engaged in sad contemplation of a bed of dying evergreens. + +At the sound of that well-known voice the little man jumped as though +he had trodden on a pin, and turned round slowly, muttering to +himself, + +"Gracious! It's him!" an ungrammatical sentence which indicated +sufficiently how wide a niche in the temple of his mind was filled +with the image of his brother-in-law, Colonel Monk. + +John Porson was a man of about six or eight and fifty, round-faced, +bald, with large blue eyes not unlike those of a china doll, and +clean-shaven except for a pair of sandy-coloured mutton-chop whiskers. +In expression he was gentle, even timid, and in figure short and +stout. At this very moment behind a hundred counters stand a hundred +replicas of that good-hearted man and worthy citizen, John Porson. Can +he be described better or more briefly? + +"How are you Colonel?" he said, hurrying forward. He had never yet +dared to call his brother-in-law "Monk," and much less by his +Christian name, so he compromised on "Colonel." + +"Pretty well, thank you, considering my years and botherations. And +how are you, John?" + +"Not very grand, not very grand," said the little man; "my heart has +been troubling me, and it was so dreadfully hot in London." + +"Then why didn't you come away?" + +"Really I don't know. I understood that it had something to do with a +party, but I think the fact is that Mary was too lazy to look after +the servants while they packed up." + +"Perhaps she had some attraction there," suggested the Colonel, with +an anxiety which might have been obvious to a more skilled observer. + +"Attraction! What do you mean?" asked Porson. + +"Mean, you old goose? Why, what should I mean? A young man, of +course." + +"Oh! I see. No, I am sure it was nothing of that sort. Mary won't be +bothered with young men. She is too lazy; she just looks over their +heads till they get tired and go away. I am sure it was the packing, +or, perhaps, the party. But what are you staring at, Colonel? Is there +anything wrong?" + +"No, no; only that wonderful window of yours--the one filled with +bottle-glass--which always reminds me of a bull's-eye lantern standing +on a preserved-beef tin, or the top of a toy lighthouse." + +Porson peered at the offending window through his spectacles. + +"Certainly, now you mention it, it does look a little odd from here," +he said; "naked, rather. You said so before, you remember, and I told +them to plant the shrubs; but while I was away they let every one of +the poor things die. I will ask my architect, Jenkins, if he can't do +anything; it might be pulled down, perhaps." + +"Better leave it alone," said the Colonel, with a sniff. "If I know +anything of Jenkins he'd only put up something worse. I tell you, +John, that where bricks and mortar are concerned that man's a moral +monster." + +"I know you don't like his style," murmured Porson; "but won't you +come in, it is so hot out here in the sun?" + +"Thank you, yes, but let us go to that place you call your den, not to +the drawing-room. If you can spare it, I want half-an-hour with you. +That's why I came over in the afternoon, before dinner." + +"Certainly, certainly," murmured Porson again, as he led the way to +the "den," but to himself he added: "It's those mortgages, I'll bet. +Oh dear! oh dear! when shall I see the last of them?" + +Presently they were established in the den, the Colonel very cool and +comfortable in Mr. Porson's armchair, and Porson himself perched upon +the edge of a new-looking leather sofa in an attitude of pained +expectancy. + +"Now I am at your service, Colonel," he said. + +"Oh! yes; well, it is just this. I want you, if you will, to look +through these figures for me," and he produced and handed to him a +portentous document headed "List of Obligations." + +Mr. Porson glanced at it, and instantly his round, simple face became +clever and alert. Here he was on his own ground. In five minutes he +had mastered the thing. + +"Yes," he said, in a quick voice, "this is quite clear, but there is +some mistake in the addition making a difference of 87 pounds 3s. 10d. +in your favour. Well, where is the schedule of assets?" + +"The schedule of assets, my dear John? I wish I knew. I have my +pension, and there are the Abbey and estates, which, as things are, +seem to be mortgaged to their full value. That's about all, I think. +Unless--unless"--and he laughed, "we throw in Morris's patent +electrical machine, which won't work." + +"It ought to be reckoned, perhaps," replied Mr. Porson gravely; adding +in a kind of burst, with an air of complete conviction: "I believe in +Morris's machine, or, at least, I believe in Morris. He has the +makings of a great man--no, of a great inventor about him." + +"Do you really?" replied the Colonel, much interested. "That is +curious--and encouraging; for, my dear John, where business matters +are concerned, I trust your judgment." + +"But I doubt whether he will make any money out of it," went on +Porson. "One day the world will benefit; probably he will not +benefit." + +The Colonel's interest faded. "Possibly, John; but, if so, perhaps for +present purposes we may leave this mysterious discovery out of the +question." + +"I think so, I think so; but what is the point?" + +"The point is that I seem to be about at the end of my tether, +although, as yet, I am glad to say, nobody has actually pressed me, +and I have come to you, as a friend and a relative, for advice. What +is to be done? I have sold you all the valuable land, and I am glad to +think that you have made a very good thing of it. Some years ago, +also, you took over the two heaviest mortgages on the Abbey estate, +and I am sorry to say that the interest is considerably in arrear. +There remain the floating debts and other charges, amounting in all to +about 7,000 pounds, which I have no means of meeting, and meanwhile, +of course, the place must be kept up. Under these circumstances, John, +I ask you as a business man, what is to be done?" + +"And, as a business man, I say I'm hanged if I know," said Porson, +with unwonted energy. "All debts, no assets--the position is +impossible. Unless, indeed, something happens." + +"Quite so. That's it. My only comfort is--that something might +happen," and he paused. + +Porson fidgeted about on the edge of the leather sofa and turned red. +In his heart he was wondering whether he dared offer to pay off the +debts. This he was quite able to do; more, he was willing to do, since +to him, good simple man, the welfare of the ancient house of Monk, of +which his only sister had married the head, was a far more important +thing than parting with a certain number of thousands of pounds. For +birth and station, in his plebeian humility, John Porson had a +reverence which was almost superstitious. Moreover, he had loved his +dead sister dearly, and, in his way, he loved her son also. Also he +revered his brother-in-law, the polished and splendid-looking Colonel, +although it was true that sometimes he writhed beneath his military +and aristocratic heel. Particularly, indeed, did he resent, in his +secret heart, those continual sarcasms about his taste in +architecture. + +Now, although the monetary transactions between them had been many, as +luck would have it--entirely without his own design--they chanced in +the main to have turned to his, Porson's, advantage. Thus, owing +chiefly to his intelligent development of its possibilities, the land +which he bought from the Monk estate had increased enormously in +value; so much so, indeed, that, even if he lost all the other sums +advanced upon mortgage, he would still be considerably to the good. +Therefore, as it happened, the Colonel was really under no obligations +to him. In these circumstances, Mr. Porson did not quite know how a +cold-blooded offer of an advance of cash without security--in practice +a gift--would be received. + +"Have you anything definite in your mind?" he hesitated, timidly. + +The Colonel reflected. On his part he was wondering how Porson would +receive the suggestion of a substantial loan. It seemed too much to +risk. He was proud, and did not like to lay himself open to the +possibility of rebuff. + +"I think not, John. Unless Morris should chance to make a good +marriage, which is unlikely, for, as you know, he is an odd fish, I +can see nothing before us except ruin. Indeed, at my age, it does not +greatly matter, but it seems a pity that the old house should come to +an end in such a melancholy and discreditable fashion." + +"A pity! It is more than a pity," jerked out Porson, with a sudden +wriggle which caused him to rock up and down upon the stiff springs of +the new sofa. + +As he spoke there came a knock at the door, and from the further side +of it a slow, rich voice was heard, saying: "May I come in?" + +"That's Mary," said Mr. Porson. "Yes, come in, dear; it's only your +uncle." + +The door opened, Mary came in, and, in some curious quiet way, at once +her personality seemed to take possession of and dominate that shaded +room. To begin with, her stature gave an idea of dominion, for, +without being at all coarse, she was tall and full in frame. The face +also was somewhat massive, with a rounded chin and large, blue eyes +that had a trick of looking half asleep, and above a low, broad +forehead grew her waving, golden hair, parted simply in the middle +after the old Greek fashion. She wore a white dress, with a silver +girdle that set off the beautiful outlines of her figure to great +advantage, and with her a perfume seemed to pass, perhaps from the +roses on her bosom. + +"A beautiful woman," thought the Colonel to himself, as she came in, +and he was no mean or inexperienced judge. "A beautiful woman, but a +regular lotus-eater." + +"How do you do, Uncle Richard?" said Mary, pausing about six feet away +and holding out her hand. "I heard you scolding my poor dad about his +bow-window. In fact, you woke me up; and, do you know, you used +exactly the same words as you did at your visit after we came down +from London last year." + +"Bless me, my dear," said the Colonel, struggling to his feet, and +kissing his niece upon the forehead, "what a memory you have got! It +will get you into trouble some day." + +"I daresay--me, or somebody else. But history repeated itself, uncle, +that is all. The same sleepy Me in a lounge-chair, the same hot day, +the same blue-bottle, and the same You scolding the same Daddy about +the same window. Though what on earth dad's window can matter to +anyone except himself, I can't understand." + +"I daresay not, my dear; I daresay not. We can none of us know +everything--not even latter day young ladies--but I suggest that a few +hours with Fergussen's 'Handbook of Architecture' might enlighten you +on the point." + +Mary reflected, but the only repartee that she could conjure at the +moment was something about ancient lights which did not seem +appropriate. Therefore, as she thought that she had done enough for +honour, and to remind her awe-inspiring relative that he could not +suppress her, suddenly she changed the subject. + +"You are looking very well, uncle," she said, surveying him calmly; +"and younger than you did last year. How is my cousin Morris? Will the +aerophone talk yet?" + +"Be careful," said the Colonel, gallantly. "If even my grey hairs can +provoke a compliment, what homage is sufficient for a Sleeping Beauty? +As for Morris, he is, I believe, much as usual; at least he stood this +morning till daybreak staring at the sea. I understand, however--if he +doesn't forget to come--that you are to have the pleasure of seeing +him this evening, when you will be able to judge for yourself." + +"Now, don't be sarcastic about Morris, uncle; I'd rather you went on +abusing dad's window." + +"Certainly not, my dear, if it displeases you. But may I ask why he is +to be considered sacred?" + +"Why?" she answered, and a genuine note crept into her bantering +voice. "Because he is one of the few men worth anything whom I ever +chanced to meet--except dad there and----" + +"Spare me," cut in the Colonel, with admirable skill, for well he knew +that his name was not upon the lady's lips. "But would it be +impertinent to inquire what it is that constitutes Morris's preeminent +excellence in your eyes?" + +"Of course not; only it is three things, not one. First, he works +harder than any man I know, and I think men who work adorable, because +I am so lazy myself. Secondly, he thinks a great deal, and very few +people do that to any purpose. Thirdly, I never feel inclined to go to +sleep when he takes me in to dinner. Oh! you may laugh if you like, +but ask dad what happened to me last month with that wretched old +member of the Government, and before the sweets, too!" + +"Please, please," put in Mr. Porson, turning pink under pressure of +some painful recollection. "If you have finished sparring with your +uncle, isn't there any tea, Mary?" + +"I believe so," she said, relapsing into a state of bland +indifference. "I'll go and see. If I don't come back, you'll know it +is there," and Mary passed through the door with that indolent, +graceful walk which no one could mistake who once had seen her. + +Both her father and her uncle looked after her with admiration. Mr. +Porson admired her because the man or woman who dared to meet that +domestic tyrant his brother-in-law in single combat, and could issue +unconquered from the doubtful fray, was indeed worthy to be honoured. +Colonel Monk for his part hastened to do homage to a very pretty and +charming young lady, one, moreover, who was not in the least afraid of +him. + +Mary had gone, and the air from the offending window, which was so +constructed as to let in a maximum of draught, banged the door behind +her. The two men looked at each other. A thought was in the mind of +each; but the Colonel, trained by long experience, and wise in his +generation, waited for Mr. Porson to speak. Many and many a time in +the after days did he find reason to congratulate himself upon this +superb reticence--for there are occasions when discretion can amount +almost to the height of genius. Under their relative circumstances, if +it had been he who first suggested this alliance, he and his family +must have remained at the gravest disadvantage, and as for +stipulations, well, he could have made none. But as it chanced it was +from poor Porson's lips that the suggestion came. + +Mr. Porson cleared this throat--once, twice, thrice. At the third +rasp, the Colonel became very attentive. He remembered that his +brother-in-law had done exactly the same thing at the very apex of a +long-departed crisis; indeed, just before he offered spontaneously to +take over the mortgages on the Abbey estate. + +"You were talking, Colonel," he began, "when Mary came in," and he +paused. + +"I daresay," replied the Colonel indifferently, fixing a contemptuous +glance upon some stone mullions of atrocious design. + +"About Morris marrying?" + +"Oh, yes, so I was! Well?" + +"Well--she seems to like him. I know she does indeed. She never talks +of any other young man." + +"She? Who?" + +"My daughter, Mary; and--so--why shouldn't they--you know?" + +"Really, John, I must ask you to be a little more explicit. It's no +good your addressing me in your business ciphers." + +"Well--I mean--why shouldn't he marry her? Morris marry Mary? Is that +plain enough?" he asked in desperation. + +For a moment a mist gathered before the Colonel's eyes. Here was +salvation indeed, if only it could be brought about. Oh! if only it +could be brought about. + +But the dark eyes never changed, nor did a muscle move upon that pale, +commanding countenance. + +"Morris marry Mary," he repeated, dwelling on the alliterative words +as though to convince himself that he had heard them aright. "That is +a very strange proposition, my dear John, and sudden, too. Why, they +are first cousins, and for that reason, I suppose, the thing never +occurred to me--till last night," he added to himself. + +"Yes, I know, Colonel; but I am not certain that this first cousin +business isn't a bit exaggerated. The returns of the asylums seem to +show it, and I know my doctor, Sir Henry Andrews, says it's nonsense. +You'll admit that he is an authority. Also, it happened in my own +family, my father and mother were cousins, and we are none the worse." + +On another occasion the Colonel might have been inclined to comment on +this statement--of course, most politely. Now, however, he let it +pass. + +"Well, John," he said, "putting aside the cousinship, let me hear what +your idea is of the advantages of such a union, should the parties +concerned change to consider it suitable." + +"Quite so, quite so, that's business," said Mr. Porson, brightening up +at once. "From my point of view, these would be the advantages. As you +know, Colonel, so far as I am concerned my origin, for the time I have +been able to trace it--that's four generations from old John Porson, +the Quaker sugar merchant, who came from nobody knows where--although +honest, is humble, and until my father's day all in the line of retail +trade. But then my dear wife came in. She was a governess when I +married her, as you may have heard, and of a very good Scotch family, +one of the Camerons, so Mary isn't all of our cut--any more," he added +with a smile, "than Morris is all of yours. Still for her to marry a +Monk would be a lift up--a considerable lift up, and looked at from a +business point of view, worth a deal of money. + +"Also, I like my nephew Morris, and I am sure that Mary likes him, and +I'd wish the two of them to inherit what I have got. They wouldn't +have very long to wait for it, Colonel, for those doctors may say what +they will, but I tell you," he added, pathetically, tapping himself +over the heart--"though you don't mention it to Mary--I know better. +Oh! yes, I know better. That's about all, except, of course, that I +should wish to see her settled before I'm gone. A man dies happier, +you understand, if he is certain whom his only child is going to +marry; for when he is dead I suppose that he will know nothing of what +happens to her. Or, perhaps," he added, as though by an afterthought, +"he may know too much, and not be able to help; which would be +painful, very painful." + +"Don't get into those speculations, John," said the Colonel, waving +his hand. "They are unpleasant, and lead nowhere--sufficient to the +day is the evil thereof." + +"Quite so, quite so. Life is a queer game of blind-man's buff, isn't +it; played in a mist on a mountain top, and the players keep dropping +over the precipices. But nobody heeds, because there are always plenty +more, and the game goes on forever. Well, that's my side of the case. +Do you wish me to put yours?" + +"I should like to hear your view of it." + +"Very good, it is this. Here's a nice girl, no one can deny that, and +a nice man, although he's odd--you will admit as much. He's got name, +and he will have fame, or I am much mistaken. But, as it chances, +through no fault of his, he wants money, or will want it, for without +money the old place can't go on, and without a wife the old race can't +go on. Now, Mary will have lots of money, for, to tell the truth, it +keeps piling up until I am sick of it. I've been lucky in that way, +Colonel, because I don't care much about it, I suppose. I don't think +that I ever yet made a really bad investment. Just look. Two years +ago, to oblige an old friend who was in the shop with me when I was +young, I put 5,000 pounds into an Australian mine, never thinking to +see it again. Yesterday I sold that stock for 50,000 pounds." + +"Fifty thousand pounds!" ejaculated the Colonel, astonished into +admiration. + +"Yes, or to be accurate, 49,375 pounds, 3s., 10d., and--that's where +the jar comes in--I don't care. I never thought of it again since I +got the broker's note till this minute. I have been thinking all day +about my heart, which is uneasy, and about what will happen to Mary +when I am gone. What's the good of this dirty money to a dying man? +I'd give it all to have my wife and the boy I lost back for a year or +two; yes, I would go into a shop again and sell sugar like my +grandfather, and live on the profits from the till and the counter. +There's Mary calling. We must tell a fib, we must say that we thought +she was to come to fetch us; don't you forget. Well, there it is, +perhaps you'll think it over at your leisure." + +"Yes, John," replied the Colonel, solemnly; "certainly I will think it +over. Of course, there are pros and cons, but, on the whole, speaking +offhand, I don't see why the young people should not make a match. +Also you have always been a good relative, and, what is better, a good +friend to me, so, of course, if possible I should like to fall in with +your wishes." + +Mr. Porson, who was advancing towards the door, wheeled round quickly. + +"Thank you, Colonel," he said, "I appreciate your sentiments; but +don't you make any mistake. It isn't my wishes that have to be fallen +in with--or your wishes. It's the wishes of your son, Morris, and my +daughter, Mary. If they are agreeable I'd like it well; if not, all +the money in the world, nor all the families in the world, wouldn't +make me have anything to do with the job, or you either. Whatever our +failings, we are honest men--both of us, who would not sell our flesh +and blood for such trash as that." + + + + CHAPTER IV + + MARY PREACHES AND THE COLONEL PREVAILS + +A fortnight had gone by, and during this time Morris was a frequent +visitor at Seaview. Also his Cousin Mary had come over twice or thrice +to lunch, with her father or without him. Once, indeed, she had +stopped all the afternoon, spending most of it in the workshop with +Morris. This workshop, it may be remembered, was the old chapel of the +Abbey, a very beautiful and still perfect building, finished in early +Tudor times, in which, by good fortune, the rich stained glass of the +east window still remained. It made a noble and spacious laboratory, +with its wide nave and lovely roof of chestnut wood, whereof the +corbels were seraphs, white-robed and golden-winged. + +"Are you not afraid to desecrate such a place with your horrid vices-- +I mean the iron things--and furnace and litter?" asked Mary. She had +sunk down upon an anvil, on which lay a newspaper, the first seat that +she could find, and thence surveyed the strange, incongruous scene. + +"Well, if you ask, I don't like it," answered Morris. "But there is no +other place that I can have, for my father is afraid of the forge in +the house, and I can't afford to build a workshop outside." + +"It ought to be restored," said Mary, "with a beautiful organ in a +carved case and a lovely alabaster altar and one of those perpetual +lamps of silver--the French call them 'veilleuses', don't they?--and +the Stations of the Cross in carved oak, and all the rest of it." + +Mary, it may be explained, had a tendency to admire the outward +adornments of ritualism if not its doctrines. + +"Quite so," answered Morris, smiling. "When I have from five to seven +thousand to spare I will set about the job, and hire a high-church +chaplain with a fine voice to come and say Mass for your benefit. By +the way, would you like a confessional also? You omitted it from the +list." + +"I think not. Besides, what on earth should I confess, except being +always late for prayers through oversleeping myself in the morning, +and general uselessness?" + +"Oh, I daresay you might find something if you tried," suggested +Morris. + +"Speak for yourself, please, Morris. To begin with your own account, +there is the crime of sacrilege in using a chapel as a workshop. Look, +those are all tombstones of abbots and other holy people, and under +each tombstone one of them is asleep. Yet there you are, using strong +language and whistling and making a horrible noise with hammers just +above their heads. I wonder they don't haunt you; I would if I were +they." + +"Perhaps they do," said Morris, "only I don't see them." + +"Then they can't be there." + +"Why not? Because things are invisible and intangible it does not +follow that they don't exist, as I ought to know as much as anyone." + +"Of course; but I am sure that if there were anything of that sort +about you would soon be in touch with it. With me it is different; I +could sleep sweetly with ghosts sitting on my bed in rows." + +"Why do you say that--about me, I mean?" asked Morris, in a more +earnest voice. + +"Oh, I don't know. Go and look at your own eyes in the glass--but I +daresay you do often enough. Look here, Morris, you think me very +silly--almost foolish--don't you?" + +"I never thought anything of the sort. As a matter of fact, if you +want to know, I think you a young woman rather more idle than most, +and with a perfect passion for burying your talent in very white +napkins." + +"Well, it all comes to the same thing, for there isn't much difference +between fool-born and fool-manufactured. Sometimes I wake up, however, +and have moments of wisdom--as when I made you hear that thing, you +know, thereby proving that it is all right, only useless--haven't I?" + +"I daresay; but come to the point." + +"Don't be in a hurry. It is rather hard to express myself. What I mean +is that you had better give up staring." + +"Staring? I never stared at you or anyone else, in my life!" + +"Stupid Morris! By staring I mean star-gazing, and by star-gazing I +mean trying to get away from the earth--in your mind, you know." + +Morris ran his fingers through his untidy hair and opened his lips to +answer. + +"Don't contradict me," she interrupted in a full steady voice. "That's +what you are thinking of half the day, and dreaming about all the +night." + +"What's that?" he ejaculated. + +"I don't know," she answered, with a sudden access of indifference. +"Do you know yourself?" + +"I am waiting for instruction," said Morris, sarcastically. + +"All right, then, I'll try. I mean that you are not satisfied with +this world and those of us who live here. You keep trying to fashion +another--oh! yes, you have been at it from a boy, you see I have got a +good memory, I remember all your 'vision stories'--and then you try to +imagine its inhabitants." + +"Well," said Morris, with the sullen air of a convicted criminal, +"without admitting one word of this nonsense, what if I do?" + +"Only that you had better look out that you don't /find/ whatever it +is you seek. It's a horrible mistake to be so spiritual, at least in +that kind of way. You should eat and drink, and sleep ten hours as I +do, and not go craving for vision till you can see, and praying for +power until you can create." + +"See! Create! Who? What?" + +"The inhabitant, or inhabitants. Just think, you may have been +building her up all this time, imagination by imagination, and thought +by thought. Then her day might come, and all that you have put out +piecemeal will return at once. Yes, she may appear, and take you, and +possess you, and lead you----" + +"She? Why she? and where?" + +"To the devil, I imagine," answered Mary composedly, "and as you are a +man one can guess the guide's sex. It's getting dark, let us go out. +This is such a creepy place in the dark that it actually makes me +understand what people mean by nerves. And, Morris, of course you +understand that I have only been talking rubbish. I always liked +inventing fairy tales; you taught me; only this one is too grown up-- +disagreeable. What I really mean is that I do think it might be a good +thing if you wouldn't live quite so much alone, and would go out a bit +more. You are getting quite an odd look on your face; you are indeed, +not like other men at all. I believe that it comes from your worrying +about this wretched invention until you are half crazy over the thing. +Any change there?" + +He shook his head. "No, I can't find the right alloy--not one that can +be relied upon. I begin to doubt whether it exists." + +"Why don't you give it up--for a while at any rate?" + +"I have. I made a novel kind of electrical hand-saw this spring, and +sold the patent for 100 pounds and a royalty. There's commercial +success for you, and now I am at work on a new lamp of which I have +the idea." + +"I am uncommonly glad to hear it," said Mary with energy. "And, I say, +Morris, you are not offended at my silly parables, are you? You know +what I mean." + +"Not a bit. I think it is very kind of you to worry your head about an +impossible fellow like me. And look here, Mary, I have done some +dreaming in my time, it is true, for so far the world has been a place +of tribulation to me, and it is sick hearts that dream. But I mean to +give it up, for I know as well as you do that there is only one end to +all these systems of mysticism." Mary looked up. + +"I mean," he went on, correcting himself, "to the mad attempt unduly +and prematurely to cultivate our spiritual natures that we may live to +and for them, and not to and for our natural bodies." + +"Exactly my argument, put into long words," said Mary. "There will be +plenty of time for that when we get down among those old gentlemen +yonder--a year or two hence, you know. Meanwhile, let us take the +world as we find it. It isn't a bad place, after all, at times, and +there are several things worth doing for those who are not too lazy. + +"Good-bye, I must be off; my bicycle is there against the railings. +Oh, how I hate that machine! Now, listen, Morris; do you want to do +something really useful, and earn the blessings of an affectionate +relative? Then invent a really reliable electrical bike, that would +look nice and do all the work, so that I could sit on it comfortably +and get to a place without my legs aching as though I had broken them, +and a red face, and no breath left in my body." + +"I will think about it," he said; "indeed, I have thought of it +already but the accumulators are the trouble." + +"Then go on thinking, there's an angel; think hard and continually +until you evolve that blessed instrument of progression. I say, I +haven't a lamp." + +"I'll lend you mine," suggested Morris. + +"No; other people's lamps always go out with me, and so do my own, for +that matter. I'll risk it; I know the policeman, and if we meet I will +argue with him. Good-bye; don't forget we are coming to dinner +to-morrow night. It's a party, isn't it?" + +"I believe so." + +"What a bore, I must unpack my London dresses. Well, good-bye again." + +"Good-bye, dear," answered Morris, and she was gone. + +"'Dear,'" thought Mary to herself; "he hasn't called me that since I +was sixteen. I wonder why he does it now? Because I have been scolding +him, I suppose; that generally makes men affectionate." + +For a while she glided forward through the grey twilight, and then +began to think again, muttering to herself: + +"You idiot, Mary, why should you be pleased because he called you +'dear'? He doesn't really care two-pence about you; his blood goes no +quicker when you pass by and no slower when you stay away. Why do you +bother about him? and what made you talk all that stuff this +afternoon? Because you think he is in a queer way, and that if he goes +on giving himself up to his fancies he will become mad--yes, mad-- +because--Oh! what's the use of making excuses--because you are fond of +him, and always have been fond of him from a child, and can't help it. +What a fate! To be fond of a man who hasn't the heart to care for you +or for any other woman. Perhaps, however, that's only because he +hasn't found the right one, as he might do at any time, and then----" + +"Where are you going to, and where's your light?" shouted a hoarse +voice from the pathway on which she was unlawfully riding. + +"My good man, I wish I knew," answered Mary, blandly. + + + +Morris, for whom the day never seemed long enough, was a person who +breakfasted punctually at half-past eight, whereas Colonel Monk, to +whom--at any rate at Monksland--the day was often too long, generally +breakfasted at ten. To his astonishment, however, on entering the +dining-room upon the morrow of his interview in the workshop with +Mary, he found his father seated at the head of the table. + +"This means a 'few words' with me about something disagreeable," +thought Morris to himself as he dabbed viciously at an evasive +sausage. He was not fond of these domestic conversations. Nor was he +in the least reassured by his father's airy and informed comments upon +the contents of the "Globe," which always arrived by post, and the +marvel of its daily "turnover" article, whereof the perpetual variety +throughout the decades constituted, the Colonel was wont to say, the +eighth wonder of the world. Instinct, instructed by experience, +assured him that these were but the first moves in the game. + +Towards the end of the meal he attempted retreat, pretending that he +wanted to fetch something, but the Colonel, who was watching him over +the top of the pink page of the "Globe," intervened promptly. + +"If you have a few minutes to spare, my dear boy, I should like to +have a chat with you," he said. + +"Certainly, father," answered the dutiful Morris; "I am at your +service." + +"Very good; then I will light my cigar, and we might take a stroll on +the beach, that is, after I have seen the cook about the dinner +to-night. Perhaps I shall find you presently by the steps." + +"I will wait for you there," answered Morris. And wait he did, for a +considerable while, for the interview with the cook proved lengthy. +Moreover, the Colonel was not a punctual person, or one who set an +undue value upon his own or other people's time. At length, just as +Morris was growing weary of the pristine but enticing occupation of +making ducks and drakes with flat pebbles, his father appeared. After +"salutations," as they say in the East, he wasted ten more minutes in +abusing the cook, ending up with a direct appeal for his son's +estimate of her capacities. + +"She might be better and she might be worse," answered Morris, +judicially. + +"Quite so," replied the Colonel, drily; "the remark is sound and +applies to most things. At present, however, I think that she is +worse; also I hate the sight of her fat red face. But bother the cook, +why do you think so much about her; I have something else to say." + +"I don't think," said Morris. "She doesn't excite me one way or the +other, except when she is late with my breakfast." + +Then, as he expected, after the cook came the crisis. + +"You will remember, my dear boy," began the Colonel, affectionately, +"a little talk we had a while ago." + +"Which one, father?" + +"The last of any importance, I believe. I refer to the occasion when +you stopped out all night contemplating the sea; an incident which +impressed it upon my memory." + +Morris looked at him. Why was the old gentleman so inconveniently +observant? + +"And doubtless you remember the subject?" + +"There were a good many subjects, father; they ranged from mortgages +to matrimony." + +"Quite so, to matrimony. Well, have you thought any more about it?" + +"Not particularly, father. Why should I?" + +"Confound it, Morris," exclaimed the Colonel, losing patience; "don't +chop logic like a petty sessions lawyer. Let's come to the point." + +"That is my desire," answered Morris; and quite clearly there rose up +before him an inconsequent picture of his mother teaching him the +Catechism many, many years ago. Thereat, as was customary with his +mind when any memory of her touched it, his temper softened like iron +beneath the influence of fire. + +"Very good, then what do you think of Mary as a wife?" + +"How should I know under the circumstances?" + +The Colonel fumed, and Morris added, "I beg your pardon, I understand +what you mean." + +Then his father came to the charge. + +"To be brief, will you marry her?" + +"Will she marry me?" asked Morris. "Isn't she too sensible?" + +His father's eye twinkled, but he restrained himself. This, he felt, +was not an occasion upon which to indulge his powers of sarcasm. + +"Upon my word, if you want my opinion, I believe she will; but you +have to ask her first. Look here, my boy, be advised by me, and do it +as soon as possible. The notion is rather new to me, I admit; but, +taking her all round, where would you find a better woman? You and I +don't always agree about things; we are of a different generation, and +look at the world from different standpoints. But I think that at the +bottom we respect each other, and I am sure," he added with a touch of +restrained dignity, "that we are naturally and properly attached to +each other. Under these circumstances, and taking everything else into +consideration, I am convinced also that you will give weight to my +advice. I assure you that I do not offer it lightly. It is that you +should marry your cousin Mary." + +"There is her side of the case to be considered," suggested Morris. + +"Doubtless, and she is a very shrewd and sensible young woman under +all her 'dolce far niente' air, who is quite capable of +consideration." + +"I am not worthy of her," his son broke in passionately. + +"That is for her to decide. I ask you to give her an opportunity of +expressing an opinion." + +Morris looked at the sea and sky, then he looked at his father +standing before him in an attitude that was almost suppliant, with +head bowed, hands clasped, and on his clear-cut face an air of real +sincerity. What right had he to resist this appeal? He was heart- +whole, without any kind of complication, and for his cousin Mary he +had true affection and respect. Moreover, they had been brought up +together. She understood him, and in the midst of so much that was +uncertain and bewildering she seemed something genuine and solid, +something to which a man could cling. It may not have been a right +spirit in which to approach this question of marriage, but in the case +of a young man like Morris, who was driven forward by no passion, by +no scheme even of personal advancement, this substitution of reason +for impulse and instinct was perhaps natural. + +"Very well, I will," he answered; "but if she is wise, she won't." + +His father turned his head away and sighed softly, and that sigh +seemed to lift a ton's weight off his heart. + +"I am glad to hear it," he answered simply, "the rest must settle +itself. By the way, if you are going up to the house, tell the cook +that I have changed my mind, we will have the soles fried with lemon; +she always makes a mess of them 'au maitre d'hotel.'" + + + + CHAPTER V + + A PROPOSAL AND A PROMISE + +Although it consisted of but a dozen people, the dinner-party at the +Abbey that night was something of a function. To begin with, the old +refectory, with its stone columns and arches still standing as they +were in the pre-Reformation days, lit with cunningly-arranged and +shaded electric lights designed and set up by Morris, was an +absolutely ideal place in which to dine. Then, although the Monk +family were impoverished, they still retained the store of plate +accumulated by past generations. Much of this silver was old and very +beautiful, and when set out upon the great side-boards produced an +affect well suited to that chamber and its accessories. The company +also was pleasant and presentable. There were the local baronet and +his wife; the two beauties of the neighbourhood, Miss Jane Rose and +Miss Eliza Layard, with their respective belongings; the clergyman of +the parish, a Mr. Tomley, who was leaving the county for the north of +England on account of his wife's health; and a clever and rising young +doctor from the county town. These, with Mr. Porson and his daughter, +made up the number who upon this particular night with every intention +of enjoying themselves, sat down to that rather rare entertainment in +Monksland, a dinner-party. + +Colonel Monk had himself very carefully placed the guests. As a +result, Morris, to whose lot it had fallen to take in the wealthy Miss +Layard, a young lady of handsome but somewhat ill-tempered +countenance, found himself at the foot of the oblong table with his +partner on one side and his cousin on the other. Mary, who was +conducted to her seat by Mr. Layard, the delicate brother, an +insignificant, pallid-looking specimen of humanity, for reasons of her +own, not unconnected perhaps with the expected presence of the Misses +Layard and Rose, had determined to look and dress her best that night. +She wore a robe of some rich white silk, tight fitting and cut rather +low, and upon her neck a single row of magnificent diamonds. The +general effect of her sheeny dress, snow-like skin, and golden, waving +hair, as she glided into the shaded room, suggested to Morris's mind a +great white lily floating down the quiet water of some dark stream, +and, when presently the light fell on her, a vision of a silver, mist- +laden star lying low upon the ocean at the break of dawn. Later, after +she became acquainted with these poetical imaginings, Mary +congratulated herself and her maid very warmly on the fact that she +had actually summoned sufficient energy to telegraph to town for this +particular dress. + +Of the other ladies present, Miss Layard was arrayed in a hot-looking +red garment, which she imagined would suit her dark eyes and +complexion. Miss Rose, on the contrary, had come out in the virginal +style of muslin and blue bows, whereof the effect, unhappily, was +somewhat marred by a fiery complexion, acquired as the result of three +days' violent play at a tennis tournament. To this unfortunate +circumstance Miss Layard, who had her own views of Miss Rose, was not +slow in calling attention. + +"What has happened to poor Jane?" she said, addressing Mary. "She +looks as though she had been red-ochred down to her shoulders." + +"Who is poor Jane?" asked that young lady languidly. "Oh! you mean +Miss Rose. I know, she has been playing in that tennis tournament at-- +what's the name of the place? Dad would drive me there this afternoon, +and it made me quite hot to look at her, jumping and running and +hitting for hour after hour. But she's awfully good at it; she won the +prize. Don't you envy anybody who can win a prize at a tennis +tournament, Miss Layard?" + +"No," she answered sharply, for Miss Layard did not shine at Tennis. +"I dislike women who go about what my brother calls 'pot-hunting' just +as if they were professionals." + +"Oh, do you? I admire them. It must be so nice to be able to do +anything well, even if it's only lawn tennis. It's the poor failures +like myself for whom I am so sorry." + +"I don't admire anybody who can come to out to a dinner party with a +head and neck like that," retorted Eliza. + +"Why not? You can't burn, and that should make you more charitable. +And I tie myself up in veils and umbrellas, which is absurd. Besides, +what does it matter? You see, it is different with most of us; Miss +Rose is so good-looking that she can afford herself these little +luxuries." + +"That is a matter of opinion," replied Miss Layard. + +"Oh! I don't think so; at least, the opinion is all one way. Don't you +think Miss Rose beautiful, Mr. Layard?" she said, turning to her +companion. + +"Ripping," said that gentleman, with emphasis. "But I wish she +wouldn't beat one at tennis; it is an insult to the stronger sex." + +Mary looked at him reflectively. His sister looked at him also. + +"And I am sure that you think her beautiful, don't you, Morris?" went +on the imperturbable Mary. + +"Certainly, of course; lovely," he replied, with a vacuous stare at +the elderly wife of the baronet. + +"There, Miss Layard, now you collect the opinions of the gentlemen all +along your side." And Mary turned away, ostensibly to talk to her +cavalier; but really to find out what could possibly interest Morris +so deeply in the person or conversation of Lady Jones. + +Lady Jones was talking across the table to Mr. Tomley, the departing +rector, a benevolent-looking person, with a broad forehead adorned +like that of Father Time by a single lock of snowy hair. + +"And so you are really going to the far coast of Northumberland, Mr. +Tomley, to exchange livings with the gentleman with the odd name? How +brave of you!" + +Mr. Tomley smiled assent, adding: "You can imagine what a blow it is +to me, Lady Jones, to separate myself from my dear parishioners and +friends"--here he eyed the Colonel, with whom he had waged a continual +war during his five years of residence in the parish, and added: "But +we must all give way to the cause of duty and the necessities of +health. Mrs. Tomley says that this part of the country does not agree +with her, and is quite convinced that unless she is taken back to her +native Northumberland air the worst may be expected." + +"I fancy that it has arrived in that poor man's case," thought Mary to +herself. Lady Jones, who also knew Mrs. Tomley and the power of her +tongue, nodded her head sympathetically and said: + +"Of course, of course. A wife's health must be the first consideration +of every good man. But isn't it rather lonely up there, Mr. Tomley?" + +"Lonely, Lady Jones?" the clergyman replied with energy, and shaking +his white lock. "I assure you that the place is a howling desert; a +great moor behind, and the great sea in front, and some rocks and the +church between the two. That's about all, but my wife likes it because +she used to stay at the rectory when she was a little girl. Her uncle +was the incumbent there. She declares that she has never been well +since she left the parish." + +"And what did you say is the name of the present inhabitant of this +earthly paradise, the man with whom you have exchanged?" interrupted +the Colonel. + +"Fregelius--the Reverend Peter Fregelius." + +"What an exceedingly odd name! Is he an Englishman?" + +"Yes; but I think that his father was a Dane, and he married a Danish +lady." + +"Indeed! Is she living?" + +"Oh, no. She died a great many years ago. The old gentleman has only +one child left--a girl." + +"What is her name?" asked someone idly, in a break of the general +conversation, so that everybody paused to listen to his reply. + +"Stella--Stella Fregelius; a very unusual girl." + +Then the conversation broke out again with renewed vigour, and all +that those at Morris's end of the table could catch were snatches such +as: "Wonderful eyes"; "Independent young person"; "Well read and +musical"; "Oh, yes! poor as church mice, that's why he accepted my +offer." + +At this point the Doctor began a rather vehement argument with Mr. +Porson as to the advisability of countervailing duties to force +foreign nations to abandon the sugar bounties, and no more was heard +of Mr. Tomley and his plans. + +On the whole, Mary enjoyed that dinner-party. Miss Layard, somewhat +sore after her first encounter, attempted to retaliate later. + +But by this time Mary's argumentative energy had evaporated. +Therefore, adroitly appealing to Mr. Layard to take her part, she +retired from the fray till, seeing that it grew acrimonious, for this +brother and sister did not love each other, she pretended to hear no +more. + +"Have you been stopping out all night again and staring at the sea, +Morris?" she inquired; "because I understand it is a habit of yours. +You seem so sleepy. I know that I must have looked just like you when +that old political gentleman took me in to dinner, and I made an +exhibition of myself." + +"What was that?" asked Morris. + +So she told him the story of her unlawful slumbers, and so amusingly +that he burst out laughing and remained in an excellent mood for the +rest of the feast, or at any rate until the ladies had departed. After +this event once more he became somewhat silent and distant. + +It was not wonderful. To most men, except the very experienced, +proposals are terrifying ordeals, and Morris had made up his mind, if +he could find a chance, to propose to Mary that night. The thing was +to be done, so the sooner he did it the better. + +Then it would be over, one way or the other. Besides, and this was +strange and opportune enough, never had he felt so deeply and truly +attracted to Mary. Whether it was because her soft, indolent beauty +showed at its best this evening in that gown and setting, or because +her conversation, with its sub-acid tinge of kindly humour amused him, +or--and this seemed more probable--because her whole attitude towards +himself was so gentle and so full of sweet benevolence, he could not +say. At any rate, this remained true, she attracted him more than any +woman he had ever met, and sincerely he hoped and prayed that when he +asked her to be his wife she might find it in her heart to say Yes. + +The rest of the entertainment resembled that of most country dinner- +parties. Conducted to the piano by the Colonel, who understood music +very well, the talented ladies of the party, including Miss Rose, sang +songs with more or less success, while Miss Layard criticised, Mary +was appreciative, and the men talked. At length the local baronet's +wife looked at the local baronet, who thereupon asked leave to order +the carriage. This example the rest of the company followed in quick +succession until all were gone except Mr. Porson and his daughter. + +"Well, my dear," said Mr. Porson, "I suppose that we had better be off +too, or you won't get your customary nine hours." + +Mary yawned slightly and assented, asserting that she had utterly +exhausted herself in defending Miss Rose from the attacks of her +rival, Miss Layard. + +"No, no," broke in the Colonel, "come and have a smoke first, John. +I've got that old map of the property unrolled on purpose to show you, +and I don't want to keep it about, for it fills up the whole place. +Morris will look after Mary for half an hour, I daresay." + +"Certainly," said Morris, but the heart within him sank to the level +of his dress-shoes. Here was the opportunity for which he had wished, +but as he could not be called a forward, or even a pushing lover, he +was alarmed at its very prompt arrival. This answer to his prayers was +somewhat too swift and thorough. There is a story of an enormously fat +old Boer who was seated on the veld with his horse at his side, when +suddenly a band of armed natives rushed to attack him. "Oh, God, +help!" he cried in his native /taal/, as he prepared to heave his huge +form into the saddle. Having thus invoked divine assistance, this +Dutch Falstaff went at the task with such a will that in a trice he +found himself not on the horse, but over it, lying upon his back, +indeed, among the grasses. "O God!" that deluded burgher exclaimed, +reproachfully, as the Kaffirs came up and speared him, "Thou hast +helped a great deal too much!" + +At this moment Morris felt very much like this stout but simple +dweller in the wilderness. He would have preferred to coquet with the +enemy for a while from the safety of his saddle. But Providence willed +it otherwise. + +"Won't you come out, Mary?" he said, with the courage which inspires +men in desperate situations. He felt that it would be impossible to +say those words with the electric lights looking at him like so many +eyes. The thought of it, even, made him warm all over. + +"I don't know; it depends. Is there anything comfortable to sit on?" + +"The deck chair," he suggested. + +"That sounds nice. I have slumbered for hours in deck chairs. Look, +there's a fur rug on that sofa, and here's my white cape; now you get +your coat, and I'll come." + +"Thank you, no; I don't want any coat; I am hot enough already." + +Mary turned and looked him up and down with her wondering blue eyes. + +"Do you really think it safe," she said, "to expose yourself to all +sorts of unknown dangers in this unprotected condition?" + +"Of course," he answered. "I am not afraid of the night air even in +October." + +"Very well, very well, Morris," she went on, and there was meaning in +her voice; "then whatever happens don't blame me. It's so easy to be +rash and thoughtless and catch a chill, and then you may become an +invalid for life, or die, you know. One can't get rid of it again--at +least, not often." + +Morris looked at her with a puzzled air, and stepped through the +window which he had opened, on to the lawn, whither, with a quaint +little shrug of her shoulders, Mary followed him, muttering to +herself: + +"Now if he takes cold, it won't be /my/ fault." Then she stopped, +clasped her hands, and said, "Oh! what a lovely night. I am glad that +we came out here." + +She was right, it was indeed lovely. High in the heavens floated a +bright half-moon, across whose face the little white-edged clouds +drifted in quick succession, throwing their gigantic shadows to the +world beneath. All silver was the sleeping sea where the moonlight +fell upon it, and when this was eclipsed, then it was all jet. To the +right and left, up to the very borders of the cliff, lay the soft +wreaths of roke or land-fog, covering the earth as with a cloak of +down, but pierced here and there by the dim and towering shapes of +trees. Yet although these curling wreaths of mist hung on the edges of +the cliff like white water about to fall, they never fell, since clear +to the sight, though separated from them by a gulf of translucent +blackness, lay the yellow belt of sand up which, inch by inch, the +tide was creeping. + +And the air--no wind stirred it, though the wind was at work aloft--it +was still and bright as crystal, and crisp and cold as new-iced wine, +for the first autumn frost was falling. + +They stood for a few moments looking at all these wonderful beauties +of the mysterious night--which dwellers in the country so rarely +appreciate, because to them they are common, daily things--and +listening to the soft, long-drawn murmuring of the sea upon the +shingle. Then they went forward to the edge of the cliff, but although +Morris threw the fur rug over it Mary did not seat herself in the +comfortable-looking deck chair. Her desire for repose had departed. +She preferred to lean upon the low grey wall in whose crannies grew +lichens, tiny ferns, and, in their season, harebells and wallflowers. +Morris came and leant at her side; for a while they both stared at the +sea. + +"Pray, are you making up poetry?" she inquired at last. + +"Why do you ask such silly questions?" he answered, not without +indignation. + +"Because you keep muttering to yourself, and I thought that you were +trying to get the lines to scan. Also the sea, and the sky, and the +night suggest poetry, don't they?" + +Morris turned his head and looked at her. + +"/You/ suggest it," he said, with desperate earnestness, "in all that +shining white, especially when the moon goes in. Then you look like a +beautiful spirit new lit upon the edge of the world." + +At first Mary was pleased, the compliment was obvious, and, coming +from Morris, great. She had never heard him say so much as that +before. Then she thought an instant, and the echo of the word "spirit" +came back to her mind, and jarred upon it with a little sudden shock. +Even when he had a lovely woman at his side must his fancy be +wandering to these unearthly denizens and similes. + +"Please, Morris," she said almost sharply, "do not compare me to a +spirit. I am a woman, nothing more, and if it is not enough that I +should be a woman, then----" she paused, to add, "I beg your pardon, I +know you meant to be nice, but once I had a friend who went in for +spirits--table-turning ones I mean--with very bad results, and I +detest the name of them." + +Morris took this rebuff better than might have been expected. + +"Would you object if one ventured to call you an angel?" he asked. + +"Not if the word was used in a terrestrial sense. It excites a vision +of possibilities, and the fib is so big that anyone must pardon it." + +"Very well, then; I call you that." + +"Thank you, I should be delighted to return the compliment. Can you +think of any celestial definition appropriate to a young gentleman +with dark eyes?" + +"Oh! Mary, please stop making fun of me," said Morris, with something +like a groan. + +"Why?" she asked innocently. "Besides I wasn't making fun. It's only +my way of carrying on conversation; they taught it me at school, you +know." + +Morris made no answer; in fact, he did not know what on earth to say, +or rather how to find the fitting words. After all, it was an accident +and not his own intelligence that freed him from his difficulty. Mary +moved a little, causing the white cloak, which was unfastened, to slip +from her shoulders. Morris put out his hand to catch it, and met her +hand. In another instant he had thrown his arm round her, drawn her to +him, and kissed her on the lips. Then, abashed at what he had done, he +let her go and picked up the cloak. + +"Might I ask?" began Mary in her usual sweet, low tones. Then her +voice broke, and her blue eyes filled with tears. + +"I beg your pardon; I am a brute," began Morris, utterly abased by the +sight of these tears, which glimmered like pearls in the moonlight, +"but, of course, you know what I mean." + +Mary shook her head vacantly. Apparently she could not trust herself +to speak. + +"Dear, will you take me?" + +She made no answer; only, after pausing for some few seconds as though +lost in thought, with a little action more eloquent than any speech, +she leant herself ever so slightly towards him. + +Afterwards, as she lay in his arms, words came to him readily enough: + +"I am not worth your having," he said. "I know I am an odd fellow, not +like other men; my very failings have not been the same as other +men's. For instance--before heaven it is true--you are the first woman +whom I ever kissed, as I swear to you that you shall be the last. +Then, what else am I? A failure in the very work that I have chosen, +and the heir to a bankrupt property! Oh! it is not fair; I have no +right to ask you!" + +"I think it quite fair, and here I am the judge, Morris." Then, +sentence by sentence, she went on, not all at once, but with breaks +and pauses. + +"You asked me just now if I loved you, and I told you--Yes. But you +did not ask me when I began to love you. I will tell you all the same. +I can't remember a time when I didn't; no, not since I was a little +girl. It was you who grew away from me, not me from you, when you took +to studying mysticism and aerophones, and were repelled by all women, +myself included." + +"I know, I know," he said. "Don't remind me of my dead follies. Some +things are born in the blood." + +"Quite so, and they remain in the bone. I understand. Morris, unless +you maltreat me wilfully--which I am sure you would never do--I shall +always understand." + +"What are you afraid of?" he asked in a shaken voice. "I feel that you +are afraid." + +"Oh, one or two things; that you might overwork yourself, for +instance. Or, lest you should find that after all you are more human +than you imagine, and be taken possession of by some strange Stella +coming out of nowhere." + +"What do you mean, and why do you use that name?" he said amazed. + +"What I say, dear. As for that name, I heard it accidentally at table +to-night, and it came to my lips--of itself. It seemed to typify what +I meant, and to suggest a wandering star--such as men like you are +fond of following." + +"Upon my honour," said Morris, "I will do none of these things." + +"If you can help it, you will do none of them. I know it well enough. +I hope and believe that there will never be a shadow between us while +we live. But, Morris, I take you, risks and all, because it has been +my chance to love you and nobody else. Otherwise, I should think +twice; but love doesn't stop at risks." + +"What have I done to deserve this?" groaned Morris. + +"I cannot see. I should very much like to know," replied Mary, with a +touch of her old humour. + +It was at this moment that Colonel Monk, happening to come round the +corner of the house, walking on the grass, and followed by Mr. Porson, +saw a sight which interested him. With one hand he pointed it out to +Porson, at the same moment motioning him to silence with the other. +Then, taking his brother-in-law by the arm, he dragged him back round +the corner of the house. + +"They make a pretty picture there in the moonlight, don't they, John, +my boy?" he said. "Come, we had better go back into the study and talk +over matters till they have done. Even the warmth of their emotions +won't keep out the night air for ever." + + + + CHAPTER VI + + THE GOOD OLD DAYS + +For the next month, or, to be accurate, the next five weeks, +everything went merrily at Monk's Abbey. It was as though some cloud +had been lifted off the place and those who dwelt therein. No longer +did the Colonel look solemn when he came down in the morning, and no +longer was he cross after he had read his letters. Now his interviews +with the steward in the study were neither prolonged nor anxious; +indeed, that functionary emerged thence on Saturday mornings with a +shining countenance, drying the necessary cheque, heretofore so +difficult to extract, by waving it ostentatiously in the air. Lastly, +the Colonel did not seem to be called upon to make such frequent +visits to his man of business, and to tarry at the office of the bank +manager in Northwold. Once there was a meeting, but, contrary to the +general custom, the lawyer and the banker came to see him in company, +and stopped to luncheon. At this meal, moreover, the three of them +appeared to be in the best of spirits. + +Morris noted all these things in his quiet, observant way, and from +them drew certain conclusions of his own. But he shrank from making +inquiries, nor did the Colonel offer any confidences. After all, why +should he, who had never meddled with his father's business, choose +this moment to explore it, especially as he knew from previous +experience that such investigations would not be well received? It was +one of the Colonel's peculiarities to keep his affairs to himself +until they grew so bad that circumstances forced him to seek the +counsel or the aid of others. Still, Morris could well guess from what +mine the money was digged that caused so comfortable a change in their +circumstances, and the solution of this mystery gave him little joy. +Cash in consideration of an unconcluded marriage; that was how it +read. To his sensitive nature the transaction seemed one of doubtful +worth. + +However, no one else appeared to be troubled, if, indeed, these things +existed elsewhere than in his own imagination. This, Morris admitted, +was possible, for their access of prosperity might, after all, be no +more than a resurrection of credit, vivified by the news of his +engagement with the only child of a man known to be wealthy. His uncle +Porson, with a solemnity that was almost touching, had bestowed upon +Mary and himself a jerky but earnest blessing before he drove home on +the night of the dinner-party. He went so far, indeed, as to kiss them +both; an example which the Colonel followed with a more finished but +equally heartfelt grace. + +Now his uncle John beamed upon him daily like the noonday sun. Also he +began to take him into his confidence, and consult him as to the +erection of houses, affairs of business, and investments. In the +course of these interviews Morris was astonished, not to say dismayed, +to discover how large were the sums of money as to the disposal of +which he was expected to express opinions. + +"You see, it will all be yours, my boy," said Mr. Porson one day, in +explanation; "so it is best that you should know something of these +affairs. Yes, it will all be yours, before very long," and he sighed. + +"I trust that I shall have nothing to do with it for many years," +blurted out Morris. + +"Say months, say months," answered his uncle, stretching out his hands +as though to push something from him. Then, to all appearances +overcome by a sudden anguish, physical or mental, he turned and +hurried from the room. + +Taking them all together, those five weeks were the happiest that +Morris had ever known. No longer was he profoundly dissatisfied with +things in general, no longer ravaged by that desire of the moth for +the star which in some natures is almost a disease. His outlook upon +the world was healthier and more hopeful; for the first time he saw +its wholesome, joyous side. Had he failed to do so, indeed, he must +have been a very strange man, for he had much to make the poorest +heart rejoice. + +Thus Mary, always a charming woman, since her engagement had become +absolutely delightful; witter, more wideawake, more beautiful. Morris +could look forward to the years to be spent in her company not only +without misgiving, but with a confidence that a while ago he would +have thought impossible. Moreover, as good fortunes never come singly, +his were destined to be multiplied. It was in those days after so many +years of search and unfruitful labour that at last he discovered a +clue which in the end resulted in the perfection of the instrument +that was the parent of the aerophone of commerce, and gave him a name +among the inventors of the century which will not easily be forgotten. + +Strangely enough it was Morris's good genius, Mary, who suggested the +substance, or, rather, the mixture of substances, whereof that portion +of the aerophone was finally constructed which is still known as the +Monk Sound Waves Receiver. Whether, as she alleged, she made this +discovery by pure accident, or whether, as seems possible, she had +thought the problem out in her own feminine fashion with results that +proved excellent, does not matter in the least. The issue remains the +same. An apparatus which before would work only on rare occasions--and +then without any certitude--between people in the highest state of +sympathy or nervous excitement, has now been brought to such a stage +of perfection that by its means anybody can talk to anybody, even if +their interests are antagonistic, or their personal enmity bitter. + +After the first few experiments with this new material Morris was not +slow to discover that although it would need long and careful testing +and elaboration, for him it meant, in the main, the realisation of his +great dream, and success after years of failure. And--that was the +strange part of it--this realisation and success he owed to no effort +of his own, but to some chance suggestion made by Mary. He told her +this, and thanked her as a man thanks one through whom he has found +salvation. In answer she merely laughed, saying that she was nothing +but the wire along which a happy inspiration had reached his brain, +and that more than this she neither wished, nor hoped, nor was capable +of being. + +Then suddenly on this happy, tranquil atmosphere which wrapped them +about--like the sound of a passing bell at a child's feast--floated +the first note of impending doom and death. + +The autumn held fine and mild, and Mary, who had been lunching at the +Abbey, was playing croquet with Morris upon the side lawn. This game +was the only one for which she chanced to care, perhaps because it did +not involve much exertion. Morris, who engaged in the pastime with the +same earnestness that he gave to every other pursuit in which he +happened to be interested, was, as might be expected, getting the best +of the encounter. + +"Won't you take a couple of bisques, dear?" he asked affectionately, +after a while. "I don't like always beating you by such a lot." + +"I'd die first," she answered; "bisques are the badge of advertised +inferiority and a mark of the giver's contempt." + +"Stuff!" said Morris. + +"Stuff, indeed! As though it wasn't bad enough to be beaten at all; +but to be beaten with bisques!" + +"That's another argument," said Morris. "First you say you are too +proud to accept them, and next that you won't accept them because it +is worse to be defeated with points than without them." + +"Anyway, if you had the commonest feelings of humanity you wouldn't +beat me," replied Mary, adroitly shifting her ground for the third +time. + +"How can I help it if you won't have the bisques?" + +"How? By pretending that you were doing your best, and letting me win +all the same, of course; though if I caught you at it I should be +furious. But what's the use of trying to teach a blunt creature like +you tact? My dear Morris, I assure you I do not believe that your +efforts at deception would take in the simplest-minded cow. Why, even +Dad sees through you, and the person who can't impose upon my Dad----. +Oh!" she added, suddenly, in a changed voice, "there is George coming +through the gate. Something has happened to my father. Look at his +face, Morris; look at his face!" + +In another moment the footman stood before them. + +"Please, miss, the master," he began, and hesitated. + +"Not dead?" said Mary, in a slow, quiet voice. "Do not say that he is +dead!" + +"No, miss, but he has had a stroke of the heart or something, and the +doctor thought you had better be fetched, so I have brought the +carriage." + +"Come with me, Morris," she said, as, dropping the croquet mallet, she +flew rather than ran to the brougham. + +Ten minutes later they were at Seaview. In the hall they met Mr. +Charters, the doctor. Why was he leaving? Because---- + +"No, no," he said, answering their looks; "the danger is past. He +seems almost as well as ever." + +"Thank God!" stammered Mary. Then a thought struck her, and she looked +up sharply and asked, "Will it come back again?" + +"Yes," was his straightforward answer. + +"When?" + +"From time to time, at irregular periods. But in its fatal shape, as I +hope, not for some years." + +"The verdict might have been worse, dear," said Morris. + +"Yes, yes, but to think that /it/ has passed so near to him, and he +quite alone at the time. Morris," she went on, turning to him with an +energy that was almost fierce, "if you won't have my father to live +with us, I won't marry you. Do you understand?" + +"Perfectly, dear, you leave no room for misconception. By all means +let him live with us--if he can get on with my father," he added +meaningly. + +"Ah!" she replied, "I never thought of that. Also I should not have +spoken so roughly, but I have had such a shock that I feel inclined to +treat you like--like--a toad under a harrow. So please be sympathetic, +and don't misunderstand me, or I don't know what I shall say." Then by +way of making amends, Mary put her arms round his neck and gave him a +kiss "all of her own accord," saying, "Morris, I am afraid--I am +afraid. I feel as if our good time was done." + +After this the servant came to say that she might go up to her +father's room, and that scene of our drama was at an end. + +Mr. Porson owned a villa at Beaulieu, in the south of France, which he +had built many years before as a winter house for his wife, whose +chest was weak. Here he was in the habit of spending the spring +months, more, perhaps, because of the associations which the place +possessed for him than of any affection for foreign lands. Now, +however, after this last attack, three doctors in consultation +announced that it would be well for him to escape from the fogs and +damp of England. So to Beaulieu he was ordered. + +This decree caused consternation in various quarters. Mr. Porson did +not wish to go; Mary and Morris were cast down for simple and +elementary reasons; and Colonel Monk found this change of plan--it had +been arranged that the Porsons should stop at Seaview till the New +Year, which was to be the day of the marriage--inconvenient, and, +indeed, disturbing. Once those young people were parted, reflected the +Colonel in his wisdom, who could tell what might or might not happen? + +In this difficulty he found an inspiration. Why should not the wedding +take place at once? Very diplomatically he sounded his brother-in-law, +to find that he had no opposition to fear in this quarter provided +that Mary and her husband would join him at Beaulieu after a week or +two of honeymoon. Then he spoke to Morris, who was delighted with the +idea. For Morris had come to the conclusion that the marriage state +would be better and more satisfactory than one of prolonged +engagement. + +It only remained, therefore, to obtain the consent of Mary, which +would perhaps, have been given without much difficulty had her uncle +been content to leave his son or Mr. Porson to ask it of her. As it +chanced, this he was not willing to do. Porson, he was sure, would at +once give way should his daughter raise any objection, and in Morris's +tact and persuasive powers the Colonel had no faith. + +In the issue, confident in his own diplomatic abilities, he determined +to manage the affair himself and to speak to his niece. The mistake +was grave, for whereas she was as wax to her father or her lover, +something in her uncle's manner, or it may have been his very +personality, always aroused in Mary a spirit of opposition. On this +occasion, too, that manner was not fortunate, for he put the proposal +before her as a thing already agreed upon by all concerned, and one to +which her consent was asked as a mere matter of form. + +Instantly Mary became antagonistic. She pretended not to understand; +she asked for reasons and explanations. Finally, she announced in idle +words, beneath which ran a current of determination, that neither her +father nor Morris could really wish this hurried marriage, since had +they done so one or other of them would have spoken to her on the +subject. When pressed, she intimated very politely, but in language +whereof the meaning could hardly be mistaken, that she held this +fixing of the date to be peculiarly her own privilege; and when still +further pressed said plainly that she considered her father too ill +for her to think of being married at present. + +"But they both desire it," expostulated the Colonel. + +"They have not told me so," Mary answered, setting her red lips. + +"If that is all, they will tell you so soon enough, my dear girl." + +"Perhaps, uncle, after they have been directed to do so, but that is +not quite the same thing." + +The Colonel saw that he had made a mistake, and too late changed his +tactics. + +"You see, Mary, your father's state of health is precarious; he might +grow worse." + +She tapped her foot upon the ground. Of these allusions to the +possible, and, indeed, the certain end of her beloved father's +illness, she had a kind of horror. + +"In that event, that dreadful event," she answered, "he will need me, +my whole time and care to nurse him. These I might not be able to give +if I were already married. I love Morris very dearly. I am his for +whatever I may be worth; but I was my father's before Morris came into +my life, and he has the first claim upon me." + +"What, then, do you propose?" asked the Colonel curtly, for opposition +and argument bred no meekness in his somewhat arbitrary breast. + +"To be married on New Year's Day, wherever we are, if Morris wishes it +and the state of my father's health makes it convenient. If not, Uncle +Richard, to wait till a more fitting season." Then she rose--for this +conversation took place at Seaview--saying that it was time she should +give her father his medicine. + +Thus the project of an early marriage fell through; for, having once +been driven into announcing her decision in terms so open and +unmistakable, Mary would not go back on her word. + +Morris, who was much disappointed, pleaded with her. Her father also +spoke upon the subject, but though the voice was the voice of Mr. +Porson, the arguments, she perceived, were the arguments of Colonel +Monk. Therefore she hardened her heart and put the matter by, +refusing, indeed, to discuss it at any length. Yet--and it is not the +first time that a woman has allowed her whims to prevail over her +secret wishes--in truth she desired nothing more than to be married to +Morris so soon as it was his will to take her. + +Finally, a compromise was arranged. There was to be no wedding at +present, but the whole party were to go together to Beaulieu, there to +await the development of events. It was arranged, moreover, by all +concerned, that unless something unforeseen occurred to prevent it, +the marriage should be celebrated upon or about New Year's Day. + + + + CHAPTER VII + + BEAULIEU + +Beautiful as it might be and fashionable as it might be, Morris did +not find Beaulieu very entertaining; indeed, in an unguarded moment he +confessed to Mary that he "hated the hole." Even the steam launch in +which they went for picnics did not console him, fond though he was of +the sea; while as for Monte Carlo, after his third visit he was heard +to declare that if they wanted to take him there again it must be in +his coffin. + +The Colonel did not share these views. He was out for a holiday, and +he meant to enjoy himself. To begin with, there was the club at Nice, +where he fell in with several old comrades and friends. Then, whom +should he meet but Lady Rawlins: once, for a little while in the +distant past, they had been engaged; until suddenly the young lady, a +beauty in her day, jilted him in favour of a wealthy banker of Hebraic +origin. Now, many years after, the banker was aged, violent, and +uncomely, habitually exceeded in his cups, and abused his wife before +the servants. So it came about that to the poor woman the Colonel's +courteous, if somewhat sarcastic, consolations were really very +welcome. It pleased him also to offer them. The jilting he had long +ago forgiven indeed, he blessed her nightly for having taken that view +of her obligations, seeing that Jane Millet, as she was then, however +pretty her face may once have been, had neither fortune nor +connections. + +"Yes, my dear Jane," he said to her confidentially one afternoon, "I +assure you I often admire your foresight. Now, if you had done the +other thing, where should we have been to-day? In the workhouse, I +imagine." + +"I suppose so," answered Lady Rawlins, meekly, and suppressing a sigh, +since for the courtly and distinguished Colonel she cherished a +sentimental admiration which actually increased with age; "but you +didn't always think like that, Richard." Then she glanced out of the +window, and added: "Oh, there is Jonah coming home, and he looks so +cross," and the poor lady shivered. + +The Colonel put up his eyeglass and contemplated Jonah through the +window. He was not a pleasing spectacle. A rather low-class Hebrew who +calls himself a Christian, of unpleasant appearance and sinister +temper, suffering from the effects of lunch, is not an object to be +loved. + +"Ah, I see," said the Colonel. "Yes, Sir Jonah ages, doesn't he? as, +indeed, we do all of us," and he glanced at the lady's spreading +proportions. Then he went on. "You really should persuade him to be +tidier in his costume, Jane; his ancestral namesake could scarcely +have looked more dishevelled after his sojourn with the whale. Well, +it is a small failing; one can't have everything, and on the whole, +with your wealth and the rest, you have been a very fortunate woman." + +"Oh, Richard, how can you say so?" murmured the wretched Lady Rawlins, +as she took the hand outstretched in farewell. For Jonah in large +doses was more than the Colonel could stomach. + +Indeed, as the door closed behind him she wiped away a tear, +whispering to herself: "And to think that I threw over dear Richard in +order to marry that--that--yes, I will say it--that horror!" + +Meanwhile, as he strolled down the street, beautifully dressed, and +still looking very upright and handsome--for he had never lost his +figure--the Colonel was saying to himself: + +"Silly old woman! Well, I hope that by now she knows the difference +between a gentleman and a half-Christianised, money-hunting, wine- +bibbing Jew. However, she's got the fortune, which was what she +wanted, although she forgets it now, and he's got a lachrymose, stout, +old party. But how beautiful she used to be! My word, how beautiful +she used to be! To go to see her now is better than any sermon; it is +an admirable moral exercise." + +To Lady Rawlins also the Colonel's visits proved excellent moral +exercises tinged with chastenings. Whenever he went away he left +behind him some aphorism or reflection filled with a wholesome bitter. +But still she sought his society and, in secret, adored him. + +In addition to the club and Lady Rawlins there were the tables at +Monte Carlo, with their motley company, which to a man of the world +could not fail to be amusing. Besides, the Colonel had one weakness-- +sometimes he did a little gambling, and when he played he liked to +play fairly high. Morris accompanied him once to the "Salles de jeu," +and--that was enough. What passed there exactly, could never be got +out of him, even by Mary, whose sense of humour was more than +satisfied with the little comedies in progress about her, no single +point of which did she ever miss. + +Only, funny as she might be in her general feebleness, and badly as +she might have behaved in some distant past, for Lady Rawlins she felt +sorry. Her kind heart told Mary that this unhappy person also +possessed a heart, although she was now stout and on the wrong side of +middle age. She was aware, too, that the Colonel knew as much, and his +scientific pin-pricks and searings of that guileless and unprotected +organ struck her as little short of cruel. None the less so, indeed, +because the victim at the stake imagined that they were inflicted in +kindness by the hand of a still tender and devoted friend. + +"I hope that I shan't quarrel with my father-in-law," reflected Mary +to herself, after one of the best of these exhibitions; "he's got an +uncommonly long memory, and likes to come even. However, I never +shall, because he's afraid of me and knows that I see through him." + +Mary was right. A very sincere respect for her martial powers when +roused ensured perfect peace between her and the Colonel. With his +son, however, it was otherwise. Even in this age of the Triumph of the +Offspring parents do exist who take advantage of their sons' strict +observance of the Fifth Commandment. It is easy to turn a man into a +moral bolster and sit upon him if you know that an exaggerated sense +of filial duty will prevent him from stuffing himself with pins. So it +came about that Morris was sometimes sat upon, especially when the +Colonel was suffering from a bad evening at the tables; well out of +sight and hearing of Mary, be it understood, who on such occasions was +apt to develop a quite formidable temper. + +It is over this question of the tables that one of these domestic +differences arose which in its results brought about the return of the +Monks to Monksland. Upon a certain afternoon the Colonel asked his son +to accompany him to Monte Carlo. Morris refused, rather curtly, +perhaps. + +"Very well," replied the Colonel in his grandest manner. "I am sure I +do not wish for an unwilling companion, and doubtless your attention +is claimed by affairs more important than the according of your +company to a father." + +"No," replied Morris, with his accustomed truthfulness; "I am going +out sea-fishing, that is all." + +"Quite so. Allow me then to wish good luck to your fishing. Does Mary +accompany you?" + +"No, I think not; she says the boat makes her sick, and she can't bear +eels." + +"So much the better, as I can ask for the pleasure of her society this +afternoon." + +"Yes, you can ask," said Morris, suddenly turning angry. + +"Do you imply, Morris, that the request will be refused?" + +"Certainly, father; if I have anything to do with it." + +"And might I inquire why?" + +"Because I won't have Mary taken to that place to mix with the people +who frequent it." + +"I see. This is exclusiveness with a vengeance. Perhaps you consider +that those unholy doors should be shut to me also." + +"I have no right to express an opinion as to where my father should or +should not go; but if you ask me, I think that, under all the +circumstances, you would do best to keep away." + +"The circumstances! What circumstances?" + +"Those of our poverty, which leaves us no money to risk in gambling." + +Then the Colonel lost all control of his temper, as sometimes happened +to him, and became exceedingly violent and unpleasant. What he said +does not matter; let it suffice that the remarks were of a character +which even headstrong men are accustomed to reserve for the benefit of +their women-folk and other intimate relations. + +Attracted by the noise, which was considerable, Mary came in to find +her uncle marching up and down the room vituperating Morris, who, with +quite a new expression upon his face--a quiet, dogged kind of +expression--was leaning upon the mantel-piece and watching him. + +"Uncle," began Mary, "would you mind being a little quieter? My father +is asleep upstairs, and I am afraid that you will wake him." + +"I am sorry, my dear, very sorry, but there are some insults that no +man with self-respect can submit to, even from a son." + +"Insults! insults!" Mary repeated, opening her blue eyes; then, +looking at him with a pained air: "Morris, why do you insult your +father?" + +"Insult?" he replied. "Then I will tell you how. My father wanted to +take you to play with him at Monte Carlo this afternoon and I said +that you shouldn't go. That's the insult." + +"You observe, my dear," broke in the Colonel, "that already he treats +you as one having authority." + +"Yes," said Mary, "and why shouldn't he? Now that my father is so weak +who am I to obey if not Morris?" + +"Oh, well, well," said the Colonel, diplomatically beginning to cool, +for he could control his temper when he liked. "Everyone to their +taste; but some matters are so delicate that I prefer not to discuss +them," and he looked round for his hat. + +By this time, however, the cyclonic condition of things had affected +Mary also, and she determined that he should not escape so easily. + +"Before you go," she went on in her slow voice, "I should like to say, +uncle, that I quite agree with Morris. I don't think those tables are +quite the place to take young ladies to, especially if the gentleman +with them is much engaged in play." + +"Indeed, indeed; then you are both of a mind, which is quite as it +should be. Of course, too, upon such matters of conduct and etiquette +we must all bow to the taste and the experience of the young--even +those of us who have mixed with the world for forty years. Might I +ask, my dear Mary, if you have any further word of advice for me +before I go?" + +"Yes, uncle," replied Mary quite calmly. "I advise you not to lose so +much of--of your money, or to sit up so late at night, which, you +know, never agrees with you. Also, I wish you wouldn't abuse Morris +for nothing, because he doesn't deserve it, and I don't like it; and +if we are all to live together after I am married, it will be so much +more comfortable if we can come to an understanding first." + +Then muttering something beneath his breath about ladies in general +and this young lady in particular, the Colonel departed with speed. + +Mary sat down in an armchair, and fanned herself with a pocket- +handkerchief. + +"Thinking of the right thing to say always makes me hot," she +remarked. + +"Well, if by the right thing you mean the strong thing, you certainly +discovered it," replied Morris, looking at her with affectionate +admiration. + +"I know; but it had to be done, dear. He's losing a lot of money, +which is mere waste"--here Morris groaned, but asked no questions-- +"besides," and her voice became earnest, "I will not have him talking +to you like that. The fact that one man is the father of another man +doesn't give him the right to abuse him like a pickpocket. Also, if +you are so good that you put up with it, I have myself to consider-- +that is, if we are all to live as a happy family. Do you understand?" + +"Perfectly," said Morris. "I daresay you are right, but I hate rows." + +"So do I, and that is why I have accepted one or two challenges to +single combat quite at the beginning of things. You mark my words, he +will be like a lamb at breakfast to-morrow." + +"You shouldn't speak disrespectfully of my father; at any rate, to +me," suggested the old-fashioned Morris, rather mildly. + +"No, dear, and when I have learnt to respect him I promise you that I +won't. There, don't be vexed with me; but my uncle Richard makes me +cross, and then I scratch. As he said the other day, all women are +like cats, you know. When they are young they play, when they get old +they use their claws--I quote uncle Richard--and although I am not old +yet, I can't help showing the claws. Dad is ill, that is the fact of +it, Morris, and it gets upon my nerves." + +"I thought he was better, love." + +"Yes, he is better; he may live for years; I hope and believe that he +will, but it is terribly uncertain. And now, look here, Morris, why +don't you go home?" + +"Do you want to get rid of me, love?" he asked, looking up. + +"No, I don't. You know that, I am sure. But what is the use of your +stopping here? There is nothing for you to do, and I feel that you are +wasting your time and that you hate it. Tell the truth. Don't you long +to be back at Monksland, working at that aerophone?" + +"I should be glad to get on with my experiments, but I don't like +leaving you," he answered. + +"But you had better leave me for a while. It is not comfortable for +you idling here, particularly when your father is in this uncertain +temper. If all be well, in another couple of months or so we shall +come together for good, and be able to make our own arrangements, +according to circumstances. Till then, if I were you, I should go +home, especially as I find that I can get on with my uncle much better +when you are not here." + +"Then what is to happen after we marry, and I can't be sent away." + +"Who knows? But if we are not comfortable at Monk's Abbey, we can +always set up for ourselves--with Dad at Seaview, for instance. He's +peaceable enough; besides, he must be looked after; and, to be frank, +my uncle hectors him, poor dear." + +"I will think it over," said Morris. "And now come for a walk on the +beach, and we will forget all these worries." + +Next morning the Colonel appeared at breakfast in a perfectly angelic +frame of mind, having to all appearance utterly forgotten the +"contretemps" of the previous afternoon. Perhaps this was policy, or +perhaps the fact of his having won several hundred pounds the night +before mollified his mood. At least it had become genial, and he +proved a most excellent companion. + +"Look here, old fellow," he said to Morris, throwing him a letter +across the table; "if you have nothing to do for a week or so, I wish +you would save an aged parent a journey and settle up this job with +Simpkins." + +Morris read the letter. It had to do with the complete reerection of a +set of buildings on the Abbey farm, and the putting up of a certain +drainage mill. Over this question differences had arisen between the +agent Simpkins and the rural authorities, who alleged that the said +mill would interfere with an established right of way. Indeed, things +had come to such a point that if a lawsuit was to be avoided the +presence of a principal was necessary. + +"Simpkins is a quarrelsome ass," explained the Colonel, "and somebody +will have to smooth those fellows down. Will you go? because if you +won't I must, and I don't want to break into the first pleasant +holiday I have had for five years--thanks to your kindness, my dear +John." + +"Certainly I will go, if necessary," answered Morris. "But I thought +you told me a few months ago that it was quite impossible to execute +those alterations, on account of the expense." + +"Yes, yes; but I have consulted with your uncle here, and the matter +has been arranged. Hasn't it, John?" + +Mr. Porson was seated at the end of the table, and Morris, looking at +him, noticed with a shock how old he had suddenly become. His plump, +cheerful face had fallen in; the cheeks were quite hollow now; his +jaws seemed to protrude, and the skin upon his bald head to be drawn +quite tight like the parchment on a drum. + +"Of course, of course, Colonel," he answered, lifting his chin from +his breast, upon which it was resting, "arranged, quite satisfactorily +arranged." Then he looked about rather vacantly, for his mind, it was +clear, was far away, and added, "Do you want: I mean, were you talking +about the new drainage mill for the salt marshes?" Mary interrupted +and explained. + +"Yes, yes; how stupid of me! I am afraid I am getting a little deaf, +and this air makes me so sleepy in the morning. Now, just tell me +again, what is it?" + +Mary explained further. + +"Morris to go and see about it. Well, why shouldn't he? It doesn't +take long to get home nowadays. Not but that we shall be sorry to lose +you, my dear boy; or, at least, one of us will be sorry," and he tried +to wink in his old jovial fashion, and chuckled feebly. + +Mary saw and sighed; while the Colonel shook his head portentously. +Nobody could play the part of Job's comforter to greater perfection. + +The end of it was that, after a certain space of hesitation, Morris +agreed to go. This "menage" at Beaulieu oppressed him, and he hated +the place. Besides, Mary, seeing that he was worried, almost insisted +on his departure. + +"If I want you back I will send for you," she said. "Go to your work, +dear; you will be happier." + +So he kissed her fondly and went--as he was fated to go. + +"Good-bye, my dear son," said Mr. Porson--sometimes he called him his +son, now. "I hope that I shall see you again soon, and if I don't, you +will be kind to my daughter Mary, won't you? You understand, everybody +else is dead--my wife is dead, my boy is dead, and soon I shall be +dead. So naturally I think a good deal about her. You will be kind to +her, won't you? Good-bye, my son, and don't trouble about money; +there's plenty." + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE SUNK ROCKS AND THE SINGER + +Morris arrived home in safety, and speedily settled the question of +the drainage mill to the satisfaction of all concerned. But he did not +return to Beaulieu. To begin with, although the rural authorities +ceased to trouble them, his father was most urgent that he should stay +and supervise the putting up of the new farm buildings, and wrote to +him nearly every day to this effect. It occurred to his son that under +the circumstances he might have come to look after the buildings +himself; also, that perhaps he found the villa at Beaulieu more +comfortable without his presence; a conjecture in which he was +perfectly correct. + +Upon the first point, also, letters from Mary soon enlightened him. It +appeared that shortly after his departure Sir Jonah, in a violent fit +of rage, brought on by drink and a remark of his wife's that had she +married Colonel Monk she "would have been a happy woman," burst a +small blood-vessel in his head, with the strange result that from a +raging animal of a man he had been turned into an amiable and +perfectly harmless imbecile. Under so trying a domestic blow, +naturally, Mary explained, Colonel Monk felt it to be his duty to +support and comfort his old friend to the best of his ability. "This," +added Mary, "he does for about three hours every day. I believe, +indeed, that a place is always laid for him at meals, while poor Sir +Jonah, for whom I feel quite sorry, although he was such a horrid man, +sits in an armchair and smiles at him continually." + +So Morris determined to take the advice which Mary gave him very +plainly, and abandoned all idea of returning to Beaulieu, at any rate, +on this side of Christmas. His plans settled, he went to work with a +will, and was soon deeply absorbed in the manufacture of experimental +receivers made from the new substance. So completely, indeed, did +these possess his mind that, as Mary at last complained, his letters +to her might with equal fitness have been addressed to an electrical +journal, since from them even diagrams were not lacking. + +So things went on until the event occurred which was destined +profoundly and mysteriously to affect the lives of Morris and his +affianced wife. That event was the shipwreck of the steam tramp, +Trondhjem, upon the well-known Sunk Rocks outside the Sands which run +parallel to the coast at a distance of about five knots from the +Monksland cliff. In this year of our story, about the middle of +November, the weather set in very mild and misty. It was the third of +these "roky" nights, and the sea-fog poured along the land like vapour +from an opened jar of chemicals. Morris was experimenting at the forge +in his workshop very late--or, rather early, for it was near to two +o'clock in the morning--when of a sudden through the open window, +rising from the quiet sea beneath, he heard the rattle of oars in +rowlocks. Wondering what a boat could be doing so near inshore at a +season when there was no night fishing, he went to the window to +listen. Presently he caught the sound of voices shouting in a tongue +with which he was unacquainted, followed by another sound, that of a +boat being beached upon the shingle immediately below the Abbey. Now +guessing that something unusual must have happened, Morris took his +hat and coat, and, unlocking the Abbot's door, lit a lantern, and +descended the cement steps to the beach. Here he found himself in the +midst of ten or twelve men, most of them tall and bearded, who were +gathered about a ship's boat which they had dragged up high and dry. +One of these men, who from his uniform he judged to be the captain, +approached and addressed him in a language that he did not understand, +but imagined must be Danish or Norwegian. + +Morris shook his head to convey the blankness of his ignorance, +whereupon other men addressed him, also in northern tongues. Then, as +he still shook his head, a lad of about nineteen came forward and +spoke in broken and barbarous French. + +"Naufrage la bas," he said; "bateau a vapeur, naufrage sur les rochers +--brouillard. Nouse echappe." + +"Tous?" asked Morris. + +The young man shrugged his shoulders as though he were doubtful on the +point, then added, pointing to the boat: + +"Homme beaucoup blesse, pasteur anglais." + +Morris went to the cutter, and, holding up the lantern, looked down, +to find an oldish man with sharp features, dark eyes, and grizzled +beard, lying under a tarpaulin in the bottom of the boat. He was +clothed only in a dressing gown and a blood-stained nightshirt, +groaning and semi-unconscious. + +"Jambe casse, beaucoup mal casse," explained the French scholar. + +"Apportez-le vite apres moi," said Morris. This order having been +translated by the youth, several stalwart sailors lifted up the +injured man, and, placing the tarpaulin beneath him, took hold of it +by the sides and corners. Then, following Morris, they bore him as +gently as they could up the steps into the Abbey to a large bedroom +upon the first floor, where they laid him upon the bed. + +Meanwhile, by the industrious ringing of bells as they went, Morris +had succeeded in rousing a groom, a page-boy, and the cook. The first +of these he sent off post haste for Dr. Charters. Next, having +directed the cook to give the foreign sailormen some food and beer, he +told the page-boy to conduct them to the Sailors' Home, a place of +refuge provided, as is common upon this stormy coast, for the +accommodation of distressed and shipwrecked mariners. As he could +extract nothing further, it seemed useless to detain them at the +Abbey. Then, pending the arrival of the doctor, with the assistance of +the old housekeeper, he set to work to examine the patient. This did +not take long, for his injuries were obvious. The right thigh was +broken and badly bruised, and he bled from a contusion upon the +forehead. This wound upon his head seemed also to have affected his +brain; at any rate, he was unable to speak coherently or to do more +than mutter something about "shipwreck" and "steamer Trondhjem," and +to ask for water. + +Thinking that at least it could do no harm, Morris gave him a cup of +soup, which had been hastily prepared. Just as the patient finished +drinking it, which he did eagerly, the doctor arrived, and after a +swift examination administered some anaesthetic, and got to work to +set the broken limb. + +"It's a bad smash--very bad," he explained to Morris; "something must +have fallen on him, I think. If it had been an inch or two higher, +he'd have lost his leg, or his life, or both, as perhaps he will now. +At the best it means a couple of months or so on his back. No, I think +the cut on his head isn't serious, although it has knocked him silly +for a while." + +At length the horrid work was done, and the doctor, who had to return +to a confinement case in the village, departed. Before he went he told +Morris that he hoped to be back by five o'clock. He promised also that +before his return he would call in at the Sailor's Home to see that +the crew were comfortable, and discover what he could of the details +of the catastrophe. Meanwhile for his part, Morris undertook to watch +in the sick-room. + +For nearly three hours, while the drug retained his grip of him, the +patient remained comatose. All this while Morris sat at his bedside +wondering who he might be, and what curious circumstance could have +brought him into the company of these rough Northmen sailors. To his +profession he had a clue, although no sure one, for round his neck the +man wore a silver cross suspended by a chain. This suggested that he +might be a clergyman, and went far to confirm the broken talk of the +French-speaking sailor. Clearly, also, he was a person of some +breeding and position, the refinement of his face and the delicacy of +his hands showed as much. While Morris was watching and wondering, +suddenly the man awoke, and began to talk in a confused fashion. + +"Where am I?" he asked. + +"At Monksland," answered Morris. + +"That's all right, that's where I should be, but the ship, the ship"-- +then a pause and a cry: "Stella, Stella!" + +Morris pricked his ears. "Where is Stella?" he asked. + +"On the rocks. She struck, then darkness, all darkness. Stella, come +here, Stella!" + +A memory awoke in the mind of Morris, and he leant over the patient, +who again had sunk into delirium. + +"Do you mean Stella Fregelius?" he asked. + +The man turned his flushed face and opened his dark eyes. + +"Of course, Stella Fregelius--who else? There is only one Stella," and +again he became incoherent. + +For a while Morris plied him with further questions; but as he could +obtain no coherent answer, he gave him his medicine and left him +quiet. Then for another half-hour or so he sat and watched, while a +certain theory took shape in his mind. This gentleman must be the new +rector. It seemed as though, probably accompanied by his daughter, he +had taken passage in a Danish tramp boat bound for Northwold, which +had touched at some Northumbrian port. Morris knew that the incoming +clergyman had a daughter, for, now that he thought of it, he had heard +Mr. Tomley mention the fact at the dinner-party on the night when he +became engaged. Yes, and certainly she was named Stella. But there was +no woman among those who had come to land, and he understood the +injured man to suggest that his daughter had been left upon the +steamer which was said to have gone ashore upon some rocks; or, +perhaps, upon the Sunk Rocks themselves. + +Now, the only rocks within twenty miles of them were these famous Sunk +Rocks, about six knots away. Even within his own lifetime four vessels +had been lost there, either because they had missed, or mistaken, the +lightship signal further out to sea, as sometimes happened in a fog +such as prevailed this night, or through false reckonings. The fate of +all these vessels had been identical; they had struck upon the reef, +rebounded or slid off, and foundered in deep water. Probably in this +case the same thing had happened. At least, the facts, so far as he +knew them, pointed to that conclusion. Evidently the escape of the +crew had been very hurried, for they had saved nothing. He judged also +that the clergyman, Mr. Fregelius, having rushed on deck, had been +injured by the fall of some spar or block consequent upon the violence +of the impact of the vessel upon the reef, and in this hurt condition +had been thrown into the boat by the sailors. + +Then where was the daughter Stella? Was she killed in the same fashion +or drowned? Probably one or the other. But there was a third bare +possibility, which did no credit to the crew, that she had been +forgotten in the panic and hurry, and left behind on the sinking ship. + +At first Morris thought of rousing the captain of the lifeboat. On +reflection, however, he abandoned this idea, for really what had he to +go on beyond the scanty and disjointed ravings of a delirious man? +Very possibly the girl Stella was not upon the ship at all. Probably, +also, hours ago that vessel had vanished from the eyes of men for +ever. To send out the lifeboat upon such a wild-goose chase would be +to turn himself into a laughing-stock. + +Still something drew his thoughts to that hidden line of reef, and the +ship which might still be hanging on it, and the woman who might still +be living in the ship. + +It was a painful vision from which he could not free his mind. + +Then there came to him an idea. Why should he not go to the Sunk Rocks +and look? There was a light breeze off land, and with the help of the +page-boy, who was sitting up, as the tide was nearing its full he +could manage to launch his small sailing-boat, which by good fortune +was still berthed near the beach steps. It was a curious chance that +this should be so, seeing that in most seasons she would have been by +now removed to the shed a mile away, to be out of reach of possible +damage from the furious winter gales. As it happened, however, the +weather remaining so open, this had not been done. Further, the +codlings having begun to run in unusual numbers, as is common upon +this coast in late autumn, Morris that very morning had taken the boat +out to fish for them, an amusement which he proposed to resume on the +morrow in the hope of better sport. Therefore the boat had her sails +on board, and was in every way ready for sea. + +Why should he not go? For one reason only that he could suggest. There +was a certain amount of risk in sailing about the Sunk Rocks in a fog, +even for a tiny craft like his, for here the currents were very sharp; +also, in many places the points of the rocks were only just beneath +the surface of the water. But he knew the dangerous places well enough +if he could see them, as he ought to be able to do, for the dawn +should break before he arrived. And, after all, what was a risk more +or less in life? He would go. He felt impelled--strangely impelled--to +go, though of course it was all nonsense, and probably he would be +back by nine o'clock, having seen nothing at all. + +By this time the injured Mr. Fregelius had sunk into sleep or stupor, +doubtless beneath the influence of the second draught which he had +administered to him in obedience to the doctor's orders. On his +account, therefore, Morris had no anxiety, since the cook, a steady, +middle-aged woman, could watch by him for the present. + +He called her and gave her instructions, bidding her tell the doctor +when he came that he had gone to see if he could make out anything +more about the wreck, and that he would be back soon. Then, ordering +the page-boy, a stout lad, to accompany him, he descended the steps, +and together, with some difficulty, they succeeded in launching the +boat. Now for a moment Morris hesitated, wondering whether he should +take the young man with him; but remembering that this journey was not +without its dangers, finally he decided to go alone. + +"I am just going to have a sail round, Thomas, to look if I can make +out anything about that ship." + +"Yes, sir," remarked Thomas, doubtfully. "But it is rather a queer +time to hunt for her, and in this sea-haze too, especially round the +Sunk Rocks. Shall I leave the lunch basket in the locker, sir, or take +it up to the house?" + +"Leave it; it wasn't touched to-day, and I might be glad of some +breakfast," Morris answered. Then, having hoisted his sail, he sat +himself in the stern, with the tiller in one hand and the sheet in the +other. Instantly the water began to lap gently against the bow, and in +another minute he glided away from the sight of the doubting Thomas, +vanishing like some sea-ghost into the haze and that chill darkness +which precedes the dawn. + +It was very dark, and the mist was very damp, and the wind, what there +was of it, very cold, especially as in his hurry he had forgotten to +bring a thick ulster, and had nothing but a covert coat and a thin +oil-skin to wear. Moreover, he could not see in the least where he was +going, or do more than lay his course for the Sunk Rocks by means of +the boat's compass, which he consulted from time to time by the help +of a bull's-eye lantern. + +This went on for nearly an hour, by the end of which Morris began to +wonder why he had started upon such a fool's errand. Also, he was +growing alarmed. He knew that by now he should be in the neighbourhood +of the reef, and fancied, indeed, that he could hear the water lapping +against its rocks. Accordingly, as this reef was ill company in the +dark, Morris hauled down his sail, and in case he should have reached +the shallows, threw out his little anchor, which was attached to six +fathoms of chain. At first it swung loose, but four or five minutes +later, the boat having been carried onward into fleeter water by the +swift current that was one of the terrors of the Sunk Rocks, it +touched bottom, dragged a little, and held fast. + +Morris gave a sigh of relief, for that blind journey among unknown +dangers was neither safe nor pleasant. Now, at least, in this quiet +weather he could lie where he was till light came, praying that a wind +might not come first. Already the cold November dawn was breaking in +the east; he was able to see the reflection of it upon the fog, and +the surface of the water, black and oily-looking, became visible as it +swept past the sides of his boat. Now, too, he was sure that the rocks +must be close at hand, for he could hear the running tide distinctly +as it washed against them and through the dense growth of seaweed that +clung to their crests and ridges. + +Presently, too, he heard something else, which at first caused him to +rub his eyes in the belief that he must have fallen asleep and dreamt; +nothing less, indeed, than the sound of a woman's voice. He began to +reason with himself. What was there strange in this? He was told, or +had inferred, that a woman had been left upon a ship. Doubtless this +was she, upon some rock or raft, perhaps. Only then she would have +been crying for help, and this voice was singing, and in a strange +tongue, more sweetly than he had heard woman sing before. + +It was incredible, it was impossible. What woman would sing in a +winter daybreak upon the Sunk Rocks--sing like the siren of old fable? +Yet, there, quite close to him, over the quiet sea rose the song, +strong, clear, and thrilling. Once it ceased, then began again in a +deeper, more triumphant note, such as a Valkyrie might have sung as +she led some Norn-doomed host to their last battle. + +Morris sat and listened with parted lips and eyes staring at the +fleecy mist. He did not move or call out, because he was certain that +he must be the victim of some hallucination, bred of fog, or of +fatigue, or of cold; and, as it was very strange and moving, he had no +desire to break in upon its charm. + +So there he sat while the triumphant, splendid song rolled and +thrilled above him, and by degrees the grey light of morning grew to +right and left. To right and left it grew, but, strangely enough, +although he never noted it at the time, he and his boat lay steeped in +shadow. Then of a sudden there was a change. + +A puff of wind from the north seemed to catch the fog and roll it up +like a curtain, so that instantly all the sea became visible, broken +here and there by round-headed, weed-draped rocks. Out of the east +also poured a flood of light from the huge ball of the rising sun, and +now it was that Morris learned why the gloom had been so thick about +him, for his boat lay anchored full in the shadow of the lost ship +Trondhjem. There, not thirty yards away, rose her great prow; the +cutwater, which stood up almost clear, showing that she had forced +herself on to a ridge of rock. There, too, poised at the extreme point +of the sloping forecastle, and supporting herself with one hand by a +wire rope that ran thence to the foremast, was the woman to whose +siren-like song he had been listening. + +At that distance he could see little of her face; but the new-wakened +wind blew the long dark hair about her head, while round her, falling +almost to her naked feet, was wrapped a full red cloak. Had Morris +wished to draw the picture of a Viking's daughter guiding her father's +ship into the fray, there, down to the red cloak, bare feet, and +flying tresses, stood its perfect model. + +The wild scene gripped his heart. Whoever saw the like of it? This +girl who sang in the teeth of death, the desolate grey face of ocean, +the brown and hungry rocks, the huge, abandoned ship, and over all the +angry rays of a winter sunrise. + +Thus, out of the darkness of the winter night, out of the bewildering +white mists of the morning, did this woman arise upon his sight, this +strange new star begin to shine upon his life and direct his destiny. + +At the moment that he saw her she seemed to see him. At any rate, she +ceased her ringing, defiant song, and, leaning over the netting rail, +stared downwards. + +Morris began to haul at his anchor; but, though he was a strong man, +at first he could not lift it. Just as he was thinking of slipping the +cable, however, the little flukes came loose from the sand or weeds in +which they were embedded, and with toil and trouble he got it shipped. +Then he took a pair of sculls and rowed until he was nearly under the +prow of the Trondhjem. It was he, too, who spoke first. + +"You must come to me," he called. + +"Yes," the woman answered, leaning over the rail; "I will come, but +how? Shall I jump into the water?" + +"No," he said, "it is too dangerous. You might strike against a rock +or be taken by the current. The companion ladder seems to be down on +the starboard side. Go aft to it, I will row round the ship and meet +you there." + +She nodded her head, and Morris started on his journey. It proved +perilous. To begin with, there were rocks all about. Also, here the +tide or the current, or both, ran with the speed of a mill-race, so +that in places the sea bubbled and swirled like a boiling kettle. +However skilled and strong he might be, it was hard for one man to +deal with such difficulties and escape disaster. Still following the +port side of the ship, since owing to the presence of certain rocks he +dared not attempt the direct starboard passage, he came at last to her +stern. Then he saw how imminent was the danger, for the poop of the +vessel, which seemed to be of about a thousand tons burden, was awash +and water-logged, but rolling and lifting beneath the pressure of the +tide as it drew on to flood. + +To Morris, who had lived all his life by the sea, and understood such +matters, it was plain that presently she would float, or be torn off +the point of the rock on which she hung, broken-backed, and sink in +the hundred-fathom-deep water which lay beyond the reef. There was no +time to spare, and he laboured at his oars fiercely, till at length, +partly by skill and partly by good fortune, he reached the companion +ladder and fastened to it with a boat-hook. + +Now no woman was to be seen; she had vanished. Morris called and +called, but could get no answer, while the great dead carcass of the +ship rolled and laboured above, its towering mass of iron threatening +to fall and crush him and his tiny craft to nothingness. He shouted +and shouted again; then in despair lashed his boat to the companion, +and ran up the ladder. + +Where could she have gone? He hurried forward along the heaving, +jerking deck to the main hatchway. Here he hesitated for a moment; +then, knowing that, if anywhere, she must be below, set his teeth and +descended. The saloon was a foot deep in water, which washed from side +to side with a heavy, sickening splash, and there, carrying a bag in +one hand, holding up her garments with the other, and wading towards +him from the dry upper part of the cabin, at last he found the lady +whom he sought. + +"Be quick!" he shouted; "for God's sake, be quick! The ship is coming +off the rock." + +She splashed towards him; now he had her by the hand; now they were on +the deck, and now he was dragging her after him down the companion +ladder. They reached the boat, and just as the ship gave a great roll +towards them, Morris seized the oars and rowed like a madman. + +"Help me!" he gasped; "the current is against us." And, sitting +opposite to him, she placed her hands upon his hands, pressing forward +as he pulled. Her slight strength made a difference, and the boat +forged ahead--thirty, forty, seventy yards--till they reached a rock +to which, exhausted, he grappled with a hook, bidding her hold on to +the floating seaweed. Thus they rested for thirty seconds, perhaps, +when she spoke for the first time: + +"Look!" she said. + +As she spoke the steamer slid and lifted off the reef. For a few +moments she wallowed; then suddenly her stern settled, her prow rose +slowly in the air till it stood up straight, fifty or sixty feet of +it. Then, with a majestic, but hideous rush, down went the Trondhjem +and vanished for ever. + +All round about her the sea boiled and foamed, while in the great +hollow which she made on the face of the waters black lumps of +wreckage appeared and disappeared. + +"Tight! hold tight!" he cried, "or she will suck us after her." + +Suck she did, till the water poured over the gunwale. Then, the worst +passed, and the boat rose again. The foam bubbles burst or floated +away in little snowy heaps; the sea resumed its level, and, save for +the floating debris, became as it had been for thousands of years +before the lost Trondhjem rushed downward to its depths. + +Now, for the first time, knowing the immediate peril past, Morris +looked at the face of his companion. It was a fine face, and beautiful +in its way. Dark eyes, very large and perfect, whereof the pupils +seemed to expand and contract in answer to every impulse of the +thoughts within. Above the eyes long curving lashes and delicately +pencilled, arched eyebrows, and above them again a forehead low and +broad. The chin rounded; the lips full, rich, and sensitive; the +complexion of a clear and beautiful pallor; the ears tiny; the hands +delicate; the figure slim, of medium height, and alive with grace; the +general effect most uncommon, and, without being lovely, breathing a +curious power and personality. + +Such was the woman whom he had saved from death. + +"Oh, how splendid!" she said in her deep voice, and clasping her +hands. "What a death! For ship or man, what a death! And after it the +great calm sea, taking and ready to take for ever." + +"Thank Heaven that it did not take you," answered Morris wrathfully. + +"Why?" she answered. + +"Because you are still alive, who by now would have been dead." + +"It seems that it was not fated this time," she answered, adding: "The +next it may be different." + +"Yes," he said reflectively; "the next it may be different, Miss +Fregelius." + +She started. "How do you know my name?" she asked. + +"From your father's lips. He is ashore at my house. The sailors must +have seen the light in my workshop and steered for it." + +"My father?" she gasped. "He is still alive? But, oh, how is that +possible? He would never have left me." + +"Yes, he lives, but with a broken thigh and his head cut open. He was +brought ashore senseless, so you need not be ashamed of him. Those +sailors are the cowards." + +She sighed, as though in deep relief. "I am very glad. I had made up +my mind that he must be dead, for of course I knew that he would never +have left me otherwise. It did not occur to me that he might be +carried away senseless. Is he--" and she paused, then added: "tell me +the worst--quick." + +"No; the doctor thinks in no danger at present; only a break of the +thigh and a scalp wound. Of course, he could not help himself, for he +can have known no more than a corpse of what was passing," he went on. +"It is those sailors who are to blame--for leaving you on the ship, I +mean." + +She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. + +"The sailors! From such rough men one does not expect much. They had +little time, and thought of themselves, not of a passenger, whom they +had scarcely seen. Thank God they did not leave my father behind +also." + +"You do not thank God for yourself," said Morris curiously, as he +prepared to hoist the sail, for his mind harked back to his old +wonderment. + +"Yes, I do, but it was not His will that I should die last night. I +have told you that it was not fated," she answered. + +"Quite so. That is evident now; but were I in your case this really +remarkable escape would make me wonder what is fated." + +"Yes, it does a little; but not too much, for you see I shall learn in +time. You might as well wonder how it happened that you arrived to +save me, and to what end." + +Morris hesitated, for this was a new view of the case, before he +answered. + +"That your life should be saved, I suppose." + +"And why should it happen that your boat should come to save me?" + +"I don't know; chance, I suppose." + +"Neither do I; but I don't believe in chance. Everything has its +meaning and purpose." + +"Only one so seldom finds it out. Life is too short, I suppose," +replied Morris. + +By now the sail was up, the boat was drawing ahead, and he was seated +at her side holding the tiller. + +"Why did you go down into the saloon, Miss Fregelius?" he asked +presently. + +She glanced at herself, and now, for the first time, he noticed that +she wore a dress beneath her red cloak, and that there were slippers +on her feet, which had been bare. + +"I could not come into the boat as I was," she explained, dropping her +eyes. "The costume which is good enough to be drowned in is not fitted +for company. My cabin was well forward, and I guessed that by wading I +could reach it. Also, I had some trinkets and one or two books I did +not wish to lose," and she nodded at the hand-bag which she had thrown +into the boat. + +Morris smiled. "It is very nice of you to pay so much respect to +appearances," he said; "but I suppose you forgot that the vessel might +come off the rocks at any moment and crush me, who was waiting." + +"Oh, no," she answered; "I thought of it. I have always been +accustomed to the sea, and know about such things." + +"And still you went for your dress and your trinkets?" + +"Yes, because I was certain that it wouldn't happen and that no harm +would come to either of us by waiting a few minutes." + +"Indeed, and who told you that?" + +"I don't know, but from the moment that I saw you in the boat I was +certain that the danger was done with--at least, the immediate +danger," she added. + + + + CHAPTER IX + + MISS FREGELIUS + +While Miss Fregelius was speaking, Morris had been staring at the +sail, which, after drawing for a time in an indifferent fashion, had +begun to flap aimlessly. + +"What is the matter?" asked his companion. "Has the wind veered +again?" + +He nodded. "Dead from the west, now, and rising fast. I hope that your +spirit of prophecy still speaks smooth things, for, upon my word, I +believe we are both of us in a worse mess than ever." + +"Can't we row ashore? It is only a few miles, is it?" + +"We can try, but I am afraid we are in for a regular tearer. We get +them sometimes on this coast after a spell of calm weather." + +"Please give me an oar," she said. "I am used to rowing--of a sort." + +So he let down the sail, and they began to row. For ten minutes or so +they struggled against the ever-rising gale. Then Morris called to her +to ship oars. + +"It is no use exhausting ourselves, Miss Fregelius," he said, "for now +the tide is on the ebb, and dead against us, as well as the wind." + +"What are you going to do?" she asked. + +Morris glanced back to where a mile behind them the sea was beginning +to foam ominously over the Sunk Rocks, here and there throwing up +isolated jets of spray, like those caused by the blowing of a whale. + +"I am going to try to clear them," he said, "and then run before it. +Perhaps we might make the Far Lightship five and twenty miles away. +Help me to pull up the sail. So, that's enough; she can't stand too +much. Now hold the sheet, and if I bid you, let go that instant. I'll +steer." + +A few seconds later the boat's head had come round, and she was +rushing through the water at great speed, parallel with the line of +the Sunk Rocks, but being momentarily driven nearer to them. The girl, +Stella Fregelius, stared at the farthest point of foam which marked +the end of the reef. + +"You must hold her up if you want to clear it," she said quietly. + +"I can't do any more in this wind," he answered. "You seem to know +about boats; you will understand." + +She nodded, and on they rushed, the ever-freshening gale on their +beam. + +"This boat sails well," said Stella, as a little water trickled over +the gunwale. + +Morris made no answer, his eyes were fixed upon the point of rock; +only bidding his companion hold the tiller, he did something to the +sail. Now they were not more than five hundred yards away. + +"It will be a very near thing," she said. + +"Very," he answered, "and I don't want to be officious, but I suggest +that you might do well to say your prayers." + +She looked at him, and bowed her head for a minute or so. Then +suddenly she lifted it again and stared at the terror ahead of them +with wide, unflinching eyes. + +On sped the boat while more and more did tide and gale turn her prow +into the reef. At the end of it a large, humpbacked rock showed now +and again through the surf, like the fin of a black whale. That was +the rock which they must clear if they would live. Morris took the +boat-hook and laid it by his side. They were very near now. They would +clear it; no, the wash sucked them in like a magnet. + +"Good-bye," said Morris instinctively, but Stella answered nothing. + +The wave that lifted them broke upon the rock in a cloud of spray +wherein for some few instants their boat seemed to vanish. They were +against it; the boat touched, and Stella felt a long ribbon of seaweed +cut her like a whip across the face. Kneeling down, Morris thrust +madly with the boat-hook, and thus for an instant--just one--held her +off. His arms doubled beneath the strain, and then came the back-wash. + +Oh, heaven! it had swept them clear. The rock was behind, the sail +drew, and swiftly they fled away from the death that had seemed +certain. + +Stella sighed aloud, while Morris wiped the water from his face. + +"Are we clear?" she asked presently. + +"Of the Sunk Rocks? Yes, we are round them. But the North Sea is in +front of us, and what looks like the worst gale that has blown this +autumn is rising behind." + +"This is a good sea-boat, and on the open water I think perhaps that +we ought to weather it," she said, trying to speak cheerfully, as +Morris stowed the sail, for in that wind they wanted no canvas. + +"I wish we had something to eat," she added presently; "I am so +hungry." + +"By good luck I can help you there," he answered. "Yesterday I was out +fishing and took lunch for myself and the boatman; but the fish +wouldn't bite, so we came back without eating it, and it is still in +the locker. Shift a little, please, I will get the basket." + +She obeyed, and there was the food sure enough, plenty of it. A thick +packet of sandwiches, and two boiled eggs, a loaf, and a large lump of +cheese for the boatman, a flask of whiskey, a bottle of beer, another +of water, and two of soda. They ate up the sandwiches and the eggs, +Morris drinking the beer and Stella the soda water, for whiskey as yet +she would not touch. + +"Now," she said, "we are still provisioned for twenty-four hours with +the bread and cheese, the water and the soda which is left." + +"Yes," he answered, "if we don't sink or die of cold we shall not +starve. I never thought that sandwiches were so good before;" and he +looked hungrily at the loaf. + +"You had better put it away; you may want it later," she suggested. +And he put it away. + +"Tell me, if you don't mind," he asked, for the food and the +lightening of the strain upon his nerves had made him conversational, +"what is that song which you sang upon the ship, and why did you sing +it?" + +She coloured a little, and smiled, a sweet smile that seemed to begin +in her eyes. + +"It is an old Norse chant which my mother taught me; she was a Dane, +as my father is also by descent. It has come down in her family for +many, many generations, and the legend is that the women of her race +always sang it or repeated it while the men were fighting, and, if +they had the strength, in the hour of their own death. I believe that +is true, for she died whispering it herself; yes, it grew fainter and +fainter until it ceased with her breath. So, when I thought that my +hour had come, I sang it also, for the first time, for I tried to be +brave, and wished to go as my forefathers went. It is a foolish old +custom, but I like old customs. I am ashamed that you should have +heard it. I thought myself alone. That is all." + +"You are a very strange young lady," said Morris, staring at her. + +"Strange?" she answered, laughing. "Not at all; only I wanted to show +those scores of dead people that their traditions and spirit still +lived on in me, their poor modern child. Think how glad they must have +been to hear the old chant as they swept by in the wind just now, +waiting to give me welcome." + +Morris stared still harder. Was this beautiful girl mad? He knew +something of the old Norse literature and myths. A fantastic vision +rose up in his mind of her forebears, scores and hundreds of them +gathered at some ghostly Walhalla feast, listening to the familiar +paean as it poured from her fearless heart, and waiting to rise and +greet her, the last newcomer of their blood, with "/Skoll/, daughter, +/skoll!/" + +She watched him as though she read his thought. + +"You see, they would have been pleased; it is only natural," she said; +"and I have a great respect for the opinion of my ancestors." + +"Then you are sure they still exist in some shape or form, and are +conscious?" + +She laughed again. "Of course I am sure. The world of spirits, as I +think, is the real world. The rest is a nightmare; at least, it seems +like a nightmare, because we don't know the beginning or the end of +the dream." + +"The old Egyptians thought something like that," said Morris +reflectively. "They only lived to die." + +"But we," she answered, "should only die to live, and that is why I +try not to be afraid. I daresay, however, I mean the same as they did, +only you do not seem to have put their thought quite clearly." + +"You are right; I meant that for them death was but a door." + +"That is better, I think," she said. "That was their thought, and that +is my thought; and," she added, searching his face, "perhaps your +thought also." + +"Yes," he answered, "though somehow you concentrate it; I have never +seen things, or, rather, this thing, quite so sharply." + +"Because you have never been in a position to see them; they have not +been brought home to you. Or your mind may have wanted an interpreter. +Perhaps I am that interpreter--for the moment." Then she added: "Were +you afraid just now? Don't tell me if you had rather not, only I +should like to compare sensations. I was--more than on the ship. I +admit it." + +"No," he answered; "I suppose that I was too excited." + +"What were you thinking of when we bumped against the rocks?" she +asked again. + +"Well, now that you mention it," he replied, rubbing his forehead with +his left hand like a man newly awakened, "I could think of nothing but +that song of yours, which you sang upon the vessel. Everything grew +dark for an instant, and through the darkness I remembered the song." + +"Are you married?" she asked, as though speaking to herself. + +"No; I am engaged." + +"Then, why----" and she stopped, confused. + +Morris guessed what had been in her mind, and of a sudden felt +terribly ashamed. + +"Because of that witch-song of yours," he answered, with a flash of +anger, "which made me forget everything." + +She smiled and answered. "It wasn't the song; it was the excitement +and struggle which blotted out the rest. One does not really think at +all at such moments, or so I believe. I know that I didn't, not just +when we bumped against the rock. But it is odd that you should believe +that you remembered my song, for, according to tradition, that is just +what the chant should do, and what it always did. Its ancient name +means 'The Over-Lord,' because those who sang it and those who heard +it were said to remember nothing else, and to fear nothing, not even +Death our lord. It is the welcome that they give to death." + +"What egregious nonsense!" he blurted out. + +"I daresay; but then, why do you understand my nonsense so well? Tell +me, if you will, of what blood are you?" + +"Danish, I believe, in the beginning." + +"Oh," she said, laughing, "no doubt that accounts for it. Some +forefather of yours may have heard the song of the Over-Lord, perhaps +from the lips of some foremother of mine. So, of course, you +remembered and understood." + +"Such a thing will scarcely bear argument, will it?" + +"Of course it won't. I have only been joking all the time, though I do +half believe in this old song, as my ancestors did before me. I mean, +that as I thought I had to die, I liked to keep up the ancient custom +and sing it first. It encouraged my spirits. But where are we going?" + +"To where our spirits will need no more encouragement," he answered +grimly; "or, at least, I fear it may be so. Miss Fregelius, to drop +jests, it is blowing very hard off land; the sea is getting up, and +this is but a small boat. We are doing pretty well now, but sooner or +later, I fear, and I think it right to tell you, that a wave may poop +us and then----" + +"There will be an end," said Stella. "Is there anything to be done? +Have you any plan?" + +"None, except to make the Far Lightship, as I told you; but even if we +succeed, I don't know whether it will be possible to get aboard of her +unless the sea moderates." + +"Won't the lifeboat come out to look for you?" she asked. + +He shook his head. "How could they find one tiny sail upon the great +ocean? Moreover, it will be supposed either that I have foundered or +made some port along the coast. There is the worst of it. I fear that +it may be telegraphed everywhere," and he sighed deeply. + +"Why?" she asked. "Are you a very important person that they should +bother to do that? You see," she added in explanation, "I don't even +know your name or where you come from, only that you told me you +worked in a shop which," she added reflectively, looking at him, +"seems odd." + +Even then and there Morris could not help a smile; really this young +lady was very original. + +"No," he answered, "I am not at all important, and I work in a shop +because I am an inventor--or try to be--in the electrical line. My +name is Morris Monk, and I am the son of Colonel Monk, and live at the +Abbey House, Monksland. Now you know all about me." + +"Oh! of course I do, Mr. Monk," she said in some confusion, "how +foolish of me not to guess. You are my father's principal new +parishioner, of whom Mr. Tomley gave us a full description." + +"Did he indeed? What did he say?" he asked idly. + +"Do you really want to know, Mr. Monk?" + +"Yes, if it is amusing. Just now I shall be grateful for anything that +can divert my thoughts." + +"And you will promise not to bear malice against Mr. Tomley?" + +"Certainly, especially as he has gone away, and I don't expect to see +him any more." + +"Well, he described your father, Colonel Monk, as a handsome and +distinguished elderly gentleman of very good birth, and manners, too, +when he chose, who intensely disliked growing old. He said that he +thought of himself more than of anybody else in the world, and next of +the welfare of his family, and that if we wished to get on with him we +must be careful not to offend his dignity, as then he would be +quarrelsome." + +"That's true enough, or most of it," answered Morris, "a good picture +of my father's weak side. And what was his definition of myself?" + +"He said that you were in his opinion one of the most interesting +people that he had ever met; that you were a dreamer and a mystic; +that you cared for few of the things which usually attract young men, +and that you were in practice almost a misogynist. He added that, +although heretofore you had not succeeded, he thought that you +possessed real genius in certain lines, but that you had not your +father's 'courtly air,' that was his term. Of course, I am only +repeating, so you must not be angry." + +"Well," said Morris, "I asked for candour and I have got it. Without +admitting the accuracy of his definitions, I must say that I never +thought that pompous old Tomley had so much observation." Then he +added quickly, to change the subject, since the possible discussion of +his own attributes, physical or mental, alarmed him, "Miss Fregelius, +you have not told me how you came to be left aboard the ship." + +"Really, Mr. Monk, I don't know. I heard a confused noise in my sleep, +and when I woke up it was to find myself alone, and the saloon half +full of water. I suppose that after the vessel struck, the sailors, +thinking that she was going down, got off at once, taking my father, +who had been injured and made insensible in some way, with them as he +happened to be on deck, leaving me to my chance. You know, we were the +only passengers." + +"Were you not frightened when you found yourself all alone like that?" + +"Yes, at first, dreadfully; then I was so distressed about my father, +whom I thought dead, and angry with them for deserting me, that I +forgot to be frightened, and afterwards--well, I was too proud. +Besides, we must die alone, every one of us, so we may as well get +accustomed to the idea." + +Morris shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + +"You think that I need not talk so much about our mortal end. Well, +perhaps under all the circumstances, we may as well keep our thoughts +on this world--while it lasts. You have not told me, Mr. Monk, how you +came to be sailing about alone this morning. Did you come out to look +at the wreck?" + +"Do you think that I am mad?" he asked, not without indignation. +"Should I make a journey at night, in a November fog, with every +chance of a gale coming up, to the Sunk Rocks in this cockle-shell, +and alone, merely to look at the place where, as I understood rather +vaguely, a foreign tramp steamer had gone down?" + +"Well, it does seem rather odd. But why else did you come? Were you +fishing? Men will risk a great deal for fishing, I know, I have seen +that in Norway." + +"Why do you pretend not to understand, Miss Fregelius? You must know +perfectly well that I came to look for you." + +"Indeed," she answered candidly, "I knew nothing of the sort. How did +you find out that I was still on the ship, or that the ship was still +above water? And even if you knew both, why should you risk your life +just on the faint chance of rescuing a girl whom you never saw?" + +"I can't quite tell you; but your father in his delirium muttered some +words which made me suspect the truth, and a sailor who could speak a +little bad French said that the Trondhjem was lost upon some rocks. +Well, these are the only rocks about here; and as the whole story was +too vague to carry to the lifeboat people I thought that I would come +to look. So you see it is perfectly simple." + +"So simple, Mr. Monk, that I do not understand it in the least. You +must have known the risks, for you asked no one to share them--the +risks that are so near and real;" and, shivering visibly, she looked +at the grey combers seething past them, and the wind-torn horizon +beyond. "Yet, you--you who have ties, faced all this on the chance of +saving a stranger." + +"Please, please," broke in Morris. "At any rate, you see, it was a +happy inspiration." + +"Yes, for me, perhaps--but for you! Oh, if it should end in your being +taken away from the world before your time, from the world and the +lady who--what then?" + +Morris winced; then he said: "God's will be done. But although we may +be in danger, we are not dead yet; not by a long way." + +"She would hate me whose evil fortune it was to draw you to death, and +in life or out of it I should never forgive myself--never! never!" and +she covered her eyes with her cold, wet hand and sighed. + +"Why should you grieve over what you cannot help?" asked Morris +gently. + +"I cannot quite explain to you," she answered; "but the thought of it +seems so sad." + + + + CHAPTER X + + DAWN AND THE LAND + +A day, a whole day, spent upon that sullen, sunless waste of water, +with the great waves bearing them onwards in one eternal, monotonous +procession, till at length they grew dizzy with looking at them, and +the ceaseless gale piping in their ears. Long ago they had lost sight +of land; even the tall church towers built by our ancestors as beacons +on this stormy coast had vanished utterly. Twice they sighted ships +scudding along under their few rags of canvas, and once a steamer +passed, the smoke from her funnels blowing out like long black +pennons. But all of these were too far off, or too much engaged with +their own affairs to see the little craft tossing hither and thither +like a used-up herring basket upon the endless area of ocean. + +Fortunately, from his youth Morris had been accustomed to the +management of boats in all sorts of weather, the occupation of sailing +alone upon the waters being one well suited to his solitary and +reflective disposition. Thus it came about that they survived, when +others, less skilful, might have drowned. Sometimes they ran before +the seas; sometimes they got up a few square feet of sail, and, taking +advantage of a veer in the wind, tried to tack, and once, when it blew +its hardest, fearing lest they should be pooped, for over an hour they +contrived to keep head on to the waves. + +Thus, diversified by some necessary bailing, passed the short November +day, long enough for them, till once more the darkness began to +gather. They had still some food and drink left; indeed, had it not +been for these they would have perished. Most happily, also, with the +sun the wind dropped, although for hours the sea remained dangerously +high. Now wet and cold were their enemies, worse than any that they +had been called upon to face. Long ago the driving spray had soaked +them to the skin, and there upon the sea the winter night was very +chill. + +While the wind, fortunately for them, by comparison a warm one, still +blew from the west, and the sea remained tempestuous, they found some +shelter by wrapping themselves in a corner of the sail. Towards +midnight, however, it got round to the northeast, enough of it to +moderate the sea considerably, and to enable them to put the boat +about and go before it with a closely reefed sail. Now, indeed, they +were bitterly cold, and longed even for the shelter of the wet canvas. +Still Morris felt, and Stella was of the same mind, that before utter +exhaustion overtook them their best chance for life lay in trying to +make the shore, which was, they knew not how far away. + +There, then, for hours they cowered in the stern of the boat, huddled +together to protect themselves as best they might from the weather, +and plunging forward beneath their little stretch of sail. Sleep they +could not, for that icy breath bit into their marrow, and of this +Morris was glad, since he did not dare relax his watch for an instant. +So sometimes they sat silent, and sometimes by fits and starts they +talked, their lips close to each other's face, as though they were +whispering to one another. + +To while away the weary time, Morris told his companion about his +invention, the aerophone. Then she in turn told him something of her +previous life--Stella was now a woman of four and twenty. It seemed +that her mother had died when she was fourteen at the rectory in +Northumberland, where she was born. After that, with short intervals, +she had spent five years in Denmark, whither her father came to visit +her every summer. Most of this time she passed at a school in +Copenhagen, going for her holidays to stay with her grandmother, who +was the widow of a small landowner of noble family, and lived in an +ancient, dilapidated house in some remote village. At length the +grandmother died, leaving to Stella the trifle she possessed, after +which, her education being completed, she returned to Northumberland +to keep house for her father. Here, too, it would seem that her life +was very lonely, for the place was but an unvisited coast village, and +they were not rich enough to mix much with the few county families who +lived anywhere within reach. + +"Have you no brothers or sisters?" asked Morris. + +Even then, numb as was her flesh with cold, he felt her wince at the +question. + +"No, no," she answered, "none now--at least, none here. I have--I mean +I had--a sister, my twin, but she died when we were seventeen. This +was the most dreadful thing that ever happened to me, the thing which +made me what I am." + +"I don't quite understand. What are you, then?" + +"Oh, something very unsatisfactory, I am afraid, quite different from +other people. What Mr. Tomley said /you/ were, Mr. Monk, a mystic and +a dreamer of dreams; a lover of the dead; one who dwells in the past, +and--in the future." + +Morris did not pursue the subject; even under their strange +circumstances, favourable as they were to intimacy and confidences, it +seemed impertinent to him to pry into the mysteries of his companion's +life. Only he asked, at hazard almost: + +"How did you spend your time up there in Northumberland?" + +"In drawing a little, in collecting eggs, moths, and flowers a great +deal; in practising with my violin playing and singing; and during the +long winters in making translations in my spare time of Norse sagas, +which no one will publish." + +"I should like to read them; I am fond of the sagas," he said, and +after this, under pressure of their physical misery, the conversation +died away. + +Hour succeeded to hour, and the weather moderated so much that now +they were in little danger of being swamped. This, indeed, was +fortunate, since in the event of a squall or other emergency, in their +numbed condition it was doubtful whether they could have found enough +strength to do what might be necessary to save themselves. They drank +what remained of the whiskey, which put life into their veins for a +while, but soon its effects passed off, leaving them, if possible, +more frozen than before. + +"What is the time?" asked Stella, after a long silence. + +"It should be daybreak in about two hours," he said, in a voice that +attempted cheerfulness. + +Then a squall of sleet burst upon them, and after this new misery a +torpor overcame Stella; at least, her shiverings grew less violent, +and her head sank upon his shoulder. Morris put one arm round her +waist to save her from slipping into the water at the bottom of the +boat, making shift to steer with the other. Thus, for a while they +ploughed forward--whither he knew not, across the inky sea, for there +was no moon, and the stars were hidden, driven on slowly by the biting +breath of the winter wind. + +Presently she awoke, lifted her head, and spoke, saying: + +"We can't last much longer in this cold and wet. You are not afraid, +are you?" + +"No, not exactly afraid, only sorry; it is hard to go with so much to +be done, and--to leave behind." + +"You shouldn't think like that," she answered, "for what we leave must +follow. She will suffer, but soon she will be with you again, where +everything is understood. Only you ought to have died with her, and +not with me, a stranger." + +"Fate settles these things," he muttered, "and if it comes to that, +maybe God will give her strength. But the dawn is near, and by it we +may see land." + +"Yes, yes,"--now her voice had sunk to a whisper,--"the dawn is always +near, and by it we shall see land." + +Then again Stella's head sank upon his shoulder, and she slept +heavily; nor, although he knew that such slumbers are dangerous, did +he think it worth while to disturb her. + +The invisible seas hissed past; the sharp wind bit his bones, and over +him, too, that fatal slumber began to creep. But, although he seldom +exercised it, Morris was a man of strong will, and while any strength +was left he refused to give way. Would this dreadful darkness never +end? For the fiftieth time he glanced back over his shoulder, and now, +he was sure of it, the east grew ashen. He waited awhile, for the +November dawn is slow in breaking, then looked again. Heaven be +thanked! the cold wind had driven away the clouds, and there, upon the +edge of the horizon, peeped up the fiery circle of the sun, throwing +long rays of sickly yellow across the grey, troubled surface of the +waters. In front of him lay a dense bank of fog, which, from its +character, as Morris knew well, must emanate from the reeking face of +earth. They were near shore, it could not be doubted; still, he did +not wake his companion. Perhaps he might be in error, and sleep, even +a death-sleep, is better than the cheatings of disappointed hope. + +What was that dim object in front of him? Surely it must be the ruin a +mile or so to the north of Monksland, that was known as the Death +Church? Once a village stood here, but the sea had taken most of it; +indeed, all that remained to-day was this old, deserted fane, which, +having been built upon a breast of rising ground, still remained, +awaiting its destruction by the slow sap of the advancing ocean. Even +now, at times of very high tide, the sea closed in behind, cutting the +fabric off from the mainland, where it looked like a forsaken +lighthouse rather than the tower and chancel of a church. But there, +not much more than a mile away, yes, there it was, and Morris felt +proud to think how straight he had steered homewards through that +stormy darkness. + +The sea was still wild and high, but he was familiar with every inch +of the coast, and knew well that there was a spot to the south of the +Dead Church, just where the last rood of graveyard met the sand, upon +which he could beach the boat safely even in worse weather. For this +nook Morris headed with a new energy; the fires of life and hope burnt +up in him, giving him back his strength and judgment. + +At last they were opposite to the place, and, watching his chance, he +put the helm down and ran in upon the crest of a wave, till the boat +grounded in the soft sand, and began to wallow there like a dying +thing. Fearing lest the back-wash should suck them off into the surf +again, he rolled himself into the water, for jump he could not; +indeed, it was as much as he could do to stand. With a last effort of +his strength he seized Stella in his arms and struggled with her to +the sandy shore, where he sank down exhausted. Then she woke. "Oh, I +dreamed, I dreamed!" she said, staring round her wildly. + +"What?" he asked. + +"That it was all over; and afterwards, that I----" and she broke off +suddenly, adding: "But it was all a dream, for we are safe on shore, +are we not?" + +"Yes, thank Heaven!" said Morris. "Sit still, and I will make the boat +secure. She has served us a good turn, and I do not want to lose her +after all." + +She nodded, and wading into the water, with numbed hands he managed to +lift the little anchor and carry it ashore in his arms. + +"There," he said, "the tide is ebbing, and she'll hold fast enough +until I can send to fetch her; or, if not, it can't be helped. Come +on, Miss Fregelius, before you grow too stiff to walk;" and, bending +down, he helped her to her feet. + +Their road ran past the nave of the church, which was ruined and +unroofed. At some time during the last two generations, however, +although the parishioners saw that it was useless to go to the cost of +repairing the nave, they had bricked in the chancel, and to within the +last twenty years continued to use it as a place of worship. Indeed, +the old oak door taken from the porch still swung on rusty hinges in +the partition wall of red brick. Stella looked up and saw it. + +"I want to look in there," she said. + +"Wouldn't it do another time?" The moment did not strike Morris as +appropriate for the examination of ruined churches. + +"No; if you don't mind I should like to look now, while I remember, +just for one instant." + +So he shrugged his shoulders, and they limped forward up the roofless +nave and through the door. She stared at the plain stone altar, at the +eastern window, of which part was filled with ancient coloured glass +and part with cheap glazed panes; at the oak choir benches, mouldy and +broken; at the few wall-slabs and decaying monuments, and at the roof +still strong and massive. + +"I dreamed of a place very like this," she said, nodding her head. "I +thought that I was standing in such a spot in a fearful gale, and that +the sea got under the foundations and washed the dead out of their +graves." + +"Really, Miss Fregelius," he said, with some irritation, for the +surroundings of the scene and his companion's talk were uncanny, "do +you think this an occasion to explore ruins and relate nightmares?" +Then he added, "I beg your pardon, but I think that the cold and wet +have affected your nerves; for my part, I have none left." + +"Perhaps; at least forgive me, I did so want to look," she answered +humbly as, arm-in-arm, for she needed support, they passed from the +altar to the door. + +A grotesque imagination entered the numbed mind of Morris. Their slow +and miserable march turned itself to a vision of a bridal procession +from the altar. Wet, dishevelled, half-frozen, they two were the +bride-groom and the bride, and the bride was a seer of visions, and +the bridegroom was a dreamer of dreams. Yes, and they came up together +out of the bitter sea and the darkness, and they journeyed together to +a vault of the dead---- + +Thank Heaven! they were out of the place, and above was the sun +shining, and, to the right and left, the grey ocean and the purple +plough-lands, cold-looking, suggesting dangers and labour, but +wholesome all of them, and good to the eye of man. Only why did this +woman see visions, and why did he dream dreams? And what was the +meaning of their strange meeting upon the sea? And what---- + +"Where are we going?" asked Stella after a while and very faintly. + +"Home; to the Abbey, I mean, where your father lies. Now it is not +much more than a mile away." + +She sighed; her strength was failing her. + +"You had better try to walk, it will warm you," he urged, and she +struggled on. + +It was a miserable journey, but they reached the house at length, +passing first through a street of the village in which no one seemed +to be awake. A wretched-looking couple, they stumbled up the steps +into the porch, where Morris rang the bell, for the door was locked. +The time seemed an age, but at last steps were heard, the door was +unbarred, and there appeared a vision of the lad Thomas, yawning, and +clad in a nightshirt and a pair of trousers, with braces attached +which dangled to the floor. + +"Oh, Lord!" he said when he saw them, and his jaw dropped. + +"Get out of the way, you young idiot," said Morris, "and call the +cook." + + + +It was half-past seven in the evening, that is, dinner time, and +Morris stood in the study waiting for Stella, who had announced +through the housemaid that she was coming down. + +After telling the servants to send for the doctor and attend to his +companion, who had insisted upon being led straight to her father's +room, Morris's first act that morning on reaching home was to take a +bath as hot as he could bear. Then he drank several cups of coffee +with brandy in it, and as the office would soon be open, wrote a +telegram to Mary, which ran thus: + + + "If you hear that I have been drowned, don't believe it. Have + arrived safe home after a night at sea." + + +This done, for he guessed that all sorts of rumours would be abroad, +he inquired after Mr. Fregelius and Stella. Having learned that they +were both going on well and sent off his telegram, Morris went to bed +and slept for ten hours. + + + +Morris looked round the comfortable sitting-room with its recessed +Tudor windows, its tall bookcases and open hearth, where burned a +bright fire of old ship's timbers supported on steel dogs, and thought +to himself that he was fortunate to be there. Then the door opened, he +heard the housemaid's voice say, "This way please, Miss," and Stella +came in. She wore a plain white dress that seemed to fit her very +well, though where she got it from he never discovered, and her +luxuriant hair was twisted up into a simple knot. On the bosom of her +dress was fixed a spray of brilliant ampelopsis leaves; it was her +only ornament, but none could have been more striking. For the rest, +although she limped and still looked dark and weary about the eyes, to +all appearances she was not much the worse for their terrible +adventure. + +Morris glanced at her. Could this dignified and lovely young lady be +that red-cloaked, loose-haired Valkyrie whom he had seen singing at +daybreak upon the prow of the sinking ship, or the piteous bedraggled +person whom he had supported from the altar in the Dead Church? + +She guessed his thought--from the beginning Stella had this curious +power of discovering his mind--and said with a smile: + +"Fine feathers make fine birds, and even Cleopatra would have looked +dreadful after a November night in an open boat." + +"Have you recovered?" he asked. + +"Yes, Mr. Monk; that is, I don't think I am going to have inflammation +of the lungs or anything horrid of the sort. The remedies and that +walk stopped it. But my feet are peeling from being soaked so long in +salt water, and my hands are not much better. See," and she held them +towards him. + +Then dinner was announced, and for the second time that day they +walked arm-in-arm. + +"It seems a little strange, doesn't it?" suggested Morris as he +surveyed the great refectory in which they two, seated at the central +table, looked so lone and small. + +"Yes," she answered; "but so it should, anything quite usual would +have been out of place to-day." + +Then he asked her how her father was going on, and heard what he had +already learned from the doctor, that he was doing as well as could be +expected. + +"By the way, Mr. Monk," she added; "if you can spare a few minutes +after dinner, and are not too tired, he would so much like to see +you." + +"Of course," answered Morris a little nervously, for he scented a +display of fervent gratitude. + +After this they dropped into desultory conversation, curiously +different from the intimate talk which passed between them in the +boat. Then they had been in danger, and at times in the very shadow of +Death; a condition that favours confidences since those who stand +beneath his wings no longer care to hide their hearts. The reserves +which so largely direct our lives are lifted, their necessity is past, +and in the face of the last act of Nature, Nature asserts herself. Who +cares to continue to play a part when the audience has dispersed, the +curtain is falling, and the pay-box has put up its shutters? Now, very +unexpectedly these two were on the stage again, and each assumed the +allotted role. + +Stella admired the room; whereon Morris set to work to explain its +characteristics, to find, to his astonishment, that Miss Fregelius had +more knowledge of architecture than he could boast. He pointed out +certain details, alleging them to be Elizabethan work, to which age +they had been credited for generations, whereon she suggested and, +indeed, proved, that some of them dated from the earlier years of +Henry VIII., and that some were late Jacobean. While Morris was +wondering how he could combat this revolutionary opinion, the servant +brought in a telegram. It was from Mary, at Beaulieu, and ran: + + + "Had not heard that you were drowned, but am deeply thankful that + you are saved. Why did you pass a night at sea in this weather? Is + it a riddle? Grieved to say my father not so well. Best love, and + please keep on shore. MARY." + + +At first Morris was angry with this rather flippant message; then he +laughed. As he had already discovered, in fact, his anxieties had been +quite groundless. The page-boy, Thomas, it appeared, when questioned, +had given the inquirers to understand that his master had gone out to +fish, taking his breakfast with him. Later, on his non-appearance, he +amended this statement, suggesting out of the depths of a fertile +imagination, that he had sailed down to Northwold, where he meant to +pass the night. Therefore, although the cook, a far-seeing woman who +knew her Thomas and hated him, had experienced pangs of doubt, nobody +else troubled the least, and even the small community of Monksland +remained profoundly undisturbed as to the fate of one of its principal +inhabitants. + +So little is an unsympathetic world concerned in our greatest and most +particular adventures! A birth, a marriage, an inquest, a scandal-- +these move it superficially, for the rest it has no enthusiasm to +spare. This cold neglect of events which had seemed to him so +important reacted upon Morris, who, now that he had got over his chill +and fatigue, saw them in their proper proportions. A little adventure +in an open boat at sea which had ended without any mishap, was not +remarkable, and might even be made to appear ridiculous. So the less +said about it, especially to Mary, whose wit he feared, the better. + +When dinner was finished Stella left the room, passing down its +shadowed recesses with a peculiar grace of which even her limp could +not rob her. Ten minutes later, while Morris sat sipping a glass of +claret, the nurse came down to tell him that Mr. Fregelius would like +to see him if he were disengaged. Reflecting that he might as well get +the interview over, Morris followed her at once to the Abbot's +chamber, where the sick man lay. + +Except for a single lamp near the bed, the place was unlighted, but by +the fire, its glow falling on her white-draped form and pale, uncommon +face, sat Stella. As he entered she rose, and, coming forward, +accompanied him to the bedside, saying, in an earnest voice: + +"Father, here is our host, Mr. Monk, the gentleman who saved my life +at the risk of his own." + +The patient raised his bandaged head and stretched out a long thin +hand; he could stir nothing else, for his right thigh was in splints +beneath a coffer-like erection designed to keep the pressure of the +blankets from his injured limb. + +"Sir, I thank you," he said in a dry, staccato voice; "all the +humanity that is lacking from the hearts of those rude wretches, the +crew of the Trondhjem, must have found its home in you." + +Morris looked at the dark, quiet eyes that seemed to express much +which the thin and impassive face refused to reveal; at the grey +pointed beard and the yellowish skin of the outstretched arm. Here +before him, he felt, lay a man whose personality it was not easy to +define, one who might be foolish, or might be able, but of whose +character the leading note was reticence, inherent or acquired. Then +he took the hand, and said simply: + +"Pray, say no more about it. I acted on an impulse and some wandering +words of yours, with results for which I could not hope. There is +nothing to thank me for." + +"Then, sir, I thank God, who inspired you with that impulse, and may +every blessing reward your bravery." + +Stella looked up as though to speak, but changed her mind and returned +to her seat by the fire. + +"What is there to reward?" said Morris impatiently; "that your +daughter is still alive is my reward. How are you to-night, Mr. +Fregelius?" + + + + CHAPTER XI + + A MORNING SERVICE + +Mr. Fregelius replied he was as well as could be expected; that the +doctor said no complications were likely to ensue, but that here upon +this very bed he must lie for at least two months. "That," he added, +"is a sad thing to have to say to a man into whose house you have +drifted like a log into a pool of the rocks." + +"It is not my house, but my father's, who is at present in France," +answered Morris. "But I can only say on his behalf that both you and +your daughter are most welcome until you are well enough to move to +the Rectory." + +"Why should I not go there at once?" interrupted Stella. "I could come +each day and see my father." + +"No, no, certainly not," said Morris. "How could you live alone in +that great, empty house?" + +"I am not afraid of being alone," she answered, smiling; "but let it +be as you like, Mr. Monk--at any rate, until you grow tired of us, and +change your mind." + +Then Mr. Fregelius told Morris what he had not yet heard--that when it +became known that they had deserted Stella, leaving her to drown in +the sinking ship, the attentions of the inhabitants of Monksland to +the cowardly foreign sailors became so marked that their consul at +Northwold had thought it wise to get them out of the place as quickly +as possible. While this story was in progress Stella left the room to +speak to the nurse who had been engaged to look after her father at +night. + +Afterwards, at the request of Mr. Fregelius, Morris told the tale of +his daughter's rescue. In the course of it he mentioned how he found +her standing on the deck of the sinking ship and singing a Norse song, +which she had informed him was an ancient death-dirge. + +The old clergyman turned his head and sighed. + +"What is the matter?" asked Morris. + +"Nothing, Mr. Monk; only that song is unlucky in my family, and I +hoped that she had forgotten it." + +Morris looked at him blankly. + +"You don't understand--how should you? But, Mr. Monk, there are +strange things and strange people in this world, and I think that my +daughter Stella is one of the strangest of them. Fey like the rest-- +only a fey Norse woman would sing in such a moment." + +Again Morris looked at him. + +"Oh, it is an old northern term, and means foreseeing, and foredoomed. +To my knowledge her grandmother, her mother, and her sister, all three +of them, sang or repeated that song when in some imminent danger to +their lives, and all three of them were dead within the year. The +coincidence is unpleasant." + +"Surely," said Morris, with a smile, "you who are a clergyman, can +scarcely believe in such superstition?" + +"No, I am not superstitious, and I don't believe in it; but the thing +recalls unhappy memories. They have been death-lovers, all of them. I +never heard of a case of one of that family who showed the slightest +fear at the approach of death; and some have greeted it with +eagerness." + +"Well," said Morris, "would not that mean only that their spiritual +sight is a little clearer than ours, and their faith a little +stronger? Theoretically, we should all of us wish to die." + +"Quite so, yet we are human, and don't. But she is safe, thanks to +you, who but for you would now be gone. My head is still weak from +that blow--you must pay no attention to me. I think that I hear Stella +coming; you will say nothing to her--about that song, I mean--will +you? We never talk of it in my family." + +When, still stiff and sore from his adventure in the open boat, Morris +went to bed, it was clear to his mind after careful consideration that +fortune had made him the host of an exceedingly strange couple. Of Mr. +Fregelius he was soon able to form an estimate distinct enough, +although, for aught he knew, it might be erroneous. The clergyman +struck him as a person of some abilities who had been doomed to much +disappointment and suffered from many sorrows. Doubtless his talents +had not proved to be of a nature to advance him in the world. +Probably, indeed--and here Morris's hazard was correct--he was a +scholar and a bookworm without individuality, to whom fate had +assigned minor positions in a profession, which, however sincere his +faith, he was scarcely fitted to adorn. + +The work of a clergyman in a country parish if it is to succeed, +should be essentially practical, and this man was not practical. +Clearly, thought Morris, he was one of those who beat their wings +against the bars with the common result; it was the wings that +suffered, the bars only grew a trifle brighter. Then it seemed that he +had lost a wife to whom he was attached, and the child who remained to +him, although he loved her and clung to her, he did not altogether +understand. So it came about, perhaps, that he had fallen under the +curses of loneliness and continual apprehension; and in this shadow +where he was doomed to walk, flourished forebodings and regrets, +drawing their strength from his starved nature like fungi from a tree +outgrown and fallen in the forest. + +Mr. Fregelius, so thought Morris, was timid and reticent, because he +dared not discover his heart, that had been so sorely trampled by Fate +and Fortune. Yet he had a heart which, if he could find a confessor +whom he could trust, he longed to ease in confidence. For the rest, +the man's physical frame, not too robust at any time, was shattered, +and with it his nerve--sudden shipwreck, painful accident, the fierce +alternatives of hope and fear; then at last a delirium of joy at the +recovery of one whom he thought dead, had done their work with him; +and in this broken state some ancient, secret superstition became +dominant, and, strive as he would to suppress it, even in the presence +of a stranger, had burst from his lips in hints of unsubstantial +folly. + +Such was the father, or such he appeared to Morris, but of the +daughter what could be said? Without doubt she was a woman of strange +and impressive power. At this very moment her sweet voice, touched +with that continual note of pleading, still echoed in his brain. And +the dark, quiet eyes that now slept, and now shone large, as her +thoughts fled through them, like some mysterious sky at night in which +the summer lightning pulses intermittently! Who might forget those +eyes that once had seen them? Already he wished to be rid of their +haunting and could not. Then her beauty--how unusual it was, yet how +rich and satisfying to the eye and sense; in some ways almost Eastern +notwithstanding her Norse blood! + +Often Morris had read or heard of the bewildering power of women, +which for his part hitherto he had been inclined to attribute to +shallow and very common causes, such as underlie all animate nature. +Yet that of Stella--for undoubtedly she had power--suggested another +interpretation to his mind. Or was it, after all, nothing but a +variant, one of the Protean shapes of the ancient, life-compelling +mystery? And her strange chant, the song of which her father made +light, but feared so much; her quick insight into the workings of his +own thought; her courage in the face of danger and sharp physical +miseries; her charm, her mastery. What was he to make of them? Lastly, +why did he think so much about her? It was not his habit where +strangers were concerned. And why had she awakened in his somewhat +solitary and secluded mind a sympathy so unusual that it seemed to him +that he had known her for years and not for hours? + +Pondering these things and the fact that perhaps within the coming +weeks he would find out their meaning, Morris went to sleep. When he +awoke next morning his mood had changed. Somewhat vaguely he +remembered his perturbations of the previous night indeed, but now +they only moved him to a smile. Their reasons were so obvious. Such +exaggerated estimates and thoughts follow strange adventures--and in +all its details this adventure was very strange--as naturally as +nightmares follow indigestion. + +Presently Thomas came to call him, and brought up his letters, among +them one from Mary containing nothing in particular, for, of course, +it had been despatched before her telegram, but written in her usual +humorous style, which made him laugh aloud. + +There was a postscript to the letter screwed into the unoccupied space +between the date line and the "Dearest Morris" at its commencement. It +ran: + + + "How would you like to spend our honeymoon? In a yacht in the + Mediterranean? I think that would do. There is nothing like + solitude in a wretched little boat to promote mutual + understanding. If your devotion could stand the strain of a + dishevelled and seasick spouse, our matrimonial future has no + terrors for your loving + Mary." + + +As Morris read he ceased to laugh. "Yes," he thought to himself, +"'solitude in a wretched little boat' does promote mutual +understanding. I am not certain that it does not promote it too much." +Then, with an access of irritation, "Bother the people! I wish I could +be rid of them; the whole thing seems likely to become a worry." + +Next he took up a letter from his father, which, when perused, did not +entertain him in the least. There was nothing about Lady Rawlins in +it, of whom he longed to hear, or thought that he did; nothing about +that entrancing personality, the bibulous and violent Sir Jonah, now +so meek and lamblike, but plenty, whole pages indeed, as to details +connected with the estate. Also it contained a goodly sprinkling of +sarcasms and grumblings at his, Morris's, bad management of various +little matters which the Colonel considered important. Most of all, +however, was his parent indignant at his neglect to furnish him with +details sufficiently ample of the progress of the new buildings. +Lastly, he desired, by return of post, a verbatim report of the +quarrel that, as he was informed, had occurred on the school board +when a prominent Roman Catholic threatened to throw an inkstand at a +dissenting minister who, /coram populo/, called him the son of "a +Babylonian woman." + +By the time that Morris had finished this epistle, and two others +which accompanied it, he was in no mood for further reflections of an +unpractical or dreamy nature. Who can wonder when it is stated that +they contained, respectively, a summary demand for the amount of a +considerable bill which he imagined he had paid, and a request that he +would read a paper before a "Science Institute" upon the possibilities +of aerial telephones, made by a very unpleasing lady whom he had once +met at a lawn-tennis party? Indeed it would not be too much to say +that if anyone had given him the opportunity he would have welcomed a +chance to quarrel, especially with the lady of the local Institute. +Thus, cured of all moral distempers, and every tendency to speculate +on feminine charms, hidden or overt, did he descend to the Sabbath +breakfast. + +That morning Morris accompanied Stella to church, where the services +were still being performed by a stop-gap left by Mr. Tomley. Here, +again, Stella was a surprise to him, for now her demeanour, and at a +little distance her appearance also, were just such as mark ninety- +eight out of every hundred clergyman's daughters in the country. So +quiet and reserved was she that anyone meeting her that morning might +have imagined that she was hurrying from the accustomed Bible-class to +sit among her pupils in the church. This impression indeed was, as it +were, certificated by an old-fashioned silk fichu that she had been +obliged to borrow, which in bygone years had been worn by Morris's +mother. + +Once in church, however, matters changed. To begin with, finding it +warm, Stella threw off the fichu, greatly to the gain of her personal +appearance. Next, it became evident that the beauties of the ancient +building appealed to her, which was not wonderful; for these old, +seaside, eastern counties churches, relics of long past wealth and +piety, are some of them among the most beautiful in the world. Then +came the "Venite," of which here and there she sang a line or so, just +one or two rich notes like those that a thrush utters before he bursts +into full song. Rare as they might be, however, they caused those +about her in the church to look at the strange singer wonderingly. + +After this, in the absence of his father, Morris read the lessons, and +although, being blessed with a good voice, this was a duty which he +performed creditably enough, that day he went through it with a +certain sense of nervousness. Why he was nervous at first he did not +guess; till, chancing to glance up, he became aware that Miss +Fregelius was looking at him out of her half-closed eyes. What is +more, she was listening critically, and with much intenseness, +whereupon, instantly, he made a mistake and put a false accent on a +name. + +In due course, the lessons done with, they reached the first hymn, +which was one that scarcely seemed to please his companion; at any +rate, she shut the book and would not sing. In the case of the second +hymn, however, matters were different. This time she did not even open +the book. It was evident that she knew the words, perhaps among the +most beautiful in the whole collection, by heart. The reader will +probably be acquainted with them. They begin: + + + "And now, O Father, mindful of the love + That bought us, once for all, on Calvary's tree." + + +At first Stella sang quite low, as though she wished to repress her +powers. Now, as it happened, at Monksland the choir was feeble, but +inoffensive; whereas the organ was a good, if a worn and neglected +instrument, suited to the great but sparsely peopled church, and the +organist, a man who had music in his soul. Low as she was singing, he +caught the sound of Stella's voice, and knew at once that before him +was a woman who in a supreme degree possessed the divinest gift, +perhaps, with which Nature can crown her sex, the power and gift of +song. Forgetting his wretched choir, he began to play to her. She +seemed to note the invitation, and at once answered to it. + + + "Look, Father, look on His anointed face," + + +swelled from her throat in deep contralto notes, rich as those the +organ echoed. + +But the full glory of the thing, that surpassing music which set +Monksland talking for a week, was not reached till she came to the +third verse. Perhaps the pure passion and abounding humanity of its +spirit moved her. Perhaps by this time she was the thrall of her own +song. Perhaps she had caught the look of wonder and admiration on the +face of Morris, and was determined to show him that she had other +music at command besides that of pagan death-chants. At least, she +sang up and out, till her notes dominated those of the choir, which +seemed to be but an accompaniment to them; till they beat against the +ancient roof and down the depth of the long nave, to be echoed back as +though from the golden trumpets of the angels that stood above the +tower screen; till even the village children ceased from whispers and +playing to listen open-mouthed. + + + "And then for those, our dearest and best, + By this prevailing Presence we appeal; + O! fold them closer to Thy mercy's breast, + O! do Thine utmost, for their souls' true weal; + From tainting mischief keep them white and clear, + And crown Thy gifts with strength to persevere." + + +It was as her voice lingered upon the deep tones of these last words +that suddenly Stella seemed to become aware that practically she was +singing a solo; that at any rate no one else in the congregation was +contributing a note. Then she was vexed, or perhaps a panic took her; +at least, not another word of that hymn passed her lips. In vain the +organist paused and looked round indignantly; the little boys, the +clerk, and the stout coach-builder were left to finish it by +themselves, with results that by contrast were painful. + +When Stella came out of church, redraped in the antique and unbecoming +fichu, she found herself the object of considerable attention. Indeed, +upon one pretext and another nearly all the congregation seemed to be +lingering about the porch and pathway to stare at the new parson's +shipwrecked daughter when she appeared. Among them was Miss Layard, +and with her the delicate brother. They were staying to lunch with the +Stop-gap's meek little wife. Indeed, this self-satisfied and somewhat +acrimonious lady, Miss Layard, engaged Morris in conversation, and +pointedly asked him to introduce her to Miss Fregelius. + +"We are to be neighbours, you know," she explained, "for we live at +the Hall in the next parish, not more than a mile away." + +"Indeed," answered Stella, who did not seem much impressed. + +"My brother and I hope to call upon Mr. Fregelius and yourself as soon +as possible, but I thought I would not wait for that to have the +pleasure of making your acquaintance." + +"You are very kind indeed," said Stella simply. "At present, I am +afraid, it is not much use calling upon my father, as he is in bed +with a broken thigh; also, we are not at the Rectory. Until he can be +moved we are only guests at the Abbey," and she looked at Morris, who +added rather grumpily, by way of explanation: + +"Of course, Miss Layard, you have heard about the wreck of the +Trondhjem, and how those foreign sailors saw the light in my workshop +and brought Mr. Fregelius to the Abbey." + +"Oh, yes, Mr. Monk, and how they left Miss Fregelius behind, and you +went to fetch her, and all sorts of strange things happened to you. We +think it quite wonderful and romantic. I am writing to dear Miss +Porson to tell her about it, because I am sure that you are too modest +to sing your own praises." + +Morris grew angry. At the best of times he disliked Miss Layard. Now +he began to detest her, and to long for the presence of Mary, who +understood how to deal with that not too well-bred young person. + +"You really needn't have troubled," he answered. "I have already +written." + +"Then my epistle will prove a useful commentary. If I were engaged to +a modern hero I am sure I could not hear too much about him, and," +fixing her eyes upon the black silk fichu, "the heroine of the +adventure." + +Meanwhile, Stella was being engaged by the brother, who surveyed her +with pale, admiring eyes which did not confine their attentions to the +fichu. + +"Monk is always an awfully lucky fellow," he said. "Just fancy his +getting the chance of doing all that, and finding you waiting on the +ship at the end of it," he added, with desperate and emphatic +gallantry. "There's to be a whole column about it in the 'Northwold +Times' to-morrow. I wish the thing had come my way, that's all." + +"Unless you understand how to manage a boat in a heavy sea, and the +winds and tides of this coast thoroughly, I don't think that you +should wish that, Mr. Layard," said Stella. + +"Why not?" he asked sharply. As a matter of fact the little man was a +miserable sailor and suspected her of poking fun at him. + +"Because you would have been drowned, Mr. Layard, and lying at the +bottom of the North Sea among the dogfish and conger-eels this morning +instead of sitting comfortably in church." + +Mr. Layard started and stared at her. Evidently this lady's +imagination was as vivid as it was suggestive. + +"I say, Miss Fregelius," he said, "you don't put things very +pleasantly." + +"No, I am afraid not, but then drowning isn't pleasant. I have been +near it very lately, and I thought a great deal about those conger- +eels. And sudden death isn't pleasant, and perhaps--unless you are +very, very good, as I daresay you are--what comes after it may not be +quite pleasant. All of which has to be thought of before one goes to +sea in an open boat in winter, on the remotest chance of saving a +stranger's life--hasn't it?" + +Somehow Mr. Layard felt distinctly smaller. + +"I daresay one wouldn't mind it at a pinch," he muttered; "Monk isn't +the only plucky fellow in the world." + +"I am sure you would not, Mr. Layard," replied Stella in a gentler +voice, "still these things must be considered upon such occasions and +a good many others." + +"A brave man doesn't think, he acts," persisted Mr. Layard. + +"No," replied Stella, "a foolish man doesn't think, a brave man thinks +and sees, and still acts--at least, that is how it strikes me, +although perhaps I have no right to an opinion. But Mr. Monk is going +on, so I must say good-morning." + +"Are many of the ladies about here so inquisitive, and the young +gentlemen so?"--"decided" she was going to say, but changed the word +to "kind"--asked Stella of Morris as they walked homeward. + +"Ladies!" snapped Morris. "Miss Layard isn't a lady, and never will +be; she has neither birth nor breeding, only good looks of a sort and +money. I should like," he added, viciously--"I should like to shut her +into her own coal mine." + +Stella laughed, which was a rare thing with her--usually she only +smiled--as she answered: + +"I had no idea you were so vindictive, Mr. Monk. And what would you +like to do with Mr. Layard?" + +"Oh! I--never thought much about him. He is an ignorant, uneducated +little fellow, but worth two of his sister, all the same. After all, +he's got a heart. I have known him do kind things, but she has nothing +but a temper." + +Meanwhile, at the luncheon table of the Stop-gap the new and +mysterious arrival, Miss Fregelius, was the subject of fierce debate. + +"Pretty! I don't call her pretty," said Miss Layard; "she has fine +eyes, that is all, and they do not look quite right. What an +extraordinary garment she had on, too; it might have come out of +Noah's Ark." + +"I fancy," suggested the hostess, a mild little woman, "that it came +out of the wardrobe of the late Mrs. Monk. You know, Miss Fregelius +lost all her things in that ship." + +"Then if I were she I should have stopped at home until I got some new +ones," snapped Miss Layard. + +"Perhaps everybody doesn't think so much about clothes as you do, +Eliza," suggested her brother Stephen, seeing an opportunity which he +was loth to lose. Eliza, in the privacy of domestic life, was not a +person to be assailed with a light heart, but in company, when to some +extent she must keep her temper under control, more might be dared. + +She shifted her chair a little, with her a familiar sign of war, and +while searching for a repartee which would be sufficiently crushing, +cast on Stephen a glance that might have turned wine into vinegar. + +Somewhat tremulously, for unless the fire could be damped before it +got full hold, she knew what they might expect, the little hostess +broke in with-- + +"What a beautiful singing voice she has, hasn't she?" + +"Who?" asked Eliza, pretending not to understand. + +"Why, Miss Fregelius, of course." + +"Oh, well, that is a matter of opinion." + +"Hang it all, Eliza!" said her brother, "there can't be two opinions +about it, she sings like an angel." + +"Do you think so, Stephen? I should have said she sings like an opera +dancer." + +"Always understood that their gifts lay in their legs and not in their +throats. But perhaps you mean a prima donna," remarked Stephen +reflectively. + +"No, I don't. Prima donnas are not in the habit of screeching at the +top of their voices, and then stopping suddenly to make an effect and +attract attention." + +"Certainly she has attracted my attention, and I only wish I could +hear such screeching every day; it would be a great change." It may be +explained that the Layards were musical, and that each detested the +music of the other. + +"Really, Stephen," rejoined Eliza, with sarcasm as awkward as it was +meant to be crushing, "I shall have to tell Jane Rose that she is +dethroned, poor dear--beaten out of the field by a hymn-tune, a pair +of brown eyes, and--a black silk fichu." + +This was a venomous stab, since for a distance of ten miles round +everyone with ears to hear knew that Stephen's admiration of Miss Rose +had not ended prosperously for Stephen. The poisoned knife sank deep, +and its smart drove the little pale-eyed man to fury. + +"You can tell her what you like, Eliza," he replied, for his self- +control was utterly gone; "but it won't be much use, for she'll know +what you mean. She'll know that you are jealous of Miss Fregelius +because she's so good looking; just as you are jealous of her, and of +Mary Porson, and of anybody else who dares to be pretty and," with +crushing meaning, "to look at Morris Monk." + +Eliza gasped, then said in a tragic whisper, "Stephen, you insult me. +Oh! if only we were at home, I would tell you----" + +"I have no doubt you would--you often do; but I'm not going home at +present. I am going to the Northwold hotel." + +"Really," broke in their hostess, almost wringing her hands, "this is +Sunday, Mr. Layard; remember this is Sunday." + +"I am not likely to forget it," replied the maddened Stephen; but over +the rest of this edifying scene we will drop a veil. + +Thus did the advent of Stella bring with it surprises, rumours, and +family dissensions. What else it brought remains to be told. + + + + CHAPTER XII + + MR. LAYARD'S WOOING + +The days went by with an uneventful swiftness at the Abbey, and after +he had once accustomed himself to the strangeness of what was, in +effect, solitude in the house with an unmarried guest of the other +sex, it may be admitted, very pleasantly to Morris. At first that +rather remarkable young lady, Stella, had alarmed him somewhat, so +that he convinced himself that the duties of this novel hospitality +would prove irksome. As a matter of fact, however, in forty-eight +hours the irksomeness was all gone, to be replaced within twice that +period by an atmosphere of complete understanding, which was +comforting to his fearful soul. + +The young lady was never in the way. Now that she had procured some +suitable clothes the young lady was distinctly good looking; she was +remarkably intelligent and well-read; she sang, as Stephen Layard had +said, "like an angel"; she took a most enlightened interest in +aerophones and their possibilities; she proved a very useful assistant +in various experiments; and made one or two valuable suggestions. +While Mary and the rest of them were away the place would really be +dull without her, and somehow he could not be as sorry as he ought +when Dr. Charters told him that old Mr. Fregelius's bones were uniting +with exceeding slowness. + +Such were the conclusions which one by one took shape in the mind of +that ill-starred man, Morris Monk. As yet, however, let the student of +his history understand, they were not tinged with the slightest +"arriere-pensee." He did not guess even that such relations as already +existed between Stella and himself might lead to grievous trouble; +that at least they were scarcely wise in the case of a man engaged. + +All he felt, all he knew, was that he had found a charming companion, +a woman whose thought, if deeper, or at any rate different to his and +not altogether to be followed, was in tune with his. He could not +always catch her meaning, and yet that unrealised meaning would appeal +to him. Himself a very spiritual man, and a humble seeker after truth, +his nature did intuitive reverence to one who appeared to be still +more spiritual, who, as he conjectured, at times at any rate, had +discovered some portion of the truth. He believed it, although she had +never told him so. Indeed that semi-mystical side of Stella, whereof +at first she had shown him glimpses, seemed to be quite in abeyance; +she dreamed no more dreams, she saw no more visions, or if she did she +kept them to herself. Yet to him this woman seemed to be in touch with +that unseen which he found it so difficult to weigh and appreciate. +Instinctively he felt that her best thoughts, her most noble and +permanent desires, were there and not here. + +As he had said to her in the boat, the old Egyptians lived to die. In +life a clay hut was for them a sufficient lodging; in death they +sought a costly, sculptured tomb, hewn from the living rock. With them +these things were symbolical, since that great people believed, with a +wonderful certainty, that the true life lay beyond. They believed, +too, that on the earth they did but linger in its gateway, passing +their time with such joy as they could summon, baring their heads +undismayed to the rain of sorrow, because they knew that very soon +they would be crowned with eternal joys, whereof each of these sorrows +was but an earthly root. + +Stella Fregelius reminded Morris of these old Egyptians. Indeed, had +he wished to carry the comparison from her spiritual to her physical +attributes it still might have been considered apt, for in face she +was somewhat Eastern. Let the reader examine the portrait bust of the +great Queen Taia, clothed with its mysterious smile, which adorns the +museum in Cairo, and, given fair instead of dusky skin, with certain +other minor differences, he will behold no mean likeness to Stella +Fregelius. However this may be, for if Morris saw the resemblance +there were others who could not agree with him; doubtless although not +an Eastern, ancient or modern, she was tinged with the fatalism of the +East, mingled with a certain contempt of death inherited perhaps from +her northern ancestors, and an active, pervading spirituality that was +all her own. Yet her manners were not gloomy, nor her air tragic, for +he found her an excellent companion, fond of children and flowers, and +at times merry in her own fashion. But this gaiety of hers always +reminded Morris of that which is said to have prevailed in the days of +the Terror among those destined to the guillotine. Never for one hour +did she seem to forget the end. "'Vanity of vanities,' saith the +Preacher"; and that lesson was her watchword. + +One evening they were walking together upon the cliff. In the west the +sun had sunk, leaving a pale, lemon-coloured glow upon the sky. Then +far away over the quiet sea, showing bright and large in that frosty +air, sprang out a single star. Stella halted in her walk, and looked +first at the sunset heaven, next at the solemn sea, and last at that +bright, particular star set like a diadem of power upon the brow of +advancing night. Morris, watching her, saw the blood mantle to her +pale face, while the dark eyes grew large and luminous, proud, too, +and full of secret strength. At length his curiosity got the better of +him. + +"What are you thinking of?" he asked. + +"Do you wish me to tell you?" + +"Yes, if you will." + +"You will laugh at me." + +"Yes--as I laugh at that sky, and sea, and star." + +"Well, then, I was thinking of the old, eternal difference between the +present and the future." + +"You mean between life and death?" queried Morris, and she nodded, +answering: + +"Between life and death, and how little people see or think of it. +They just live and forget that beneath them lie their fathers' bones. +They forget that in some few days--perhaps more, perhaps less--other +unknown creatures will be standing above /their/ forgotten bones, as +blind, as self-seeking, as puffed up with the pride of the brief +moment, and filled with the despair of their failure, the glory of +their success, as they are to-night." + +"Perhaps," suggested Morris, "they say that while they are in the +world it is well to be of the world; that when they belong to the next +it will be time to consider it. I am not sure that they are not right. +I have heard that view," he added, remembering a certain conversation +with Mary. + +"Oh, don't think that!" she answered, almost imploringly; "for it is +not true, really it is not true. Of course, the next world belongs to +all, but our lot in it does not come to us by right, that must be +earned." + +"The old doctrine of our Faith," suggested Morris. + +"Yes; but, as I believe, there is more behind, more which we are not +told; that we must find out for ourselves with 'groanings which cannot +be uttered; by hope we are saved.' Did not St. Paul hint at it?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that as our spirit sows, so shall it reap; as it imagines and +desires, so shall it inherit. It is here that the soul must grow, not +there. As the child comes into the world with a nature already formed, +and its blood filled with gifts of strength or weakness, so shall the +spirit come into its world wearing the garment that it has woven and +which it cannot change." + +"The garment which it has woven," said Morris. "That means free will, +and how does free will chime in with your fatalism, Miss Fregelius?" + +"Perfectly; the material given us to weave with, that is Fate; the +time which is allotted for the task, that is Fate again; but the +pattern is our own. Here are brushes, here is pigment, so much of it, +of such and such colours, and here is light to work by. 'Now paint +your picture,' says the Master; 'paint swiftly, with such skill as you +can, not knowing how long is allotted for the task.' And so we weave, +and so we paint, every one of us--every one of us." + +"What is your picture, Miss Fregelius? Tell me, if you will." + +She laughed, and drew herself up. "Mine, oh! it is large. It is to +reign like that star. It is to labour forward from age to age at the +great tasks that God shall set me; to return and bow before His throne +crying, 'It is done. Behold, is the work good?' For the hour that they +endure it is still to be with those whom I have loved on earth, +although they cannot see me; to soothe their sorrows, to support their +weakness, to lull their fears. It is that the empty longing and daily +prayer may be filled, and filled, and filled again, like a cup from a +stream which never ceases." + +"And what is that daily prayer?" asked Morris, looking at her. + +"O! God, touch me with Thy light, and give me understanding--yes, +understanding--the word encloses all I seek," she replied, then, +checking herself, added in a changed voice, "Come, let us go home; it +is foolish to talk long of such things." + + + +Shortly after this curious conversation, which was never renewed +between them, or, at least, but once, a new element entered into the +drama, the necessary semi-comic element without which everything would +be so dull. This fresh factor was the infatuation, which possibly the +reader may have foreseen, of the susceptible, impulsive little man, +Stephen Layard, for Stella Fregelius, the lady whose singing he had +admired, and who had been a cause of war between him and his sister. +Like many weak men, Stephen Layard was obstinate, also from boyhood up +he had suffered much at the hands of Eliza, who was not, in fact, +quite so young as she looked. Hence there arose in his breast a very +natural desire for retaliation. Eliza had taken a violent dislike to +Miss Fregelius, whom he thought charming. This circumstance in their +strained relations was reason enough to induce Stephen to pay court to +her, even if his natural inclination had not made the adventure very +congenial. + +Therefore, on the first opportunity he called at the Abbey to ask +after the rector, to be, as he had hoped, received by Stella. Finding +his visit exceedingly agreeable, after a day or two he repeated it, +and this time was conducted to the old clergyman's bedroom, upon whom +his civility made a good impression. + +Now, as it happened, although he did not live in Monksland, Mr. Layard +was one of the largest property owners in the parish, a circumstance +which he did not fail to impress upon the new rector. Being by nature +and training a hard-working man who wished to do his best for his cure +even while he lay helpless, Mr. Fregelius welcomed the advances of +this wealthy young gentleman with enthusiasm, especially when he found +that he was no niggard. A piece of land was wanted for the cemetery. +Mr. Layard offered to present an acre. Money was lacking to pay off a +debt upon the reading-room. Mr. Layard headed the subscription list +with a handsome sum. And so forth. + +Now the details of these various arrangements could not conveniently +be settled without many interviews, and thus very soon it came about +that scarcely a day went by upon which Mr. Layard's dog-cart did not +pass through the Abbey gates. Generally he came in the morning and +stopped to lunch; or he came in the afternoon and stopped to tea. In +fact, or thus it seemed to Morris, he always stopped to something, so +much so that although not lacking in hospitality, at times Morris +found his presence wearisome, for in truth the two men had nothing in +common. + +"He must have turned over a new leaf with a vengeance, for he never +would give a sixpence to anything during old Tomley's time," remarked +Morris to Stella. "I suppose that he has taken a great fancy to your +father, which is a good thing for the parish, as those Layards are +richer than Croesus." + +"Yes," answered Stella with a curious little smile. + +But to herself she did not smile; for, if Morris found his visitor a +bore, to Stella he was nothing short of an infliction, increased +rather than mitigated by numerous presents of hot-house fruit and +flowers offered to herself, and entailing, each of them, an expression +of thanks verbal or written. At first she treated the thing as a joke, +till it grew evident that her admirer was as much in earnest as his +nature would permit. Thereon, foreseeing eventualities, she became +alarmed. + +Unless some means could be found to stop him it was now clear to +Stella that Mr. Layard meant to propose to her, and as she had not the +slightest intention of accepting him this was an honour which she did +not seek. But she could find no sufficient means; hints, and even +snubs, only seemed to add fuel to the fire, and of a perpetual game of +hide and seek she grew weary. + +So it came about that at last she shrugged her shoulders and left +things to take their chance, finding some consolation for her +discomfort in the knowledge that Miss Layard, convinced that the +rector's daughter was luring her inexperienced brother into an evil +matrimonial net, could in no wise restrain her rage and indignation. +So openly did this lady express her views, indeed, that at length a +report of them reached even Morris's inattentive ears, whereon he was +at first very angry and then burst out laughing. That a man like +Stephen Layard should hope to marry a woman like Stella Fregelius +seemed to him so absurd as to be almost unnatural. Yet when he came to +think it over quietly he was constrained to admit to himself that the +match would have many advantages for the young lady, whereof the first +and foremost were that Stephen was very rich, and although slangy and +without education in its better sense, at heart by no means a bad +little fellow. So Morris shrugged his shoulders, shut his eyes, +continued to dispense luncheons and afternoon teas, and though with an +uneasy mind, like Stella herself, allowed things to take their chance. + +All this while, however, his own friendship with Stella grew apace, +enhanced as it was in no small degree by the fact that now her help in +his scientific operations had become most valuable. Indeed, it +appeared that he was destined to owe the final success of his +instrument to the assistance of women who, at the beginning, at any +rate, knew little of its principles. Mary, it may be remembered, by +some fortunate chance, made the suggestion as to the substance of the +receiver, which turned the aerophone from a great idea into a +practical reality. Now to complete the work it was Stella, not by +accident, but after careful study of its problem who gave the thought +that led to the removal of the one remaining obstacle to its general +and successful establishment. + +To test this new development of the famous sound deflector and perfect +its details, scores of experiments were needed, most of which he and +she carried out together. This was their plan. One of them established +him or herself in the ruined building known as the Dead Church, while +the other took up a position in the Abbey workshop. From these +respective points, a distance of about two miles, they tested the +machines with results that day by day grew better and clearer, till at +length, under these conditions they were almost perfect. + +Strange was the experience and great the triumph when at last Morris, +seated in the Abbey with his apparatus before him, unconnected with +its twin by any visible medium, was able without interruption for a +whole morning to converse with Stella established in the Dead Church. + +"It is done," he cried in unusual exultation. "Now, if I die to-morrow +it does not matter." + +Instantly came the answer in Stella's voice. + +"I am very happy. If I do nothing else I have helped a man to fame." + +Then a hitch arose, the inevitable hitch; it was found that, in +certain states of the atmosphere, and sometimes at fixed hours of the +day, the sounds coming from the receiver were almost inaudible. At +other times again the motive force seemed to be so extraordinarily +active that, the sound deflector notwithstanding, the instrument +captured and transmitted a thousand noises which are not to be heard +by the unobservant listener, or in some cases by any human ear. + +Weird enough these noises were at times. Like great sighs they came, +like the moan of the breeze brought from an infinite distance, like +mutterings and groanings arisen from the very bowels of the earth. +Then there were the splash or boom of the waves, the piping of the +sea-wind, the cry of curlew, or black-backed gulls, all mingled in one +great and tangled skein of sound that choked the voice of the speaker, +and in their aggregate, bewildered him who hearkened. + +These, and others which need not be detailed, were problems that had +to be met, necessitating many more experiments. Thus it came about +that through most of the short hours of winter daylight Morris and +Stella found themselves at their respective positions, corresponding, +or trying to correspond, through the aerophones. If the weather was +very bad, or very cold, Morris went to the dead Church, otherwise that +post was allotted to Stella, both because it was more convenient that +Morris should stay in his laboratory, and by her own choice. + +Two principal reasons caused her to prefer to pass as much of her time +as was possible in this desolate and unvisited spot. First, because +Mr. Layard was less likely to find her when he called, and secondly, +that for her it had a strange fascination. Indeed, she loved the +place, clothed as it was with a thousand memories of those who had +been human like herself, but now--were not. She would read the +inscriptions upon the chancel stones and study the coats-of-arms and +names of those departed, trying to give to each lost man and woman a +shape and character, till at length she knew all the monuments by +appearance as well as by the names inscribed upon them. + +One of these dead, oddly enough, had been named Stella Ethel Smythe, +daughter of Sir Thomas Smythe, whose family lived at the old hall now +in the possession of the Layards. This Stella had died at the age of +twenty-five in the year 1741, and her tombstone recorded that in mind +she was clean and sweet, and in body beautiful. Also at the foot of it +was a doggerel couplet, written probably by her bereaved father, which +ran: + + + "Though here my Star seems set, + I know 'twill light me yet." + + +Stella, the live Stella, thought these simple words very touching, and +pointed them out to Morris. He agreed with her, and tried in the +records of the parish and elsewhere to discover some details about the +dead girl's life, but quite without avail. + +"That's all that's left," he said one day, nodding his head at the +tombstone. "The star is quite set." + +"'I know 'twill light me yet,'" murmured his companion, as she turned +away to the work in hand. "Sometimes," she went on, "as I sit here at +dusk listening to all the strange sounds which come from that +receiver, I fancy that I can hear Stella and her poor father talking +while they watch me; only I cannot understand their language." + +"Ah!" said Morris, "if that were right we should have found a means of +communication from the dead and with the unseen world at large." + +"Why not?" asked Stella. + +"I don't know, I have thought of it," he answered, and the subject +dropped. + +One afternoon Stella, wrapped in thick cloaks, was seated in the +chancel of the Dead Church attending to the instrument which stood +upon the stone altar. Morris had not wished her to go that morning, +for the weather was very coarse, and snow threatened; but, +anticipating a visit from Mr. Layard, she insisted, saying that she +should enjoy the walk. Now the experiments were in progress, and going +beautifully. In order to test the aerophones fully in this rough +weather, Morris and Stella had agreed to read to each other alternate +verses from the Book of Job, beginning at the thirty-eighth chapter. + +"'Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands +of Orion?'" read Stella presently in her rich, clear voice. + +Instantly from two miles away came the next verse, the sound of those +splendid words rolling down the old church like echoes of some lesson +read generations since. + +"'Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season, or canst thou guide +Arcturus with his sons?'" + +So it went on for a few more verses, till just as the instrument was +saying, "'Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts, or who hath given +understanding to the heart?'" the rude door in the brick partition +opened, admitting a rush of wind and--Stephen Layard. + +The little man sidled up nervously to where Stella was sitting on a +camp-stool by the altar. + +"How do you do?" said Stella, holding out her hand, and looking +surprised. + +"How do you do, Miss Fregelius? What--what are you doing in this +dreadfully cold place on such a bitter day?" + +Before she could answer the voice of Morris, anxious and irritated, +for as the next verse did not follow he concluded that something had +gone wrong with the apparatus, rang through the church asking: + +"'Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts, or who hath given +understanding to the heart?'" + +"Good gracious," said Mr. Layard. "I had no idea that Monk was here; I +left him at the Abbey. Where is he?" + +"At the Abbey," answered Stella, as for the second time the voice of +Morris rolled out the question from the Book. + +"I don't understand," said Stephen, beginning to look frightened; "has +it anything to do with his electrical experiments?" + +Stella nodded. Then, addressing the instrument, said: + +"Please stop reading for a while. Mr. Layard is calling here." + +"Confound him," came the swift answer. "Let me know when he is gone. +He said he was going home," whereon Stella switched off before worse +things happened. + +Mr. Layard, who had heard these words, began a confused explanation +till Stella broke in. + +"Please don't apologise. You changed your mind, and we all do that; +but I am afraid this is a cold place to come to." + +"You are right there. Why on earth do you sit here so long?" + +"To work, Mr. Layard." + +"Why should you work? I thought women hated it, and above all, why for +Monk? Does he pay you?" + +"I work because I like work, and shall go on working till I die, and +afterwards I hope; also, these experiments interest me very much. Mr. +Monk does not pay me. I have never asked him to do so. Indeed, it is I +who am in his debt for all the kindness he has shown to my father and +myself. To any little assistance that I can give him he is welcome." + +"I see," said Mr. Layard; "but I should have thought that was Mary +Porson's job. You know he is engaged to her, don't you?" + +"Yes, but Miss Porson is not here; and if she were, perhaps she would +not care for this particular work." + +Then came a pause, which, not knowing what this awkward silence might +breed, Stella broke. + +"I suppose you saw my father," she said; "how did you find him +looking?" + +"Oh! better, I thought; but that leg of his still seems very bad." +Then, with a gasp and a great effort, he went on: "I have been +speaking to him about you." + +"Indeed," said Stella, looking at him with wondering eyes. + +"Yes, and he says that if--it suits us both, he is quite willing; +that, in fact, he would be very pleased to see you so well provided +for." + +Stella could not say that she did not understand, the falsehood was +too obvious. So she merely went on looking, a circumstance from which +Mr. Layard drew false auguries. + +"You know what I mean, don't you?" he jerked out. + +She shook her head. + +"I mean--I mean that I love you, that you have given me what this +horrid thing was talking about just now--understanding to the heart; +yes, that's it, understanding to the heart. Will you marry me, Stella? +I will make you a good husband, and it isn't a bad place, and all +that, and though your father says he has little to leave you, you will +be treated as liberally as though you were a lady in your own right." + +Stella smiled a little. + +"Will you marry me?" he asked again. + +"I am afraid that I must answer no, Mr. Layard." + +Then the poor man broke out into a rhapsody of bitter disappointment, +genuine emotion, and passionate entreaty. + +"It is no use, Mr. Layard," said Stella at last. "Indeed, I am much +obliged to you. You have paid me a great compliment, but it is not +possible that I should become your wife, and the sooner that is clear +the better for us both." + +"Are you engaged?" he asked. + +"No, Mr. Layard; and probably I never shall be. I have my own ideas +about matrimony, and the conditions under which I would undertake it +are not at all likely ever to be within my reach." + +Again he implored,--for at the time this woman really held his heart, +--wringing his hands, and, indeed, weeping in the agony of a repulse +which was the more dreadful because it was quite unexpected. He had +scarcely imagined that this poor clergyman's daughter, who had little +but her looks and a sweet voice, would really refuse the best match +for twenty miles round, nor had his conversation with her father +suggested to his mind any such idea. + +It was true that Mr. Fregelius had given him no absolute +encouragement; he had said that personally the marriage would be very +pleasing to himself, but that it was a matter of which Stella must +judge; and when asked whether he would speak to his daughter, he had +emphatically declined. Still, Stephen Layard had taken this to be all +a part of the paternal formula, and rejoiced, thinking the matter as +good as settled. Dreadful indeed, then, was it to him when he found +that he was called upon to contemplate the dull obverse of his shield +of faith, and not its bright and shining face, in which he had seen +mirrored so clear a picture of perfect happiness. + +So he begged on piteously enough, till at last Stella was forced to +stop him by saying as gently as she could: + +"Please spare us both, Mr. Layard; I have given my answer, and I am +sorry to say that it is impossible for me to go back upon my word." + +Then a sudden fury seized him. + +"You are in love with somebody else," he said; "you are in love with +Morris Monk; and he is a villain, when he is engaged, to go taking you +too. I know it." + +"Then, Mr. Layard," said Stella, striving to keep her temper, "you +know more than I know myself." + +"Very likely," he answered. "I never said you knew it, but it's true, +for all that. I feel it here--where you will feel it one day, to your +sorrow"--and he placed his hand upon his heart. + +A sudden terror took hold of her, but with difficulty she found her +mental balance. + +"I hoped, Mr. Layard," she said, "that we might have parted friends; +but how can we when you bring such accusations?" + +"I retract them," broke in the distracted man. "You mustn't think +anything of what I said; it is only the pain that has made me mad. For +God's sake, at least let us part friends, for then, perhaps, some day +we may come together again." + +Stella shook her head sadly, and gave him her hand, which he covered +with kisses. Then, reeling in his gait like one drunken, the unhappy +suitor departed into the falling snow. + +Mechanically Stella switched on the instrument, and at once Morris's +voice was heard asking: + +"I say, hasn't he gone?" + +"Yes," she said. + +"Thank goodness! Why on earth did you keep him gossiping all that +time? Now then--'Who can number the clouds in wisdom----'" + +"Not Mr. Layard or I," thought Stella sadly to herself, as she called +back the answering verse. + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + TWO QUESTIONS, AND THE ANSWER + +At length the light began to fade, and for that day their experiments +were over. In token of their conclusion twice Stella rang the electric +warning bell which was attached to the aerophone, and in some +mysterious manner caused the bell of its twin instrument to ring also. +Then she packed the apparatus in its box, for, with its batteries, it +was too heavy and too delicate to be carried conveniently, locking it +up, and left the church, which she also locked behind her. Outside it +was still snowing fast, but softly, for the wind had dropped, and a +sharp frost was setting in, causing the fallen snow to scrunch beneath +her feet. About half-way along the bleak line of deserted cliff which +stretched from the Dead Church to the first houses of Monksland, she +saw the figure of a man walking swiftly towards her, and knew from the +bent head and broad, slightly stooping shoulders that it was Morris +coming to escort her home. Presently they met. + +"Why did you not wait for me?" he asked in an irritated voice, "I told +you I was coming, and you know that I do not like you to be tramping +about these lonely cliffs at this hour." + +"It is very kind of you," she answered, smiling that slow, soft smile +which was characteristic of her when she was pleased, a smile that +seemed to be born in her beautiful eyes and thence to irradiate her +whole face; "but it was growing dreary and cold there, so I thought +that I would start." + +"Yes," he answered, "I forgot, and, what is more, it is very selfish +of me to keep you cooped up in such a place upon a winter's day. +Enthusiasm makes one forget everything." + +"At least without it we should do nothing; besides, please do not pity +me, for I have never been happier in my life." + +"I am most grateful," he said earnestly. "I don't know what I should +have done without you through this critical time, or what I shall----" +and he stopped. + +"It went beautifully to-day, didn't it?" she broke in, as though she +had not heard his words. + +"Yes," he answered, "beyond all expectations. We must experiment over +a greater distance, and then if the thing still works I shall be able +to speak with my critics in the gate. You know I have kept everything +as dark as possible up to the present, for it is foolish to talk first +and fail afterwards. I prefer to succeed first and talk afterwards." + +"What a triumph it will be!" said Stella. "All those clever scientists +will arrive prepared to mock, then think they are taken in, and at +last go away astonished to write columns upon columns in the papers." + +"And after that?" queried Morris. + +"Oh, after that, honour and glory and wealth and power and--the happy +ending. Doesn't it sound nice?" + +"Ye--es, in a way. But," he added with energy, "it won't come off. No, +not the aerophones, they are right enough I believe, but all the rest +of it." + +"Why not?" + +"Because it is too much. 'Happy endings' don't come off. The happiness +lies in the struggle, you know,--an old saying, but quite true. +Afterwards something intervenes." + +"To have struggled happily and successfully is happiness in itself. +Whatever comes afterwards nothing can take that away. 'I have done +something; it is good; it cannot be changed; it is a stone built for +ever in the pyramid of beauty, or knowledge, or advancement.' What can +man hope to say more at the last, and how few live to say it, to say +it truly? You will leave a great name behind you, Mr. Monk." + +"I shall leave my work; that is enough for me," he answered. + +For a while they walked in silence; then some thought struck him, and +he stopped to ask: + +"Why did Layard come to the Dead Church to-day? He said that he was +going home, and it isn't on his road." + +Stella turned her head, but, even in that faint light, not quickly +enough to prevent him seeing a sudden flush change the pallor of her +face to the rich colour of her lips. + +"To call, I suppose; or," correcting herself, "perhaps from +curiosity." + +"And what did he talk about?" + +"Oh, the aerophone, I think; I don't remember." + +"That must be a story," he said, laughing. "I always remember Layard's +conversation for longer than I want; it has a knack of impressing +itself upon me. What was it? Cemetery land, church debts, the new +drainage scheme, or something equally entrancing and confidential?" + +Under this cross-examination Stella grew desperate, unnecessarily, +perhaps, and said in a voice that was almost cross: + +"I cannot tell you; please let's talk of something else." + +Then of a sudden Morris understood, and, like a foolish man, at once +jumped to a conclusion far other than the truth. Doubtless Layard had +gone to the church to propose to Stella, and she had accepted him, or +half accepted him; the confusion of her manner told its own tale. A +new and strange sensation took possession of Morris. He felt unwell; +he felt angry; if the aerophone refused to work at all to-morrow, he +would care nothing. He could not see quite clearly, and was not +altogether sure where he was walking. + +"I beg your pardon," he said in a cold voice, as he recovered himself; +"it was most impertinent of me." He was going to add, "pray accept my +congratulations," but fortunately, or unfortunately, stopped himself +in time. + +Stella divined something of what was passing in his mind; not all, +indeed, for to her the full measure of his folly would have been +incomprehensible. For a moment she contemplated an explanation, then +abandoned the idea because she could find no words; because, also, +this was another person's secret, and she had no right to involve an +honest man, who had paid her a great compliment, in her confidences. +So she said nothing. To Morris, for the moment at any rate, a +conclusive proof of his worst suspicions. + +The rest of that walk was marked by unbroken silence. Both of them +were very glad when it was finished. + +It was five o'clock when they reached the Abbey, so that there were +two hours to be spent before it was time to dress for dinner. When she +had taken off her things Stella went straight to her father's room to +give him his tea. By now Mr. Fregelius was much better, although the +nature of his injuries made it imperative that he should still stay in +bed. + +"Is that you, Stella?" he said, in his high, nervous voice, and, +although she could not see them in the shadow of the curtain, she knew +that his quick eyes were watching her face eagerly. + +"Yes, father, I have brought you your tea. Are you ready for it?" + +"Thank you, my dear. Have you been at that place--what do you call it? +--the Dead Church, all day?" + +"Yes, and the experiments went beautifully." + +"Did they, did they indeed?" commented her father in an uninterested +voice. The fate of the experiments did not move him. "Isn't it very +lonely up there in that old church?" + +"I prefer to be alone--generally." + +"I know, I know. Forgive me; but you are a very odd woman, my dear." + +"Perhaps, father; but not more so than those before me, am I? Most of +them were a little different from other people, I have been told." + +"Quite right, Stella; they were all odd women, but I think that you +are quite the oddest of the family." Then, as though the subject were +disagreeable to him, he added suddenly: "Mr. Layard came to see me +to-day." + +"So he told me," answered Stella. + +"Oh, you have met him. I remember; he said he should call in at the +Dead Church, as he had something to say to you." + +Stella determined to get the conversation over, so she forced the +pace. She was a person who liked to have disagreeable things behind +her. Drawing herself up, she answered steadily: + +"He did call in, and--he said it." + +"What, my dear, what?" asked Mr. Fregelius innocently. + +"He asked me to marry him, father; I think he told me with your +consent." + +Mr. Fregelius, auguring the very best from this openness, answered in +tones which he could not prevent from betraying an unseemly joy. + +"Quite true, Stella; I told him to go on and prosper; and really I +hope he has prospered." + +"Yes," said Stella reflectively. + +"Then, my dear love, am I to understand that you are engaged to him?" + +"Engaged to him! Certainly not," she answered. + +"Then," snapped out her justly indignant parent, "how in the name of +Heaven has he prospered?" + +"By my refusing him, of course. We should never have suited each other +at all; he would have been miserable if I had married him." + +Mr. Fregelius groaned in bitterness of spirit. + +"Oh, Stella, Stella," he cried, "what a disappointment!" + +"Why should you be disappointed, father dear?" she asked gently. + +"Why? You stand there and ask why, when I hear that my daughter, who +will scarcely have a sixpence--or at least very few of them--has +refused a young man with between seventeen and eighteen thousand +pounds a year--that's his exact income, for he told me himself, a most +estimable churchman, who would have been a pillar of strength to me, a +man whom I should have chosen out of ten thousand as a son-in-law----" +and he ceased, overwhelmed. + +"Father, I am sorry that you are sorry, but it is strange you should +understand me so little after all these years, that you could for one +moment think that I should marry Mr. Layard." + +"And why not, pray? Are you better born----" + +"Yes," interrupted Stella, whose one pride was that of her ancient +lineage. + +"I didn't mean that. I meant better bred and generally superior to +him? You talk as though you were of a different clay." + +"Perhaps the clay is the same," said Stella, "but the mind is not." + +"Oh, there it is again, spiritual and intellectual pride, which causes +you to set yourself above your fellows, and in the end will be your +ruin. It has made a lonely woman of you for years, and it will do +worse than that. It will turn you into an old maid--if you live," he +added, as though shaken by some sudden memory. + +"Perhaps," said Stella, "I am not frightened at the prospect. I +daresay that I shall have a little money and at the worst I can always +earn a living; my voice would help me to it, if nothing else does. +Father, dear, you mustn't be vexed with me; and pray--pray do +understand that no earthly thing would make me marry a man whom I +dislike rather than otherwise; who, at least, is not a mate for me, +merely because he could give me a fine house to live in, and treat me +luxuriously. What would be the good of such things to me if I knew +that I had tarnished myself and violated my instincts?" + +"You talk like a book--you talk like a book," muttered the old +gentleman. "But I know that the end of it will be wretchedness for +everybody. People who go on as you do about instincts, and fine +feelings, and all that stuff, are just the ones who get into some +dreadful mess at last. I tell you that such ideas are some of the +devil's best baits." + +Stella began to grow indignant. + +"Do you think, father, that you ought to talk to me quite like that?" +she asked. "Don't you know me well enough to be sure that I should +never get into what you call a mess--at least, not in the way I +suppose you mean? My heart and thought are my own, and I shall be +prepared to render account of them; for the rest, you need not be +afraid." + +"I didn't mean that--I didn't mean anything of the sort----" + +"I am glad to hear it," broke in Stella. "It would scarcely have been +kind, especially as I am no longer a child who needs to be warned +against the dangers of the world." + +"What I did mean is that you are an enigma; that I am frightened about +you; that you are no companion; because your thoughts--yes, and at +times your face, too--seem unnatural, unearthly, and separate you from +others, as they have separated you from this poor young man." + +"I am what I was made," answered Stella with a little smile, "and I +seek company where I can find it. Some love the natural, some the +spiritual, and each receive from them their good. Why should they +blame one another?" + +"Mad," muttered her father to himself as she left the room. "Mad as +she is charming and beautiful; or, if not mad, at least quite +impracticable and unfitted for the world. What a disappointment to me +--what a bitter disappointment! Well, I should be used to them by +now." + +Meanwhile, Morris was in his workshop in the old chapel entering up +his record of the day's experiments, which done, he drew his chair to +the stove and fell into thought. Somehow the idea of the engagement of +Miss Fregelius to Stephen Layard was not agreeable to him; probably +because he did not care about the young man. Yet, now that he came to +think of it quietly, in all her circumstances it would be an admirable +arrangement, and the offer undoubtedly was one which she had been wise +to accept. On the whole, such a marriage would be as happy as +marriages generally are. The man was honest, the man was young and +rich, and very soon the man would be completely at the disposal of his +brilliant and beautiful wife. + +Personally he, Morris, would lose a friend, since a woman cannot marry +and remain the friend of another man. That, however, would probably +have happened in any case, and to object on this account, even in his +secret heart, would be abominably selfish. Indeed, what right had he +even to consider the matter? The young lady had come into his life +very strangely, and made a curious impression upon him; she was now +going out of it by ordinary channels, and soon nothing but the +impression would remain. It was proper, natural, and the way of the +world; there was nothing more to be said. + +Somehow he was in a dreary mood, and everything bored him. He fetched +Mary's last letter. There was nothing in it but some chit-chat, except +the postscript, which was rather longer than the letter, and ran: + + + "I am glad to hear the young lady whom you fished up out of the sea + is such an assistance to you in your experiments. I gather from + what I hear--although you haven't mentioned the fact--that she is + as beautiful as she is charming, and that she sings wonderfully. + She must be something remarkable, I am sure, because Eliza Layard + evidently detests her, and says that she is trying to ensnare the + affections of that squire of dames, her brother Stephen, now + temporarily homeless after a visit to Jane Rose. What will you do + when you have to get on without her? I am afraid you must accustom + yourself to the idea, unless she would like to make a third in the + honeymoon party. Joking apart, I am exceedingly grateful to her + for all the help she has given you, and, dear, dear Morris, more + delighted than I can tell you to learn that after all your years + of patient labour you believe success to be absolutely within + sight. + + "My father, I am sorry to say, is no better; indeed, although the + doctors deny it, I believe he is worse, and I see no prospect of + our getting away from here at present. However, don't let that + bother you, and above all, don't think of coming out to this place + which makes you miserable, and where you can't work. What a queer + menage you must be at the Abbey now! You and the Star who has + risen from the ocean--she ought to have been called Venus--tete-a- + tete, and the, I gather, rather feeble and uninteresting old + gentleman in bed upstairs. I should like to see you when you + didn't know. Why don't you invent a machine to enable people at a + distance to see as well as to hear each other? It would be very + popular and bring Society to utter wreck. Does the Northern star-- + she is Danish, isn't she?--make good coffee, and how, oh! how does + she get on with the cook?" + + +Morris put down the letter and laughed aloud. Mary was as amusing as +ever, and he longed to see her again, especially as he was convinced +that she was really bored out there at Beaulieu, with Mr. Porson sick, +and his father very much occupied with his own affairs. In a moment he +made up his mind; he would go out and see her. Of course, he could ill +spare the time, but for the present the more pressing of his +experiments were completed, and he could write up his "data" there. +Anyway, he would put in a fortnight at Beaulieu, and, what is more, +start to-morrow if it could be arranged. + +He went to the table and began a letter to Mary announcing that she +might expect to see him sometime on the day that it reached her. When +he had got so far as this he remembered that the dressing bell had +already rung some minutes, and ran upstairs to change his clothes. As +he fastened his tie he thought to himself sadly that this would be his +last dinner with Stella Fregelius, and as he brushed his hair he +determined that unless she had other wishes, it should be as happy as +it could be made. He would like this final meal to be the pleasantest +of all their meals, and although, of course, he had no right to form +an opinion on the matter, he thought that perhaps she might like it, +too. They were going to part, to enter on different walks of life--for +now, be it said, he had quite convinced himself that she was engaged-- +so let their parting memories of each other be as agreeable as +possible. + +Meanwhile, Stella also had her reflections. Her conversation with her +father had troubled her, more, perhaps, than her remarks might have +suggested. There was little between this pair except the bond of +blood, which sometimes seems to be so curiously accidental, so +absolutely devoid of influence in promoting mutual sympathies, or in +opening the door to any deep and real affection. Still, +notwithstanding this lack of true intimacy, Stella loved her father as +she felt that he loved her, and it gave her pain to be forced to cross +his wishes. She knew with what a fierce desire, although he was +ashamed to express all its intensity, he desired that she should +accept this, the first chance of wealthy and successful marriage that +had come her way, and the anguish which her absolute refusal must have +entailed upon his heart. + +Of course, it was very worldly of him, and therefore reprehensible; +yet to a great extent she could sympathise with his disappointment. At +bottom he was a proud man, although he repressed his pride and kept it +secret. He was an ambitious man, also, and his lot had been confined +to humble tasks, absolutely unrecognised beyond his parish, of a +remotely-placed country parson. Moreover, his family had been rich; he +had been brought up to believe that he himself would be rich, and +then, owing to certain circumstances, was doomed to pass his days in +comparative poverty. + +Even death had laid a heavy hand on him; she was the last of her race, +and she knew he earnestly desired that she should marry and bear +children so that it might not become extinct. And now this chance, +this princely chance, which, from his point of view, seemed to fill +every possible condition, had come unawares, like a messenger from +Heaven, and she refused its entertainment. Looked at through his eyes +the position was indeed cruel. + +Yet, deeply as she sympathised with him in his disappointment, Stella +never for one moment wavered in her determination. Marry Mr. Layard! +Her blood shrank back to her heart at the very thought, and then +rushed to her neck and bosom in a flood of shame. No, she was sorry, +but that was impossible, a thing which no woman should be asked to do +against her will. + +The subject wearied her, but as brooding on it could not mend matters, +she dismissed it from her mind, and turned her thoughts to Morris. +Why, she did not know, but something had come between them; he was +vexed with her, and what was more, disappointed; she could feel it +well enough, and--she found his displeasure painful. What had she done +wrong, how had she offended him? Surely it could not be--and once +again that red blush spread itself over face and bosom. He could not +believe that she had accepted the man! He could never have so grossly +misunderstood her, her nature, her ideas, everything about her! And +yet who knew what he would or would not believe? In some ways, as she +had already discovered, Mr. Monk was curiously simple. How could she +tell him the truth without using words which she did not desire to +speak? Here instinct came to her aid. It might be done by making +herself as agreeable to him as possible, for surely he must know that +no girl would do her best to please one man when she had just promised +herself to another. So it came about that quite innocently Stella +determined to allay her host's misgivings by this doubtful and +dangerous expedient. + +To begin with, she put on her best dress--a low bodice of black silk +relieved with white and a single scarlet rose from the hothouse. Round +her neck also, fastened by a thin chain, she wore a large blood-red +carbuncle shaped like a heart, and about her slender waist a quaint +girdle of ancient Danish silver, two of the ornaments which she had +saved from the shipwreck. Her dark and waving hair she parted in the +middle after a new fashion, tying its masses in a heavy knot at the +back of her head, and thus adorned descended to the library where +Morris was awaiting her. + +He stood leaning over the fire with his back towards her, but hearing +the sweep of a skirt turned round, and as his eyes fell upon her, +started a little. Never till he saw her thus had he known how +beautiful Stella was at times. Quite without design his eyes betrayed +his thought, but with his lips he said merely as he offered her his +arm,-- + +"What a pretty dress! Did it come out of Northwold?" + +"The material did; I made it up, and I am glad that you think it +nice." + +This was a propitious beginning, and the dinner that followed did not +belie its promise. The conversation turned upon one of the Norse sagas +that Stella had translated, for which Morris had promised to try to +find a publisher. Then abandoning the silence and reserve which were +habitual to him he began to talk, asking her about her work and her +past. She answered him freely enough, telling him of her school days +in Denmark, of her long holiday visits to the old Danish grandmother, +whose memory stretched back through three generations, and whose mind +was stored with traditions of men and days now long forgotten. This +particular saga, she said, had, for instance, never been written in +its entirety till she took it down from the old dame's lips, much as +in the fifteenth century the Iceland sagas were recorded by Snorro +Sturleson and others. Even the traditional music of the songs as they +were sung centuries ago she had received from her with their violin +accompaniments. + +"I have one in the house," broke in Morris, "a violin--rather a good +instrument; I used to play a little when I was young. I wish, if you +don't mind, that you would sing them to me after dinner." + +"I will try if you like," she answered, "but I don't know how I shall +get on, for my own old fiddle, to which I am accustomed, went to the +bottom with a lot of other things in that unlucky shipwreck. You know +we came by sea because it seemed so cheap, and that was the end of our +economy. Fortunately, all our heavy baggage and furniture were not +ready, and escaped." + +"I do not call it unlucky," said Morris with grave courtesy, "since it +gave me the honour of your acquaintance; or perhaps I may say of your +friendship." + +"Yes," she answered, looking pleased; "certainly you may say of my +friendship. It is owing to the man who saved my life, is it not,--with +a great deal more that I can never pay?" + +"Don't speak of it," he said. "That midnight sail was my one happy +inspiration, my one piece of real good luck." + +"Perhaps," and she sighed, "that is, for me, though who can tell? I +have often wondered what made you do it, there was so little to go +on." + +"I have told you, inspiration, pure inspiration." + +"And what sent the inspiration, Mr. Monk?" + +"Fate, I suppose." + +"Yes, I think it must be what we call fate--if it troubles itself +about so small a thing as the life of one woman." + +Then, to change the subject, she began to talk of the Northumberland +moors and mountains, and of their years of rather dreary existence +among them, till at length it was time to leave the table. This they +did together, for even then Morris drank very little wine. + +"May I get you the violin, and will you sing?" he asked eagerly, when +they reached the library. + +"If you wish it I will try." + +"Then come to the chapel; there is a good fire, and it is put away +there." + +Presently they were in the ancient place, where Morris produced the +violin from the cupboard, and having set a new string began to tune +it. + +"That is a very good instrument," said Stella, her eyes shining, "you +don't know what you have brought upon yourself. Playing the violin is +my pet insanity, and once or twice since I have been here, when I +wanted it, I have cried over the loss of mine, especially as I can't +afford to buy another. Oh! what a lovely night it is; look at the full +moon shining on the sea and snow. I never remember her so bright; and +the stars, too; they glitter like great diamonds." + +"It is the frost," answered Morris. "Yes, everything is beautiful +to-night." + +Stella took the violin, played a note or two, then screwed up the +strings to her liking. + +"Do you really wish me to sing, Mr. Monk?" she asked. + +"Of course; more than I can tell you." + +"Then, will you think me very odd if I ask you to turn out the +electric lamps? I can sing best so. You stand by the fire, so that I +can see my audience; the moon through this window will give me all the +light I want." + +He obeyed, and now she was but an ethereal figure, with a patch of red +at her heart, and a line of glimmering white from the silver girdle +beneath her breast, on whose pale face the moonbeams poured sweetly. +For a while she stood thus, and the silence was heavy in that +beautiful, dismantled place of prayer. Then she lifted the violin, and +from the first touch of the bow Morris knew that he was in the +presence of a mistress of one of the most entrancing of the arts. Slow +and sweet came the plaintive, penetrating sounds, that seemed to pass +into his heart and thrill his every nerve. Now they swelled louder, +now they almost died away; and now, only touching the strings from +time to time, she began to sing in her rich, contralto voice. He could +not understand the words, but their burden was clear enough; they were +a lament, the lament of some sorrowing woman, the sweet embodiment of +an ancient and forgotten grief thus embalmed in heavenly music. + +It was done; the echoes of the following notes of the violin fainted +and died among the carven angels of the roof. It was done, and Morris +sighed aloud. + +"How can I thank you?" he said. "I knew that you were a musician, but +not that you had such genius. To listen to you makes a man feel very +humble." + +She laughed. "The voice is a mere gift, for which no one deserves +credit, although, of course, it can be improved." + +"If so, what of the accompaniment?" + +"That is different; that comes from the heart and hard work. Do you +know that when I was under my old master out in Denmark, who in his +time was one of the finest of violinists in the north of Europe, I +often played for five and sang for two hours a day? Also, I have never +let the thing drop; it has been the consolation and amusement of a +somewhat lonely life. So, by this time, I ought to understand my art, +although there remains much to be learnt." + +"Understand it! Why, you could make a fortune on the stage." + +"A living, perhaps, if my voice will bear the continual strain. I +daresay that some time I shall drift there--for the living--not +because I like the trade or have any wish for popular success. It is a +fact that I had far rather sing alone to you here to-night, and know +that you are pleased, than be cheered by a whole opera house full of +strange people." + +"And I--oh, I cannot explain! Sing on, sing all you can, for to-morrow +I must go away." + +"Go away!" she faltered. + +"Yes; I will explain to you afterwards. But please sing while I am +here to listen." + +The words struck heavy on her heart, numbing it--why, she knew not. +For a moment she felt helpless, as though she could neither sing nor +play. She did not wish him to go; she did not wish him to go. Her +intellect came to her aid. Why should he go? Heaven had given her +power, and this man could feel its weight. Would it not suffice to +keep him from going? She would try; she would play and sing as she had +never done before; sing till his heart was soft, play till his feet +had no strength to wander beyond the sound of the sweet notes her art +could summon from this instrument of strings and wood. + +So again she began, and played on, and on, and on, from time to time +letting the bow fall, to sing in a flood of heavenly melody that +seemed by nature to fall from her lips, note after note, as dew or +honey fall drop by drop from the calyx of some perfect flower. Now +long did she play and sing those sad, mysterious siren songs? They +never knew. The moon travelled on its appointed course, and as its +beams passed away gradually that divine musician grew dimmer to his +sight. Now only the stars threw their faint light about her, but still +she played on, and on, and on. The music swelled, it told of dead and +ancient wars, "where all day long the noise of battle rolled"; it rose +shrill and high, and in it rang the scream of the Valkyries preparing +the feast of Odin. It was low, and sad, and tender, the voice of women +mourning for their dead. It changed; it grew unearthly, spiritualised, +such music as those might use who welcome souls to their long home. +Lastly, it became rich and soft and far as the echo of a dream, and +through it could be heard sighs and the broken words of love, that +slowly fell away and melted as into the nothingness of some happy +sleep. + +The singer was weary; her fingers could no longer guide the bow; her +voice grew faint. For a moment, she stood still, looking in the +flicker of the fire and the pale beams of the stars like some searcher +returned from heaven to earth. Then, half fainting, down she sank upon +a chair. + +Morris turned on the lamps, and looked at this fair being, this chosen +home of Music, who lay before him like a broken lily. Then back into +his heart with a chilling shock came the thought that this woman, to +him at least the most beautiful and gifted his eyes had seen, had +promised herself in marriage to Stephen Layard; that she, her body, +her mind, her music--all that made her the Stella Fregelius whom he +knew--were the actual property of Stephen Layard. Could it be true? +Was it not possible that he had made some mistake? that he had +misunderstood? A burning desire came upon him to know, to know before +he went, and upon the forceful impulse of that moment he did what at +any other time would have filled him with horror. He asked her; the +words broke from his lips; he could not help them. + +"Is it true," he said, with something like a groan, "can it be true +that you--/you/ are really going to marry that man?" + +Stella sat up and looked at him. So she had guessed aright. She made +no pretence of fencing with him, or of pretending that she did not +know to whom he referred. + +"Are you mad to ask me such a thing?" she asked, with a strange break +in her voice. + +"I am sorry," he began. + +She stamped her foot upon the ground. + +"Oh!" she said, "it hurts me, it hurts--from my father I understood, +but that you should think it possible that I would sell myself--I tell +you that it hurts," and as she spoke two large tears began to roll +from her lovely pleading eyes. + +"Then you mean that you refused him?" + +"What else?" + +"Thank you. Of course, I have no right to interfere, but forgive me if +I say that I cannot help feeling glad. Even if it is taken on the +ground of wealth you can easily make as much money as you want without +him," and he glanced at the violin which lay beside her. + +She made no reply, the subject seemed to have passed from her mind. +But presently she lifted her head again, and in her turn asked a +question. + +"Did you not say that you are going away to-morrow?" + +Then something happened to the heart and brain and tongue of Morris +Monk so that he could not speak the thing he wished. He meant to +answer a monosyllable "Yes," but in its place he replied with a whole +sentence. + +"I was thinking of doing so; but after all I do not know that it will +be necessary; especially in the middle of our experiments." + +Stella said nothing, not a single word. Only she found her +handkerchief, and without in the least attempting to hide them, there +before his eyes wiped the two tears off her face, first one and then +the other. + +This done she held out her hand to him and left the room. + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + THE RETURN OF THE COLONEL + +Next morning Morris and Stella met at breakfast as usual, but as +though by mutual consent neither of them alluded to the events of the +previous evening. Thus the name of Mr. Layard was "taboo," nor were +any more questions asked, or statements volunteered as to that +journey, the toils of which Morris had suddenly discovered he was +after all able to avoid. This morning, as it chanced, no experiments +were carried on, principally because it was necessary for Stella to +spend the day in the village doing various things on behalf of her +father, and lunching with the wife of Dr. Charters, who was one of the +churchwardens. + +By the second post, which arrived about three o'clock, Morris received +two letters, one from his father and one from Mary. There was +something about the aspect of these letters that held his eye. That +from his father was addressed with unusual neatness, the bold letters +being written with all the care of a candidate in a calligraphic +competition. The stamps also were affixed very evenly, and the +envelope was beautifully sealed with the full Monk coat done in black +wax. These, as experience told him, were signs that his father had +something important to communicate, since otherwise everything +connected with his letters was much more casual. Further, to speak at +hazard, he should judge that this matter, whatever it might be, was +not altogether disagreeable to the writer. + +Mary's letter also had its peculiarities. She always wrote in a large, +loose scrawl, running the words into one another after the idle +fashion which was an index to her character. In this instance, +however, the fault had been carried to such an extreme that the +address was almost illegible; indeed, Morris wondered that the letter +had not been delayed. The stamps, too, were affixed anyhow, and the +envelope barely closed. + +"Something has happened," he thought to himself. Then he opened Mary's +letter. It was dated Tuesday, that is, two days before, and ran: + + + "Dearest,--My father is dead, my poor old father, and now I have + nobody but you left in the world. Thank God, at the last he was + without pain and, they thought, insensible; but I know he wasn't, + because he squeezed my hand. Some of his last words that could be + understood were, 'Give my love to Morris.' Oh! I feel as though my + heart would break. After my mother's death till you came into my + life, he was everything to me--everything, everything. I can't + write any more. + "Your loving + "Mary." + + "P.S. Don't trouble to come out here. It is no good. He is to be + buried to-morrow, and next day I am going 'en retraite' for a + month, as I must have time to get over this--to accustom myself to + not seeing him every morning when I come down to breakfast. You + remember my French friend, Gabrielle d'Estree? Well; she is a nun + now, a sub-something or other in a convent near here where they + take in people for a payment. Somehow she heard my father was + dead, and came to see me, and offered to put me up at the convent, + which has a beautiful large garden, for I have been there. So I + said yes, for I shan't feel lonely with her, and it will be a rest + for a month. I shall write to you sometimes, and you needn't be + afraid, they won't make me a Roman Catholic. Your father objected + at first, but now he quite approves; indeed, I told him at last + that I meant to go whether he approved or not. It seems it doesn't + matter from a business point of view, as you and he are left + executors of my father's will. When the month is up I will come to + England, and we will settle about getting married. This is the + address of the convent as nearly as I can remember it. Letters + will reach me there." + + +Morris laid down the sheet with a sad heart, for he had been truly +attached to his uncle Porson, whose simple virtues he understood and +appreciated. Then he opened his father's letter, which began in an +imposing manner: + + + "My Dear Son (usually he called him Morris),--It is with the + deepest grief that I must tell you that poor John Porson, your + uncle, passed away this morning about ten o'clock. I was present + at the time, and did my best to soothe his last moments with such + consolations as can be offered by a relative who is not a + clergyman. I wished to wire the sad event to you, but Mary, in + whom natural grief develops a self-will that perhaps is also + natural, peremptorily refused to allow it, alleging that it was + useless to alarm you and waste money on telegrams (how like a + woman to think of money at such a moment) when it was quite + impossible that you could arrive here in time for the funeral (for + he wouldn't be brought home), which, under these queer foreign + regulations, must take place to-morrow. Also she announced, to my + surprise, and, I must admit, somewhat to my pain, that she + intended to immure herself for a month in a convent, after the + fashion of the Roman faith, so that it was no use your coming, as + men are not admitted into these places. It never seems to have + occurred to her that under this blow I should have liked the + consolation of her presence, or that I might wish to see you, my + son. Still, you must not think too much of all this, although I + have felt bound to bring it to your notice, since women under such + circumstances are naturally emotional, rebellious against the + decrees of Providence, and consequently somewhat selfish. + + "To turn to another subject. I am glad to be able to inform you-- + you will please accept this as an official notice of the fact-- + that on reading a copy of your uncle's will, which by his + directions was handed to me after his death, I find that he has + died much better off even than I expected. The net personalty will + amount to quite 100,000 pounds, and there is large realty, of + which at present I do not know the value. All this is left to Mary + with the fullest possible powers of disposal. You and I are + appointed executors with a complimentary legacy of 500 pounds to + you, and but 100 pounds to me. However, the testator 'in + consideration of the forthcoming marriage between his son Morris + and my daughter Mary, remits all debts and obligations that may be + due to his estate by the said Richard Monk, Lieutenant-Colonel, + Companion of the Bath, and an executor of this will.' This amounts + to something, of course, but I will not trouble you with details + at the moment. + + "After all, now that I come to think of it, it is as well that you + should not leave home at present, as there will be plenty of + executor's business to keep you on the spot. No doubt you will + hear from your late uncle's lawyers, Thomas and Thomas, and as + soon as you do so you had better go over to Seaview and take + formal possession of it and its contents as an executor of the + will. I have no time to write more at present, as the undertaker + is waiting to see me about the last arrangements for the + interment, which takes place at the English cemetery here. The + poor man has gone, but at least we may reflect that he can be no + more troubled by sickness, etc., and it is a consolation to know + that he has made arrangements so eminently proper under the + circumstances. + "Your affectionate father, + "Richard Monk. + + "P.S. I shall remain here for a little while so as to be near Mary + in case she wishes to see me, and afterwards work homewards via + Paris. I expect to turn up at the Abbey in a fortnight's time or + so." + + +"Quite in his best style," reflected Morris to himself. "'Remits all +debts and obligations that may be due to his estate by the said +Richard Monk.' I should be surprised if they don't amount to a good +lot. No wonder my father is going to return via Paris; he must feel +quite rich again." + +Then he sat down to write to Mary. + +Under the pressure of this sudden blow--for the fact that Mr. Porson +had been for some time in failing health, and the knowledge that his +life might terminate at any time, did not seem to make it less sudden +--a cloud of depression settled on the Abbey household. Before dinner +Morris visited Mr. Fregelius, and told him of what had happened; +whereon that pious and kindly, but somewhat inefficient man, bestowed +upon him a well-meant lecture of consolation. Appreciating his +motives, Morris thanked him sincerely, and was rising to depart, when +the clergyman added: + +"It is most grievous to me, Mr. Monk, that in these sad hours of +mourning you should be forced to occupy your mind with the details of +an hospitality which has been forced upon you by circumstances. For +the present I fear this cannot be altered----" + +"I do not wish it altered," interrupted Morris. + +"It is indeed kind of you to say so, but I am happy to state the +doctor tells me if I continue to progress as well as at present, I +shall be able to leave your roof----" + +"My father's roof," broke in Morris again. + +"I beg pardon--your father's roof--in about a fortnight." + +"I am sorry to hear it, sir; and please clear your mind of the idea +that you have ceased to be welcome. Your presence and that of Miss +Fregelius will lessen, not increase, my trouble. I should be lonely in +this great place with no company but that of my own thoughts." + +"I am glad to hear you say so. Whether you feel it or not you are +kind, very kind." + +And so for the while they parted. When she came in that afternoon, Mr. +Fregelius told Stella the news; but, as it happened, she did not see +Morris until she met him at dinner time. + +"You have heard?" he asked. + +"Oh, yes," she answered; "and I am sorry, so sorry. I do not know what +more to say." + +"There is nothing to be said," answered Morris; "my poor uncle had +lived out his life--he was sixty-eight, you know, and there is an +end." + +"Were you fond of him? Forgive me for asking, but people are not +always fond--really fond--of those who happen to be their relations." + +"Yes, I was very fond of him. He was a good man, though simple and +self-made; very kind to everybody; especially to myself." + +"Then do not grieve for him, his pains are over, and some day you will +meet him again, will you not?" + +"I suppose so; but in the presence of death faith falters." + +"I know; but I think that is when it should be strongest and clearest, +that is when we should feel that whatever else is unreal and false, +this is certain and true." + +Morris bowed his head in assent, and there was silence for a while. + +"I am afraid that Miss Porson must feel this very much," Stella said +presently. + +"Yes, she seems quite crushed. She was his only living child, you +know." + +"Are you not going to join her?" + +"No, I cannot; she has gone into a convent for a month, near Beaulieu, +and I am afraid the Sisters would not let me through their gates." + +"Is she a Catholic?" + +"Not at all, but an old friend of hers holds some high position in the +place, and she has taken a fancy to be quiet there for a while." + +"It is very natural," answered Stella, and nothing more was said upon +the subject. + +Stella neither played the violin nor sang that night, nor, indeed, +again while she remained alone with Morris at the Abbey. Both of them +felt that under the circumstances this form of pleasure would be out +of place, if not unfeeling, and it was never suggested. For the rest, +however, their life went on as usual. On two or three occasions when +the weather was suitable some further experiments were carried out +with the aerophone, but on most days Stella was engaged in preparing +the Rectory, a square, red-brick house, dating from the time of George +III., to receive them as soon as her father could be moved. Very +fortunately, as has been said, their journey in the steamer Trondhjem +had been decided upon so hurriedly that there was no time to allow +them to ship their heavy baggage and furniture, which were left to +follow, and thus escaped destruction. Now at length these had arrived, +and the unpacking and arrangement gave her constant thought and +occupation, in which Morris occasionally assisted. + +One evening, indeed, he stayed in the Rectory with her, helping to +hang some pictures till about half-past six o'clock, when they started +for the Abbey. As it chanced, a heavy gale was blowing that night, one +of the furious winter storms which are common on this coast, and its +worst gusts beat upon Stella so fiercely that she could scarcely +stand, and was glad to accept the support of Morris's arm. As they +struggled along the high road thus, a particularly savage blast tore +the hood of Stella's ulster from her head, whereupon, leaning over her +in such a position that his face was necessarily quite close to her +own, with some difficulty he managed to replace the hood. + +It was while Morris was so engaged that a dog-cart, which because of +the roar of the wind he did not hear, and because of his position he +could not see until it was almost passing them, came slowly down the +road. + +Then catching the gleam of the lamps he looked up and started back, +thinking that they were being run into, to perceive that the occupants +of the dog-cart were Stephen and Eliza Layard. + +At the same moment Stephen recognised them, as indeed he could +scarcely help doing with the light of the powerful lamp shining full +upon their faces. He shouted something to his sister, who also stared +coldly at the pair. Then a kind of fury seemed to seize the little +man; at any rate, he shook his clenched fist in a menacing fashion, +and brought down the whip with a savage cut upon the horse. As the +animal sprang forward, moreover, Morris could almost have sworn that +he heard the words "kissing her," spoken in Stephen's voice, followed +by a laugh from Eliza. + +Then the dog-cart vanished into the darkness, and the incident was +closed. + +For a moment Morris stood angry and astonished, but reflecting that in +this wind his ears might have deceived him, and that, at any rate, +Stella had heard nothing through her thick frieze hood, he once more +offered his arm and walked forward. + +The next day was Sunday, when, as usual, he escorted Stella to church. +The Layards were there also, but he noticed that, somewhat +ostentatiously, they hurried from the building immediately on the +conclusion of the service, and it struck him that this demonstration +might have some meaning. Eliza, whom he afterwards observed, engaged +apparently in eager conversation with a knot of people on the roadway, +was, as he knew well, no friend to him, for reasons which he could +guess. Nor, as he had heard from various quarters, was she any friend +of Stella Fregelius, any more than she had been to Jane Rose. It +struck him that even now she might be employed in sowing scandal about +them both, and for Stella's sake the thought made him furious. But +even if it were so he did not see what he could do; therefore he tried +to think he was mistaken, and to dismiss the matter from his mind. + +Colonel Monk had written to say that he was coming home on the +Wednesday, but he did not, in fact, put in an appearance till the +half-past six train on the following Saturday evening, when he arrived +beautifully dressed in the most irreproachable black, and in a very +good temper. + +"Ah, Morris, old fellow," he said, "I am very pleased to see you +again. After all, there is no place like home, and at my time of life +nothing to equal quiet. I can't tell you how sick I got of that French +hole. If it hadn't been for Mary, and my old friend, Lady Rawlins, +who, as usual, was in trouble with that wretched husband of hers--he +is an imbecile now, you know--I should have been back long before. +Well, how are you getting on?" + +"Oh, pretty well, thank you, father," Morris answered, in that rather +restrained voice which was natural to him when conversing with his +parent. "I think, I really think I have nearly perfected my +aerophone." + +"Have you? Well, then, I hope you will make something out of it after +all these years; not that it much matters now, however," he added +contentedly. "By the way, that reminds me, how are our two guests, the +new parson and his daughter? That was a queer story about your finding +her on the wreck. Are they still here?" + +"Yes; but the old gentleman is out of bed now, and he expects to be +able to move into the Rectory on Monday." + +"Does he? Well, they must have given you some company while you were +alone. There is no time like the present. I will go up and see him +before I dress for dinner." + +Accordingly Morris conducted his father to the Abbot's chamber, and +introduced him to the clergyman. Mr. Fregelius was seated in his arm- +chair, with a crutch by his side, and on learning who his visitor was, +made a futile effort to rise. + +"Pray, pray, sir," said the Colonel, "keep seated, or you will +certainly hurt your leg again." + +"When I should be obliged to inflict myself upon you for another five +or six weeks," replied Mr. Fregelius. + +"In that case, sir," said the Colonel, with his most courteous bow, +"and for that reason only I should consider the accident fortunate," +by these happy words making of his guest a devoted friend for ever. + +"I don't know how to thank you; I really don't know how to thank you." + +"Then pray, Mr. Fregelius, leave the thanks unspoken. What would you +have had us--or, rather, my son--do? Turn a senseless, shattered man +from his door, and that man his future spiritual pastor and master?" + +"But there was more. He, Mr. Monk, I mean, saved my daughter Stella's +life. You know, a block or a spar fell on me immediately after the +ship struck. Then those cowardly dogs of sailors, thinking that she +must founder instantly, threw me into the boat and rowed away, leaving +her to her fate in the cabin; whereon your son, acting on some words +which I spoke in my delirium, sailed out alone at night and rescued +her." + +"Yes, I heard something, but Morris is not too communicative. The odd +thing about the whole affair, so far as I can gather, is that he +should have discovered that there was anybody left on board. But he is +a curious fellow, Morris; those things which one would expect him to +know he never does know; and the things that nobody else has ever +heard of he seems to have at his fingers' ends by instinct, or second +sight, or something. Well, it has all turned out for the best, hasn't +it?" + +"Oh, yes, I suppose so," answered Mr. Fregelius, glancing at his +injured leg. "At any rate, we are both alive and have not lost many of +our belongings." + +"Quite so; and under the circumstances you should be uncommonly +thankful. But I need not tell a parson that. Well, I can only say that +I am delighted to have such a good opportunity of making your +acquaintance, which I am sure will lead to our pulling together in +parish affairs like a pair of matched horses. Now I must go and dress. +But I tell you what, I'll come and smoke a cigar with you afterwards, +and put you au fait with all our various concerns. You'll find them a +nice lot in this parish, I can tell you, a nice lot. Old Tomley just +gave them up as a bad job." + +"I hope I shan't do that," replied Mr. Fregelius, after his retreating +form. + +The Colonel was down to dinner first, and standing warming himself at +the library fire when Stella, once more in honour of his arrival +arrayed in her best dress, entered the room. The Colonel put up his +eyeglass and looked at her as she came down its length. + +"By Jove!" he thought to himself, "I didn't know that the clergyman's +daughter was like this; nobody ever said so. After all, that fellow +Morris can't be half such a fool as he looks, for he kept it dark." +Then he stepped forward with outstretched hand. + +"You must allow me to introduce myself, Miss Fregelius," he said with +an old-fashioned and courtly bow, "and to explain that I have the +honour to be my son's father." + +She bowed and answered: "Yes, I think I should have known that from +the likeness." + +"Hum!" said the Colonel. "Even at my age I am not certain that I am +altogether flattered. Morris is an excellent fellow, and very clever +at electrical machines; but I have never considered him remarkable for +personal beauty--not exactly an Adonis, or an Apollo, or a Narcissus, +you know." + +"I should doubt whether any of them had such a nice face," replied +Stella with a smile. + +"My word! Now, that is what I call a compliment worth having. But I +hear the gentleman himself coming. Shall I repeat it to him?" + +"No, please don't, Colonel Monk. I did not mean it for compliment, +only for an answer." + +"Your wish is a command; but may I make an exception in favour of Miss +Porson, who prospectively owns the nice face in question? She would be +delighted to know it so highly rated;" and he glanced at her sharply, +the look of a man of the world who is trying to read a woman's heart. + +"By all means," answered Stella, in an indifferent voice, but +recognising in the Colonel one who, as friend or foe, must be taken +into account. Then Morris came in, and they went to dinner. + +Here also Colonel Monk was very pleasant. He made Stella tell the +story of the shipwreck and of her rescue, and generally tried to draw +her out in every possible way. But all the while he was watching and +taking note of many things. Before they had been together for five +minutes he observed that this couple, his son and their visitor, were +on terms of extreme intimacy--intimacy so extreme and genuine that in +two instances, at least, each anticipated what the other was going to +say, without waiting for any words to be spoken. Thus Stella +deliberately answered a question that Morris had not put, and he +accepted the answer and continued the argument quite as a matter of +course. Also, they seemed mysteriously to understand each other's +wants, and, worst of all, he noted that when speaking they never +addressed each other by name. Evidently just then each of them had but +one "you" in the world. + +Now, the Colonel had not passed through very varied experiences and +studied many sides and conditions of life for nothing; indeed, he +would himself explain that he was able to see as far into a brick wall +as other folk. + +The upshot of all this was that first he thought Morris a very lucky +fellow to be an object of undoubted admiration to those beautiful +eyes. (It may be explained that the Colonel throughout life had been +an advocate of taking such goods as the gods provided; something of a +worshipper, too, at the shrine of lovely Thais.) His second reflection +was that under all the circumstances it seemed quite time that he +returned home to look after him. + +"Now, Miss Fregelius," he said, as she rose to leave the table, "when +Morris and I have had a glass of wine, and ten minutes to chat over +matters connected with his poor uncle's death, I am going to ask you +to do me a favour before I go up to smoke a cigar with your father. It +is that you will play me a tune on the violin and sing me a song." + +"Did Mr. Monk tell you that I played and sang?" she asked. + +"No, he did not. Indeed, Mr. Monk has told me nothing whatsoever about +you. His, as you may have observed, is not a very communicative +nature. The information came from a much less interesting, though, for +aught I know, from a more impartial source--the fat page-boy, Thomas, +who is first tenor in the Wesleyan chapel, and therefore imagines that +he understands music." + +"But how could Thomas----" began Morris, when his father cut him short +and answered: + +"Oh, I'll tell you, quite simply. I had it from the interesting +youth's own lips as he unpacked my clothes. It seems that the day +before the news of your uncle's death reached this place, Thomas was +aroused from his slumbers by hearing what he was pleased to call +'hangels a-'arping and singing.' As soon as he convinced himself that +he still lingered on the earth, drawn by the sweetness of the sounds, +'just in his jacket and breeches,' he followed them, until he was sure +that they proceeded from your workshop, the chapel. + +"Now, as you know, on the upstair passage there still is that queer +slit through which the old abbots used to watch the monks at their +devotions. Finding the shutter unlocked, the astute Thomas followed +their example, as well as he could, for he says there was no light in +the chapel except that of the fire, by which presently he made out +your figure, Miss Fregelius, sometimes playing the violin, and +sometimes singing, and that of Morris--again I must quote--'a-sitting +in a chair by the fire with his 'ands at the back of 'is 'ead, a- +staring at the floor and rocking 'imself as though he felt right down +bad.' No, don't interrupt me, Morris; I must tell my story. It's very +amusing. + +"Well, Miss Fregelius, he says--and, mind you, this is a great +compliment--that you sang and played till he felt as though he would +cry when at last you sank down quite exhausted in a chair. Then, +suddenly realising that he was very cold, and hearing the stable clock +strike two, he went back to bed, and that's the end of the tale. Now +you will understand why I have asked you this favour. I don't see why +Morris and Thomas should keep it all to themselves." + +"I shall be delighted," answered Stella, who, although her cheeks were +burning, and she knew that the merciless Colonel was taking note of +the fact, on the whole had gone through the ordeal remarkably well. +Then she left the room. + +As soon as the door closed Morris turned upon his father angrily. + +"Oh! my dear boy," the Colonel said, "please do not begin to explain. +I know it's all perfectly right, and there is nothing to explain. Why +shouldn't you get an uncommonly pretty girl with a good voice to sing +to you--while you are still in a position to listen? But if you care +to take my advice, next time you will see that the shutter of that +hagioscope, or whatever they call it, is locked, as such elevated +delights 'a deux' are apt to be misinterpreted by the vulgar. And now, +there's enough of this chaff and nonsense. I want to speak to you +about the executorship and matters connected with the property +generally." + +Half an hour later, when the Colonel appeared in the drawing-room, the +violin was fetched, and Stella played it and sang afterwards to a +piano-forte accompaniment. The performance was not of the same +standard, by any means, as that which had delighted Thomas, for Stella +did not feel the surroundings quite propitious. Still, with her voice +and touch she could not fail, and the result was that before she had +done the Colonel grew truly enthusiastic. + +"I know a little of music," he said, "and I have heard most of the +best singers and violinists during the last forty years; but in the +face of all those memories I hope you will allow me to congratulate +you, Miss Fregelius. There are some notes in your voice which really +reduce me to the condition of peeping Thomas, and, hardened old fellow +that I am, almost make me feel inclined to cry." + + + + CHAPTER XV + + THREE INTERVIEWS + +The next day was a Sunday, and the Colonel went to church, wearing a +hat-band four inches deep. Morris, however, declined to accompany him, +saying that he had a letter to write to Mary; whereon his father, who +at first was inclined to be vexed, replied that he could not be better +employed, and that he was to give her his love. Then he asked if Miss +Fregelius was coming, but somewhat to his disappointment, was informed +that she wished to stay with her father. + +"I wonder," thought the Colonel to himself as he strolled to the +church, now and again acknowledging greetings or stopping to chat with +one of the villagers--"I wonder if they are going to have a little +sacred music together in the chapel. If so, upon my soul, I should +like to make the congregation. And that pious fellow Morris, too--the +blameless Morris--to go philandering about in this fashion. I hope it +won't come to Mary's ears; but if it does, luckily, with all her +temper, she is a sensible woman, and knows that even Jove nods at +times." + +After the service the Colonel spoke to various friends, accepted their +condolences upon the death of Mr. Porson, and finally walked down the +road with Eliza Layard. + +"You must have found that all sorts of strange things have happened at +the Abbey since you have been away, Colonel Monk," she said presently +in a sprightly voice. + +"Well, yes; at least I don't know. I understand that Morris has +improved that blessed apparatus of his, and the new parson and his +daughter have floated to our doors like driftwood. By the way, have +you seen Miss Fregelius?" + +"Seen her? Yes, I have seen her." + +"She is a wonderfully captivating girl, isn't she? So unusual, with +those great eyes of hers that seem to vary with the light----" + +"Like a cat's," snapped Eliza. + +"The light within--I was going to say." + +"Oh! I thought you meant the light without. Well, she may be +fascinating--to men, but as I am only a woman, I cannot be expected to +appreciate that. You see we look more to other things." + +"Ah. Well, so far as I am a judge she seemed to me to be pretty well +set up in them also. She has a marvellous voice, is certainly a +first-class violinist, and I should say extremely well-read, +especially in Norse literature." + +"Oh! I daresay she is a genius as well as a beauty." + +"I gather," said the Colonel with a smile, "that you do not like Miss +Fregelius. As my acquaintance with her is limited, would you think me +rude if I asked why?" + +"How can I be expected to like her, seeing----" and she paused. + +"Seeing what, Miss Layard?" + +"What, haven't you heard? I thought it was common property." + +He shook his head. "I have heard nothing. Go on, pray, this is quite +interesting." + +"That she led on that silly brother of mine until he proposed to her-- +yes, proposed to her!--and then refused him. Stephen has been like a +crazy creature ever since, moaning, and groaning, and moping till I +think that he will go off his head, instead of returning thanks to +Providence for a merciful escape." + +The Colonel set his lips as though to whistle, then checked himself. + +"Under the circumstances, presuming them to be accurately stated, I am +not prepared to say who is to be congratulated or who should thank +Providence. These things are so individual, are they not? But if one +thing is clear, whatever else she is or is not, Miss Fregelius cannot +be a fortune-hunter, although she must want money." + +"She may want other things more." + +"Perhaps. But I am very stupid, I am afraid I do not understand." + +"Men, for instance," suggested Eliza. + +"Dear me! that sounds almost carnivorous. I am afraid that there are +not many about here to satisfy her appetite. Your brother, Morris, the +curate at Morton, and myself, if at my age I may creep into that +honourable company, are the only single creatures within four miles, +and from these Stephen and Morris must apparently be eliminated." + +"Why should Morris be eliminated?" + +"A reason may occur to you." + +"Do you mean because he is engaged? What on earth does that matter?" + +"Nothing--in the East--but, rightly or wrongly, we have decided upon a +monogamous system; a man can't marry two wives, Miss Layard." + +"But he can throw over one girl to marry another." + +"Do you suggest that Morris is contemplating this experiment?" + +"I? I suggest nothing; all I know is----" + +"Well, now, what do you know?" + +"If you wish me to tell you, as perhaps I ought, I know this, Colonel +Monk, that the other night, when I was driving along the Rectory road, +I saw your son, Mr. Monk, kissing this wonderful Miss Fregelius; that +is all, and Stephen saw it also, you ask him." + +"Thank you; I think I would rather not. But what an odd place for him +to choose for this interchange of early Christian courtesies! Also--if +you are not mistaken--how well it illustrates that line in the hymn +this morning: + + "'How many a spot defiles the robe that wraps an earthly saint.' + +Such adventures seem scarcely in Morris's line, and I should have +thought that even an inexperienced saint would have been more +discreet." + +"Men always jest at serious things," said Eliza severely. + +"Which do you mean--the saints or the kissing? Both are serious +enough, but the two in combination----" + +"Don't you believe me?" asked Eliza. + +"Of course. But could you give me a few details?" + +Eliza could and did--with amplifications. + +"Now, what do you say, Colonel Monk?" she asked triumphantly. + +"I say that I think you have made an awkward mistake, Miss Layard. It +seems to me that all you saw is quite consistent with the theory that +he was buttoning or arranging the young lady's hood. I understand that +the wind was very high that night." + +Eliza started; this was a new and unpleasant interpretation which she +hastened to repudiate. "Arranging her hood, indeed----" + +"When he might have been kissing her? You cannot understand such +moderation. Still, it is possible, and he ought to have the benefit of +the doubt. Witnesses to character would be valuable in such a case, +and his--not to mention the lady's--is curiously immaculate." + +"Of course you are entitled to your own opinion, but I have mine." + +Suddenly the Colonel changed his bantering, satirical tone, and became +stern and withering. + +"Miss Layard," he said, "does it occur to you that on evidence which +would not suffice to convict a bicyclist of riding on a footpath, you +are circulating a scandal of which the issue might be very grave to +both the parties concerned?" + +"I am not circulating anything. I was telling you privately;" replied +Eliza, still trying to be bold. + +"I am glad to hear it. I understand that neither you nor your brother +have spoken of this extraordinary tale, and I am quite certain that +you will not speak of it in the future." + +"I cannot answer for my brother," she said sulkily. + +"No, but in his own interest and in yours I trust that you will make +him understand that if I hear a word of this I shall hold him to +account. Also, that his propagation of such a slander will react upon +you, who were with him." + +"How?" asked Eliza, now thoroughly frightened, for when he chose the +Colonel could be very crushing. + +"Thus: Your brother's evidence is that of an interested person which +no one will accept; and of yours, Miss Layard, it might be inferred +that it was actuated by jealousy of a charming and quite innocent +girl; or, perhaps, by other motives even worse, which I would rather +you did not ask me to suggest." + +Eliza did not ask him. She was too wise. As she knew well, when roused +the Colonel was a man with a bitter tongue and a good memory. + +"I am sure I am the last person who would wish to do mischief," she +said in a humble voice. + +"Of course, I know that, I know that. Well, now we understand each +other, so I must be turning home. Thank you so much for having been +quite candid with me. Good morning, Miss Layard; remember me to +Stephen." + +"Phew!" reflected the Colonel to himself, "that battle is won--after a +fashion--but just about forty-eight hours too late. By this time that +vixen of a woman has put the story all over the place. Oh, Morris, you +egregious ass, if you wanted to take to kissing like a schoolboy, why +the deuce did you select the high road for the purpose? This must be +put a stop to. I must take steps, and at once. They mustn't be seen +together again, or there will be trouble with Mary. But how to do it? +how to do it? That is the question, and one to which I must find an +answer within the next two hours. What a kettle of fish! What a pretty +kettle of fish!" + +In due course, and after diligent search, he found the answer to this +question. + + + +At lunch time the Colonel remarked casually that he had walked a +little way with Miss Layard, who mentioned that she had seen them-- +i.e., his son and Miss Fregelius--struggling through the gale the +other night. Then he watched the effect of this shot. Morris moved his +chair and looked uncomfortable; clearly he was a most transparent +sinner. But on Stella it took no effect. + +"As usual," reflected the Colonel, "the lady has the most control. Or +perhaps he tried to kiss her and she wouldn't let him, and a +consciousness of virtue gives her strength." + +After luncheon the Colonel paid a visit to Mr. Fregelius, ostensibly +to talk to him about the proposed restoration of the chancel, for +which he, as holder of the great tithes, was jointly liable with the +rector, a responsibility that, in the altered circumstances of the +family, he now felt himself able to face. When this subject was +exhausted, which did not take long, as Mr. Fregelius refused to +express any positive opinion until he had inspected the church, the +Colonel's manner grew portentously solemn. + +"My dear sir," he said, "there is another matter, a somewhat grave +one, upon which, for both our sakes and the sakes of those immediately +concerned, I feel bound to say a few words." + +Mr. Fregelius, who was a timid man, looked very much alarmed. A +conviction that the "grave matter" had something to do with Stella +flashed into his mind, but all he said was: + +"I am afraid I don't understand, Colonel Monk." + +"No; indeed, how should you? Well, to come to the point, it has to do +with that very charming daughter of yours and my son Morris." + +"I feared as much," groaned the clergyman. + +"Indeed! I thought you said you did not understand." + +"No, but I guessed; wherever Stella goes things seem to happen." + +"Exactly; well, things have happened here. To be brief, I mean that a +lot of silly women have got up a scandal about them--no, scandal is +too strong a word--gossip." + +"What is alleged?" asked Mr. Fregelius faintly. + +"Well, that your daughter threw over that young ass, Stephen Layard, +because--the story seems to me incredible, I admit--she had fallen +violently in love with Morris. Further that she and the said Morris +were seen embracing at night on the Rectory road, which I don't +believe, as the witnesses are Layard, who is prejudiced, and his +sister, who is the most ill-bred, bitter, and disappointed woman in +the county. Lastly, and this is no doubt true, that they are generally +on terms of great intimacy, and we all know where that leads to +between a man and woman--'Plato, thy confounded fantasies,' etc. You +see, when people sit up singing to each other alone till two in the +morning--I don't mean that Morris sings, he has no more voice than a +crow; he does the appreciative audience--well, other people will talk, +won't they?" + +"I suppose so, the world being what it is," sighed Mr. Fregelius. + +"Exactly; the world being what it is, and men and women what they are, +a most unregenerate lot and 'au fond' very primitive, as I daresay you +may have observed." + +"What is to be done?" + +"Well, under other circumstances, I should have said, Nothing at all +except congratulate them most heartily, more especially my son. But in +this case there are reasons which make such a course impossible. As +you know, Morris is engaged to be married to my niece, Miss Porson, +and it is a contract which, even if he wished it, honour would forbid +him to break, for family as well as for personal reasons." + +"Quite so, quite so; it is not to be thought of. But again I ask--What +is to be done?" + +"Is that not rather a question for you to consider? I suggest that you +had better speak to your daughter; just a hint, you know, just a +hint." + +"Upon my word, I'd rather not. Stella can be so--decided--at times, +and we never seem quite to understand each other. I did speak to her +the other day when Mr. Layard wished to marry her, a match I was +naturally anxious for, but the results were not satisfactory." + +"Still, I think you might try." + +"Very well, I will try; and, Colonel Monk, I cannot tell you how +grieved I am to have brought all this trouble on you." + +"Not a bit," answered the Colonel cheerfully. "I am an old student of +human nature, and I rather enjoy it; it's like watching the puppets on +a stage. Only we mustn't let the comedy grow into a tragedy." + +"Ah! that's what I am afraid of, some tragedy. Stella is a woman who +takes things hard, and if any affection really has sprung up----" + +"----It will no doubt evaporate with the usual hysterics and morning +headache. Bless me! I have known dozens of them, and felt some myself +in my time--the headaches, I mean, not the other things. Don't be +alarmed if she gets angry, Mr. Fregelius, but just appeal to her +reason; she will see the force of it afterwards." + +An hour or so later the Colonel started for a walk on the beach to +look at some damage which a high tide had done to the cliff. As he was +nearing the Abbey steps on his return he saw the figure of a woman +standing quite still upon the sands. An inspection through his +eyeglass revealed that it was Stella, and instinct told him her +errand. + +"This is rather awkward," he thought, as he braced himself to battle, +"especially as I like that girl and don't want to hurt her feelings. +Hullo! Miss Fregelius, are you taking the air? You should walk, or you +will catch cold." + +"No, Colonel Monk, I was waiting for you." + +"Waiting for me? Me! This is indeed an honour, and one which age +appreciates." + +She waved aside his two-edged badinage. "You have been speaking to my +father," she said. + +Instantly the Colonel assumed a serious manner, not the most serious, +such as he wore at funerals, but still one suited to a grave occasion. + +"Yes, I have." + +"You remember all that you said?" + +"Certainly, Miss Fregelius; and I assume that for the purposes of this +conversation it need not be repeated." + +She bowed her head, and replied, "I have come to explain and to tell +you three things. First, that all these stories are false except that +about the singing. Secondly, that whoever is responsible for them has +made it impossible that I should live in Monksland, so I am going to +London to earn my own living there. And, thirdly, that I hope you will +excuse my absence from dinner as I think the more I keep to myself +until we go to-morrow, the better; though I reserve to myself the +right to speak to Mr. Monk on this subject and to say good-bye to +him." + +"She /is/ taking it hard and she /is/ fond of him--deuced fond of him, +poor girl," thought the Colonel; but aloud he said, "My dear Miss +Fregelius, I never believed the stories. As for the principal one, +common sense rebels against it. All I said to your father was that +there appears to be a lot of talk about the place, and, under the +circumstances of my son's engagement, that he might perhaps give you a +friendly hint." + +"Oh! indeed; he did not put it quite like that. He gave me to +understand that you had told him--that I was--so--so much in love with +Mr. Monk that on this account I had--rejected Mr. Layard." + +"Please keep walking," said the Colonel, "or you /really/ will catch +cold." Then suddenly he stopped, looked her sharply in the face, much +as he had done to Eliza, and said, "Well, and are you not in love with +him?" + +For a moment Stella stared at him indignantly. Then suddenly he saw a +blush spread upon her face to be followed by an intense pallor, while +the pupils of the lovely eyes enlarged themselves and grew soft. Next +instant she put her hand to her heart, tottered on her feet, and had +he not caught her would perhaps have fallen. + +"I do not think I need trouble you to answer my question, which, +indeed, now that I think of it, was one I had no right to put," he +said as she recovered herself. + +"Oh, my God!" moaned Stella, wringing her hands; "I never knew it till +this moment. You have brought it home to me; you, yes, you!" and she +burst out weeping. + +"Here are the hysterics," thought the Colonel, "and I am afraid that +the headache will be bad to-morrow morning." + +To her, however, he said very tenderly, "My dear girl, my dear girl, +pray do not distress yourself. These little accidents will happen in +the best regulated hearts, and believe me, you will get over it in a +month or two." + +"Accident!" she said. "It is no accident; it is Fate!--I see it all +now--and I shall never get over it. However, that is my own affair, +and I have no right to trouble you with my misfortunes." + +"Oh! but you will indeed, and though you may think the advice hard, I +will tell you the best way." + +She looked up in inquiry. + +"Change your mind and marry Stephen Layard. He is not at all a bad +fellow, and--there are obvious advantages." + +This was the Colonel's first really false move, as he himself felt +before the last word had left his lips. + +"Colonel Monk," she said, "because I am unfortunate is it any reason +that you should insult me?" + +"Miss Fregelius, to my knowledge I have never insulted any woman; and +certainly I should not wish to begin with one who has just honoured me +with her confidence." + +"Is it not an insult," she answered with a sort of sob, "when a woman +to her shame and sorrow has confessed--what I have--to bid her console +herself by marriage with another man?" + +"Now that you put it thus, I confess that perhaps some minds might so +interpret an intention which did not exist. It seemed to me that, +after a while, in marriage you would most easily forget a trouble +which my son so unworthily has brought on you." + +"Don't blame him for he does not deserve it. If anybody is to blame it +is I; but in truth all those stories are false; we have neither of us +done anything." + +"Do not press the point, Miss Fregelius; I believe you." + +"We have neither of us done anything," she repeated; "and, what is +more, if you had not interfered, I do not think that I should have +found out the truth; or, at least, not yet--till I saw him married, +perhaps, when it would have been no matter." + +"When you see a man walking in his sleep you do your best to stop +him," said the Colonel. + +"And so cause him to fall over the precipice and be dashed to bits. +Oh! you should have let me finish my journey. Then I should have come +back to the bed that I have made to lie on, and waked to find myself +alone, and nobody would have been hurt except myself who caused the +evil." + +The Colonel could not continue this branch of the conversation. Even +to him, a hardened vessel, as he had defined himself, it was too +painful. + +"You said you mean to earn a living in London. How?" + +"By my voice and violin, if one can sing and play with a sore heart. I +have an old aunt, a sister of my father's, who is a music mistress, +with whom I daresay I can arrange to live, and who may be able to get +me some introductions." + +"I hope that I can help you there, and I will to the best of my +ability; indeed, if necessary, I will go to town and see about things. +Allow me to add this, Miss Fregelius, that I think you are doing a +very brave thing, and, what is more, a very wise one; and I believe +that before long we shall hear of you as the great new contralto." + +She shrugged her shoulders. "It may be; I don't care. Good-bye. By the +way, I wish to see Mr. Monk once more before I go; it would be better +for us all. I suppose that you don't object to that, do you?" + +"Miss Fregelius, my son is a man advancing towards middle age. It is +entirely a point for you and him to decide, and I will only say that I +have every confidence in you." + +"Thank you," she answered, and turning, walked rapidly down the lonely +beach till her figure melted into the gathering gloom of the winter's +night. Once, however, when she thought that she was out of eyeshot, he +saw her stop with her face towards the vast and bitter sea, and saw +also that she was wringing her hands in an agony of the uttermost +despair. + +"She looks like a ghost," said the Colonel aloud with a little shiver, +"like a helpless, homeless ghost, with the world behind her and the +infinite in front, and nothing to stand on but a patch of shifting +sand, wet with her own tears." + +When the Colonel grew thus figurative and poetical it may be surmised +by anyone who has taken the trouble to study his mixed and somewhat +worldly character that he was deeply moved. And he was moved; more so, +indeed, than he had been since the death of his wife. Why? He would +have found it hard to explain. On the face of it, the story was of a +trivial order, and in some of its aspects rather absurd. Two young +people who happened to be congenial, but one of whom was engaged, +chance to be thrown together for a couple of months in a country +house. Although there is some gossip, nothing at all occurs between +them beyond a little perfectly natural flirtation. The young man's +father, hearing the gossip, speaks to the young lady in order that she +may take steps to protect herself and his son against surmise and +misinterpretation. Thereupon a sudden flood of light breaks upon her +soul, by which she sees that she is really attached to the young man, +and being a woman of unusual character, or perhaps absurdly averse to +lying even upon such a subject, in answer to a question admits that +this is so, and that she very properly intends to go away. + +Could anything be more commonplace, more in the natural order of +events? Why, then, was he moved? Oh! it was that woman's face and +eyes. Old as he might be, he felt jealous of his son; jealous to think +that for him such a woman could wear this countenance of wonderful and +thrilling woe. What was there in Morris that it should have called +forth this depth of passion undefiled? Now, if there were no Mary--but +there was a Mary, it was folly to pursue such a line of thought. + +From sympathy for Stella, which was deep and genuine, to anger with +his son proved to the Colonel an easy step. Morris was that worst of +sinners, a hypocrite. Morris, being engaged to one woman, had taken +advantage of her absence deliberately to involve the affections of +another, or, at any rate, caused her considerable inconvenience. He +was wroth with Morris, and what was more, before he grew an hour older +he would let him have a piece of his mind. + +He found the sinner in his workshop, the chapel, making mathematical +calculations, the very sight of which added to his father's +indignation. The man, he reflected to himself, who under these +circumstances could indulge an abnormal talent for mathematics, +especially on Sunday, must be a cold-blooded brute. He entered the +place slamming the door behind him; and Morris looking up noted with +alarm, for he hated rows, that there was war in his eye. + +"Won't you take a chair, father?" he said. + +"No, thank you; I would rather say what I have to say standing." + +"What is the matter?" + +"The matter is, sir, that I find that by your attentions you have made +that poor girl, Miss Fregelius, while she was a guest in my house, the +object of slander and scandal to every ill-natured gossip in the three +parishes." + +Morris's quiet, thoughtful eyes flashed in an ominous and unusual +manner. + +"If you were not my father," he said, "I should ask you to change your +tone in speaking to me on such a subject; but as things are I suppose +that I must submit to it, unless you choose otherwise." + +"The facts, Morris," answered his father, "justify any language that I +can use." + +"Did you get these facts from Stephen Layard and Miss Layard? Ah! I +guessed as much. Well, the story is a lie; I was merely arranging her +hood which she could not do herself, as the wind forced her to use her +hand to hold her dress down." + +The thought of his own ingenuity in hitting on the right solution of +the story mollified the Colonel not a little. + +"Pshaw," he said, "I knew that. Do you suppose that I believed you +fool enough to kiss a girl on the open road when you had every +opportunity of kissing her at home? I know, too, that you have never +kissed her at all; or, ostensibly at any rate, done anything that you +shouldn't do." + +"What is my offence, then?" asked Morris. + +"Your offence is that you have got her talked about; that you have +made her in love with you--don't deny it; I have it from her own lips. +That you have driven her out of this place to earn a living in London +as best she may, and that, being yourself an engaged man"--here once +more the Colonel drew a bow at a venture--"you are what is called in +love with her yourself." + +These two were easy victims to the skill of so experienced an archer. +The shaft went home between the joints of his son's harness, and +Morris sank back in his chair and turned white. Generosity, or perhaps +the fear of exciting more unpleasant consequences, prevented the +Colonel from following up this head of his advantage. + +"There is more, a great deal more, behind," he went on. "For instance, +all this will probably come to Mary's ears." + +"Certainly it will; I shall tell her of it myself." + +"Which will be tantamount to breaking your engagement. May I ask if +that is your intention?" + +"No; but supposing that all you say were true, and that it /was/ my +intention, what then?" + +"Then, sir, to my old-fashioned ideas you would be a dishonourable +fellow, to cast away the woman who has only you to look to in the +world, that you may put another woman who has taken your fancy in her +place." + +Morris bit his lip. + +"Still speaking on that supposition," he replied, "would it not be +more dishonourable to marry her; would it not be kinder, shameful as +it may be, to tell her all the truth and let her seek some worthier +man?" + +The Colonel shrugged his shoulders. "I can't split hairs," he said, +"or enter on an argument of sentimental casuistry. But I tell you +this, Morris, although you are my only son, and the last of our name, +that rather than do such a thing, under all the circumstances, it +would be better that you should take a pistol and blow your brains +out." + +"Very probably," answered Morris, "but would you mind telling me also +what are the exact circumstances which would in your opinion so +aggravate this particular case?" + +"You have a copy of your uncle Porson's will in that drawer; give it +me." + +Morris obeyed, and his father searched for, and read the following +sentence: "In consideration of the forthcoming marriage between his +son Morris and my daughter Mary, the said testator remits all debts +and obligations that may be due to his estate by the said Richard +Monk, Lieutenant Colonel, Companion of the Bath, and an executor of +this will." + +"Well," said Morris. + +"Well," replied the Colonel coolly, "those debts in all amounted to +19,543 pounds. No wonder you seem astonished, but they have been +accumulating for a score of years. There's the fact, any way, so +discussion is no use. Now do you understand? 'In consideration of the +forthcoming marriage,' remember." + +"I shall be rich some day; that machine you laugh at will make me +rich; already I have been approached. I might repay this money." + +"Yes, and you might not; such hopes and expectations have a way of +coming to nothing. Besides, hang it all, Morris, you know that there +is more than money in the question." + +Morris hid his face in his hands for a moment; when he removed them it +was ashen. "Yes," he said, "things are unfortunate. You remember that +you were very anxious that I should engage myself, and Mary was so +good as to accept me. Perhaps, I cannot say, I should have done better +to have waited till I felt some real impulse towards marriage. +However, that is all gone by, and, father, you need not be in the +least afraid; there is not the slightest fear that I shall attempt to +do anything of which you would disapprove." + +"I was sure you wouldn't, old fellow," answered the Colonel in a +friendly tone, "not when you came to think. Matters seem to have got +into a bit of a tangle, don't they? Most unfortunate that charming +young lady being brought to this house in such a fashion. Really, it +looks like a spite of what she called Fate. However, I have no doubt +that it will all straighten itself somehow. By the way, she told me +that she should wish to see you once to say good-bye before she went. +Don't be vexed with me if, should she do so, I suggest to you to be +very careful. Your position will be exceedingly painful and +exceedingly dangerous, and in a moment all your fine resolutions may +come to nothing; though I am sure that she does not wish any such +thing, poor dear. Unless she really seeks this interview, I think, +indeed, it would be best avoided." + +Morris made no answer, and the Colonel went away somewhat weary and +sorrowful. For once he had seen too much of his puppet-show. + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + A MARRIAGE AND AFTER + +Stella did not appear at dinner that night, or at breakfast next day. +In the course of the morning, growing impatient, for he had +explanations to make, Morris sent her a note worded thus: + + + "Can I see you?--M. M." + + +to which came the following answer: + + + "Not to-day. Meet me to-morrow at the Dead Church at three o'clock. + --Stella." + + +It was the only letter that he ever received from her. + +That afternoon, December 23, Mr. Fregelius and his daughter moved to +the Rectory in a fly that had been especially prepared to convey the +invalid without shaking him. Morris did not witness their departure, +as the Colonel, either by accident or design, had arranged to go with +him on this day to inspect the new buildings which had been erected on +the Abbey Farm. Nor, indeed, were the names of the departed guests so +much as mentioned at dinner that night. The incident of their long +stay at the Abbey, with all its curious complications, was closed, and +both father and son, by tacit agreement, determined to avoid all +reference to it; at any rate for the present. + +The Christmas Eve of that year will long be remembered in Monksland +and all that stretch of coast as the day of the "great gale" which +wrought so much damage on its shores. The winter's dawn was of +extraordinary beauty, for all the eastern sky might have been compared +to one vast flower, with a heart of burnished gold, and sepals and +petals of many coloured fires. Slowly from a central point it opened, +slowly its splendours spread across the heavens; then suddenly it +seemed to wither and die, till where it had been was nothing but +masses of grey vapour that arose, gathered, and coalesced into an +ashen pall hanging low above the surface of the ashen sea. The +coastguard, watching the glass, hoisted their warning cone, although +as yet there was no breath of wind, and old sailormen hanging about in +knots on the cliff and beach went to haul up their boats as high as +they could drag them, knowing that it would blow hard by night. + +About mid-day the sea began to be troubled, as though its waves were +being pushed on by some force as yet unseen, and before two o'clock +gusts of cold air from the nor'east travelled landwards off the ocean +with a low moaning sound, which was very strange to hear. + +As Morris trudged along towards the Dead Church he noticed, as we do +notice such things when our minds are much preoccupied and oppressed, +that these gusts were coming quicker and quicker, although still +separated from each other by periods of aerial calm. Then he +remembered that a great gale had been prophesied in the weather +reports, and thought to himself that they portended its arrival. + +He reached the church by the narrow spit of sand and shingle which +still connected it with the shore, passed through the door in the +rough brick wall, closing it behind him, and paused to look. Already +under that heavy sky the light which struggled through the +brine-encrusted eastern window was dim and grey. Presently, however, +he discovered the figure of Stella seated in her accustomed place by +the desolate-looking stone altar, whereon stood the box containing the +aerophone that they had used in their experiments. She was dressed in +her dark-coloured ulster, of which the hood was still drawn over her +head, giving her the appearance of some cloaked nun, lingering, out of +time and place, in the ruined habitations of her worship. + +As he advanced she rose and pushed back the hood, revealing the masses +of her waving hair, to which it had served as a sole covering. In +silence Stella stretched out her hand, and in silence Morris took it; +for neither of them seemed to find any words. At length she spoke, +fixing her sad eyes upon his face, and saying: + +"You understand that we meet to part. I am going to London to-morrow; +my father has consented." + +"That is Christmas Day," he faltered. + +"Yes, but there is an early train, the same that runs on Sundays." + +Then there was another pause. + +"I wish to ask your pardon," he said, "for all the trouble that I have +brought upon you." + +She smiled. "I think it is I who should ask yours. You have heard of +these stories?" + +"Yes, my father spoke to me; he told me of his conversation with you." + +"All of it?" + +"I do not know; I suppose so," and he hung his head. + +"Oh!" she broke out in a kind of cry, "if he told you all----" + +"You must not blame him," he interrupted. "He was very angry with me. +He considered that I had behaved badly to you, and everybody, and I do +not think that he weighed his words." + +"I am not angry. Now that I think of it, what does it matter? I cannot +help things, and the truth will out." + +"Yes," he said, quite simply; "we love each other, so we may as well +admit it before we part." + +"Yes," she echoed, without disturbance or surprise; "I know now--we +love each other." + +These were the first intimate words that ever passed between them; +this, their declaration, unusual even in the long history of the +passions of men and women, and not the less so because neither of them +seemed to think its fashion strange. + +"It must always have been so," said Morris. + +"Always," she answered, "from the beginning; from the time you saved +my life and we were together in the boat and--perhaps, who can say?-- +before. I can see it now, only until they put light into our minds we +did not understand. I suppose that sooner or later we should have +found it out, for having been brought together nothing could ever have +really kept us asunder." + +"Nothing but death," he answered heavily. + +"That is your old error, the error of a lack of faith," she replied, +with one of her bright smiles. "Death will unite us beyond the +possibility of parting. I pray God that it may come quickly--to me, +not to you. You have your life to lead; mine is finished. I do not +mean the life of my body, but the real life, that within." + +"I think that you are right; I grow sure of it. But here there is +nothing to be done." + +"Of course," she answered eagerly; "nothing. Do you suppose that I +wished to suggest such a treachery?" + +"No, you are too pure and good." + +"Good I am not--who is?--but I believe that I am pure." + +"It is bitter," groaned Morris. + +"Why so? My heart aches, and yet through the pain I rejoice, because I +know that it is well with us. Had you not loved me, then it would have +been bitter. The rest is little. What does it matter when and how and +where it comes about? To-day we part--for ever in the flesh. You will +not look upon this mortal face of mine again." + +"Why do you say so?" + +"Because I feel that it is true." + +He glanced up hastily, and she answered the question in his eyes. + +"No--indeed--not that--I never thought of such a thing. I think it a +crime. We are bid to endure the burden of our day. I shall go on +weaving my web and painting my picture till, soon or late, God says, +'Hold,' and then I shall die gladly, yes, very gladly, because the +real beginning is at hand." + +"Oh! that I had your perfect faith," groaned Morris. + +"Then, if you love me, learn it from me. Should I, of all people, tell +you what is not true? It is the truth--I swear it is the truth. I am +not deceived. I know, I know, I /know/." + +"What do you know--about us?" + +"That, when it is over, we shall meet again where there is no +marriage, where there is nothing gross, where love perfect and +immortal reigns and passion is forgotten. There that we love each +other will make no heart sore, not even hers whom here, perhaps, we +have wronged; there will be no jealousies, since each and all, +themselves happy in their own way and according to their own +destinies, will rejoice in the happiness of others. There, too, our +life will be one life, our work one work, our thought one thought-- +nothing more shall separate us at all in that place where there is no +change or shadow of turning. Therefore," and she clasped her hands and +looked upwards, her face shining like a saint's, although the tears +ran down it, "therefore, 'O Death, where is thy sting? O grave, where +is thy victory?'" + +"You talk like one upon the verge of it, who hears the beating of +Death's wings. It frightens me, Stella." + +"I know nothing of that; it may be to-night, or fifty years hence--we +are always on the verge, and those Wings I have heard from childhood. +Fifty, even seventy years, and after them--all the Infinite; one tiny +grain of sand compared to the bed of the great sea, that sea from +which it was washed at dawn to be blown back again at nightfall." + +"But the dead forget--in that land all things are forgotten. Were you +to die I should call to you and you would not answer; and when my time +came, I might look for you and never find you." + +"How dare you say it? If I die, search, and you shall see. No; do +/not/ search, wait. At your death I will be with you." + +"Whatever happens in life or death--here or hereafter--swear that you +will not forget me, and that you will love me only. Swear it, Stella." + +"Come to this altar," she said, when she had thought a moment, "and +give me your hand--so. Now, before my Maker and the Presences who +surround us, I marry you, Morris Monk. Not in the flesh--with your +flesh I have nothing to do--but in the spirit. I take your soul to +mine, I give my soul to yours; yours it was from its birth's day, +yours it is, and when it ceases to be yours, let it perish +everlastingly." + +"So be it to both of us, for ever and for ever," he answered. + +This, then, was their marriage, and as they walked hand in hand away +from the ancient altar, which surely had never seen so strange a rite, +there returned to Morris an idle fantasy which had entered his mind at +this very spot when they landed one morning half-frozen after that +night in the open boat. But he said nothing of it; for with the memory +came a recollection of certain wandering words which that same day +fell from Stella's lips, words at the thought of which his spirit +thrilled and his flesh shuddered. What if she were near it, or he were +near it, or both of them? What if this solemn ceremony of marriage +mocked, yet made divine, had taken place upon the very threshold of +its immortal consummation? She read his thought and answered: + +"Remember always, far and near, it is the same thing; time is nothing; +this oath of ours cannot be touched by time or earthly change." + +"I will remember," he answered. + +What more did they say? He never could be sure, nor does it matter, +for what is written bears its gist. + +"Go away first," she said presently; "I promised your father that I +would bring no further trouble on you, so we must not be seen +together. Go now, for the gale is rising fast and the darkness grows." + +"This is hard to bear," he muttered, setting his teeth. "Are you sure +that we shall not meet again in after years?" + +"Sure. You look your last upon me, on the earthly Stella whom you know +and love." + +"It must be done," he said. + +"It must be done," she echoed. "Good-bye, husband, till that appointed +hour of meeting when I may call you so without shame," and she held +out her hand. + +He took and pressed it; speak he could not. Then, like a man stricken +in years, he passed down the church with bent head and shambling feet. +At the door he turned to look at her. She was standing erect and proud +as a conqueror, her hand resting upon the altar. Even at that distance +their eyes met, and in hers, lit with a wild and sudden ray from the +sinking sun, he could see a strange light shine. Then he went out of +the door and dragged it to behind him, to battle his way homeward +through the roaring gale that stung and buffeted him like all the +gathered spites and hammerings of Destiny. + +This, then, was their parting, a parting pure and stern and high, +unsolaced by one soft word, unsweetened by a single kiss. Yet it seems +fitting that those who hope to meet in the light of the spirit should +make their last farewells on earth beneath such solemn shadows. + +And Stella? After all she was but a woman, a woman with a very human +heart. She knew the truth indeed, to whom it was given to see before +the due determined time of vision, but still she was troubled with +that human heart, and weighed down by the flesh over which she +triumphed. Now that he was gone, pride and strength seemed both to +leave her, and with a low cry, like the cry of a wounded sea-bird, she +cast herself down there upon the cold stones before the altar, and +wept till her senses left her. + + + +A great gale roared and howled. The waters, driven onwards by its +furious breath, beat upon the eastern cliffs till these melted like +snow beneath them, taking away field and church, town and protecting +wall, and in return casting up the wrecks of ships and the bodies of +dead men. + +Morris could not sleep. Who could sleep in such an awful tempest? Who +could sleep that had passed through such a parting? Oh! his heart +ached, and he was as one sick to death, and with him continually was +the thought of Stella, and before him came the vision of her eyes. He +could not sleep, so rising, he dressed himself and went to the window. +High in the heavens swept clean of clouds by the furious blasts +floated a wandering moon, throwing her ghastly light upon the +swirling, furious sea. Shorewards rushed the great rollers in unending +lines, there to break in thunder and seethe across the shingle till +the sea-wall stopped them and sent the spray flying upwards in thin, +white clouds. + +"God help those in the power of the sea to-night," thought Morris, +"for many of them will not keep Christmas here." + +Then it seemed to his mind, excited by storm and sorrow, as though +some power were drawing him, as though some voice were telling him +that there was that which he must hear. Aimlessly, half-unconsciously +he wandered to his workshop in the old chapel, turned on one of the +lamps, and stood at the window watching the majestic progress of the +storm, and thinking, thinking, thinking. + +While he remained thus, suddenly, thrilling his nerves as though with +a quick shock of pain, sharp and clear even in that roar and turmoil, +rang out the sound of an electric bell. He started round and looked. +Yes; as he thought in all the laboratory there was only one bell that +could ring, none other had its batteries charged, and that bell was +attached to the aerophone whereof the twin stood upon the altar in the +Dead Church. The instrument was one of the pair with which he had +carried out his experiments of the last two months. + +His heart stood still. "Great God! What could have caused that bell to +ring?" It could not ring; it was a physical impossibility unless +somebody were handling the sister instrument, and at four o'clock in +the morning, who could be there, and except one, who would know its +working? With a bound he was by the aerophone and had given the +answering signal. Then instantly, as though she were standing at his +side in the room, for this machine does not blur the voice or heighten +its tone, he heard Stella speaking. + +"Is it you who answer me?" she asked. + +"Yes, yes," he said, "but where are you at this hour of the night?" + +"Where you left me, in the Dead Church," floated back the quick reply +through the raving breadths of storm. "Listen: After you went my +strength gave out and I suppose that I fainted; at least, a little +while ago I woke up from a deep sleep to find myself lying before the +alter here. I was frightened, for I knew that it must be far into the +night, and an awful gale is blowing which shakes the whole church. I +went to the door and opened it, and by the light of the moon I saw +that between me and the shore lies a raging sea hundreds of yards +wide. Then I came back and threw out my mind to you, and tried to wake +you, if you slept; tried to make you understand that I wished you to +go to the aerophone and hear me." + +"I will get help at once," broke in Morris. + +"I beg you," came back the voice, "I beg you, do not stir. The time is +very short; already the waves are dashing against the walls of the +chancel, and I hear the water rumbling in the vaults beneath my feet. +Listen!" her voice ceased, and in place of it there swelled the shriek +of the storm which beat about the Dead Church, the rush, too, of the +water in the hollow vaults and the crashing of old coffins as they +were washed from their niches. Another instant, and Stella had cut off +these sounds and was speaking again. + +"It is useless to think of help, no boat, nothing could live upon that +fearful sea; moreover, within five minutes this church must fall and +vanish." + +"My God! My God!" wailed Morris. + +"Do not grieve; it is a waste of precious time, and do not stir till +the end. I want you to know that I did not seek this death. I never +dreamed of such a thing. You must tell my father so, and bid him not +to mourn for me. It was my intention to leave the church within ten +minutes of yourself. This cup is given to me by the hand of Fate. I +did not fill it. Do you hear and understand?" + +"I hear and understand," answered Morris. + +"Now you see," she went on, "that our talk to-day was almost inspired. +My web is woven, my picture is painted, and to me Heaven says, 'Hold.' +The thought that it might be so was in your mind, was it not?" + +"Yes." + +"And I answered your thought, telling you that time is nothing. This I +tell you again for your comfort in the days that remain to you of +life. Oh! I bless God; I bless God Who has dealt so mercifully to me. +Where are now the long years of lonely suffering that I feared--I who +stand upon the threshold of the Eternal? . . . I can talk no more, the +water is rising in the church--already it is about my knees; but +remember every word which I have said to you; remember that we are wed +--truly wed, that I go to wait for you, and that even if you do not +see me I will, if I may, be near you always--till you die, and +afterwards will be with you always--always." + +"Stay," cried Morris. + +"What have you to say? Be swift, the water rises and the walls are +cracking." + +"That I love you now and for ever and for ever; that I will remember +everything; and that I know beyond a doubt that you have seen, and +speak the truth." + +"Thank you for those blessed words, and for this life fare you well." + + + +For a moment there was silence, or at least Stella's voice was silent, +while Morris stood over the aerophone, the sweat running from his +face, rocking like a drunken man in his agony and waiting for the end. +Then suddenly loud, clear, and triumphant, broke upon his ears the +sound of that song which he had heard her sing upon the sinking ship +when her death seemed near; the ancient song of the Over-Lord. Once +more at the last mortal ebb, while the water rose about her breast, +Stella's instincts and blood had asserted themselves, and forgetting +aught else, she was dying as her pagan forefathers had died, with the +secret ancient chant upon her lips. Yes, she sang as Skarphedinn the +hero sang while the flame ate out his life. + +The song swelled on, and the great waters boomed an accompaniment. +Then came a sound of crashing walls, and for a moment it ceased, only +to rise again still clearer and more triumphant. Again a crash--a +seething hiss--and the instrument was silent, for its twin was +shattered. Shattered also was the fair shape that held the spirit of +Stella. + + + +Again and again Morris spoke eagerly, entreatingly, but the aerophone +was dumb. So he ceased at length, and even then well nigh laughed when +he thought that in this useless piece of mechanism he saw a symbol of +his own soul, which also had lost its mate and could hold true +converse with no other. + +Then he started up, and just as he was, ran out into the raving night. + +Three hours later, when the sun rose upon Christmas Day, if any had +been there to note him they might have seen a dishevelled man standing +alone upon the lonely shore. There he stood, the back-wash of the +mighty combers hissing about his knees as he looked seaward beneath +the hollow of his hand at a spot some two hundred yards away, where +one by one their long lines were broken into a churning yeast of foam. + +Morris knew well what broke them--the fallen ruins of the church that +was now Stella's sepulchre, and, oh! in that dark hour, he would have +been glad to seek her where she lay. + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + THE RETURN OF MARY + +Curiously enough, indirectly, but in fact, it was the circumstance of +Stella's sudden and mysterious death that made Morris a rich and +famous man, and caused his invention of the aerophone to come into +common use. Very early on the following morning, but not before, she +was missed from the Rectory and sought far and wide. One of the first +places visited by those who searched was the Abbey, whither they met +Morris returning through the gale, wild-eyed, flying-haired, and +altogether strange to see. They asked him if he knew what had become +of Miss Fregelius. + +"Yes," he replied, "she has been crushed or drowned in the ruins of +the Dead Church, which was swept away by the gale last night." + +Then they stared and asked how he knew this. He answered that, being +unable to sleep that night on account of the storm, he had gone into +his workshop when his attention was suddenly attracted by the bell of +the aerophone, by means of which he learned that Miss Fregelius had +been cut off from the shore in the church. He added that he ran as +hard as he could to the spot, only to find at dawn that the building +had entirely vanished in the gale, and that the sea had encroached +upon the land by at least two hundred paces. + +Of course these statements concerning the aerophone and its +capabilities were reported all over the world and much criticised-- +very roughly in some quarters. Thereupon Morris offered to demonstrate +the truth of what he had said. The controversy proved sharp; but of +this he was glad; it was a solace to him, perhaps even it prevented +him from plunging headlong into madness. At first he was stunned; he +did not feel very much. Then the first effects of the blow passed; a +sense of the swiftness and inevitableness of this awful consummation +seemed to sink down into his heart and crush him. The completeness of +the tragedy, its Greek-play qualities, were overwhelming. Question and +answer, seed and fruit--there was no space for thought or growth +between them. The curtain was down upon the Temporal, and lo! almost +before its folds had shaken to their place, it had risen upon the +Eternal. His nature reeled beneath this knowledge and his loss. Had it +not been for those suspicions and attacks it might have fallen. + +The details of the struggle need not be entered into, as they have +little to do with the life-story of Morris Monk. It is enough to say +that in the end he more than carried out his promises under the +severest conditions, and in the presence of various scientific bodies +and other experts. + +Afterwards came the natural results; the great aerophone company was +floated, in which Morris as vendor received half the shares--he would +take no cash--which shares, by the way, soon stood at five and a +quarter. Also he found himself a noted man; was asked to deliver an +address before the British Association; was nominated on the council +of a leading scientific society, and in due course after a year or two +received one of the greatest compliments that can be paid to an +Englishman, that of being elected to its fellowship, as a +distinguished person, by the committee of a famous Club. Thus did +Morris prosper greatly--very greatly, and in many different ways; but +with all this part of his life we are scarcely concerned. + +On the day of his daughter's death Morris visited Mr. Fregelius, for +whom he had a message. He found the old man utterly crushed and +broken. + +"The last of the blood, Mr. Monk," he moaned, when Morris, hoarse- +voiced and slow-worded, had convinced him of the details of the +dreadful fact, "the last of the blood; and I left childless. At least +you will feel for me and with me. /You/ will understand." + +It will be seen that although outside of some loose talk in the +village, which indirectly had produced results so terrible, no one had +ever suggested such a thing, curiously enough, by some intuitive +process, Mr. Fregelius who, to a certain extent, at any rate, guessed +his daughter's mind, took it for granted that she had been in love +with Morris. He seemed to know also by the same deductive process that +he was attached to her. + +"I do, indeed," said Morris, with a sad smile, thinking that if only +the clergyman could look into his heart he would perhaps be somewhat +astonished at the depth of that understanding sympathy. + +"I told you," went on Mr. Fregelius, "and you laughed at me, that it +was most unlucky her having sung that hateful Norse song, the +'Greeting to Death,' when you found her upon the steamer Trondhjem." + +"Everything has been unlucky, Mr. Fregelius--or lucky," he added +beneath his breath. "But you will like to know that she died singing +it. The aerophone told me that." + +"Mr. Monk," the old man said, catching his arm, "my daughter was a +strange woman, a very strange woman, and since I heard this dreadful +news I have been afraid that perhaps she was--unhappy. She was leaving +her home, on your account--yes, on your account, it's no use +pretending otherwise, although no one ever told me so--and--that she +knew the church was going to be washed away." + +"She thought you might think so," answered Morris, and he gave him +Stella's last message. Moreover, he told him more of the real +circumstances than he revealed to anybody else. He told him what +nobody else ever knew, for on that lonely coast none had seen him +enter or leave the place, how he had met her in the church--about the +removal of the instruments, as he left it to be inferred--and at her +wish had come home alone because of the gossip which had arisen. He +explained also that according to her own story, from some unexplained +cause she had fallen asleep in the church after his departure, and +awakened to find herself surrounded by the waters with all hope gone. + +"And now she is dead, now she is dead," groaned Mr. Fregelius, "and I +am alone in the world." + +"I am sorry for you," said Morris simply, "but there it is. It is no +use looking backward, we must look forward." + +"Yes, look forward, both of us, since she is hidden from both. You +see, almost from the first I knew you were fond of her," added the +clergyman simply. + +"Yes," he answered, "I am fond of her, though of that the less said +the better, and because our case is the same I hope that we shall +always be friends." + +"You are very kind; I shall need a friend now. I am alone now, quite +alone, and my heart is broken." + +Here it may be added that Morris was even better than his word. Out of +the wealth that came to him in such plenty, for instance, he was +careful to augment the old man's resources without offending his +feelings, by adding permanently and largely to the endowment of the +living. Also, he attended to his wants in many other ways which need +not be enumerated, and not least by constantly visiting him. Many were +the odd hours and the evenings that shall be told of later, which they +spent together smoking their pipes in the Rectory study, and talking +of her who had gone, and whose lost life was the strongest link +between them. Otherwise and elsewhere, except upon a few extraordinary +occasions, her name rarely passed the lips of Morris. + +Yet within himself he mourned and mourned, although even in the first +bitterness not as one without hope. He knew that she had spoken truth; +that she was not dead, but only for a while out of his sight and +hearing. + + + +Ten days had passed, and for Morris ten weary, almost sleepless, +nights. The tragedy of the destruction of the new rector's daughter in +the ruins of the Dead Church no longer occupied the tongues of men and +paragraphs in papers. One day the sea gave up the hood of her brown +ulster, the same that Morris had been seen arranging by Stephen and +Eliza Layard; it was found upon the beach. After this even the local +police admitted that the conjectures as to her end must be true, and, +since for the lack of anything to hold it on there could be no +inquest, the excitement dwindled and died. Nor indeed, as her father +announced that he was quite satisfied as to the circumstances of his +daughter's death, was any formal inquiry held concerning them. A few +people, however, still believed that she was not really drowned but +had gone away secretly for unknown private reasons. The world +remembers few people, even if they be distinguished, for ten whole +days. It has not time for such long-continued recollection of the +dead, this world of the living who hurry on to join them. + +If this is the case with the illustrious, the wealthy and the +powerful, how much more must it be so in the instance of an almost +unknown girl, a stranger in the land? Morris and her father remembered +her, for she was part of their lives and lived on with their lives. +Stephen Layard mourned for the woman whom he had wished to marry-- +fiercely at first, with the sharp pain of disappointed passion; then +intermittently; and at last, after he was comfortably wedded to +somebody else, with a mild and sentimental regret three or four times +a year. Eliza, too, when once convinced that she was "really dead," +was "much shocked," and talked vaguely of the judgments and +dispensations of Providence, as though this victim were pre-eminently +deserving of its most stern decrees. It was rumoured, however, among +the observant that her Christian sorrow was, perhaps, tempered by a +secret relief at the absence of a rival, who, as she now admitted, +sang extremely well and had beautiful eyes. + +The Colonel also thought of the guest whom the sea had given and taken +away, and with a real regret, for this girl's force, talents, and +loveliness had touched and impressed him who had sufficient intellect +and experience to know that she was a person cast in a rare and noble +mould. But to Morris he never mentioned her name. No further +confidence had passed between them on the matter. Yet he knew that to +his son this name was holy. Therefore, being in some ways a wise man, +he thought it well to keep his lips shut and to let the dead bury +their dead. + +By all the rest Stella Fregelius was soon as much forgotten as though +she had never walked the world or breathed its air. That gale had done +much damage and taken away many lives--all down the coast was heard +the voice of mourning; hers chanced to be one of them, and there was +nothing to be said. + + + +On the morning of the eleventh day came a telegram from Mary addressed +to Morris, and dated from London. It was brief and to the point. "Come +to dinner with me at Seaview, and bring your father.--Mary." + +When Morris drove to Seaview that evening he was as a man is in a +dream. Sorrow had done its work on him, agonising his nerves, till at +length they seemed to be blunted as with a very excess of pain, much +as the nerves of the victims of the Inquisition were sometimes +blunted, till at length they could scarcely feel the pincers bite or +the irons burn. Always abstemious, also, for this last twelve days he +had scarcely swallowed enough food to support him, with the result +that his body weakened and suffered with his mind. + +Then there was a third trouble to contend with,--the dull and gnawing +sense of shame which seemed to eat into his heart. In actual fact, he +had been faithful enough to Mary, but in mind he was most unfaithful. +How could he come to her, the woman who was to be his wife, the woman +who had dealt so well by him, with the memory of that spiritual +marriage at the altar of the Dead Church still burning in his brain-- +that marriage which now was consecrated and immortalised by death? +What had he to give her that was worth her taking? he, who if the +truth were known, shrank from all idea of union with any earthly +woman; who longed only to be allowed to live out his time in a +solitude as complete as he could find or fashion? It was monstrous; it +was shameful; and then and there he determined that before ever he +stood in Monksland church by the side of Mary Porson, at least he +would tell her the truth, and give her leave to choose. To his other +sins against her deceit should not be added. + +"Might I suggest, Morris," said the Colonel, who as they drove, had +been watching his son's face furtively by the light of the brougham +lamp--"might I suggest that, under all the circumstances, Mary would +perhaps appreciate an air a little less reminiscent of funerals? You +may recollect that several months have passed since you parted." + +"Yes," said Morris, "and a great deal has happened in that time." + +"Of course, her father is dead." The Colonel alluded to no other +death. "Poor Porson! How painfully that beastly window in the dining- +room will remind me of him! Come, here we are; pull yourself together, +old fellow." + +Morris obeyed as best he could, and presently found himself following +the Colonel into the drawing-room, for once in his life, as he +reflected, heartily glad to have the advantage of his parent's +society. He could scarcely be expected to be very demonstrative and +lover-like under the fire of that observant eyeglass. + +As they entered the drawing-room by one door, Mary, looking very +handsome and imposing in a low black dress, which became her fair +beauty admirably, appeared at the other. Catching sight of Morris, she +ran, or rather glided, forward with the graceful gait that was one of +her distinctions, and caught him by both hands, bending her face +towards him in open and unmistakable invitation. + +In a moment it was over somehow, and she was saying: + +"Morris, how thin you look, and there are great black lines under your +eyes! Uncle, what have you been doing to him?" + +"When I have had the pleasure of saying, How-do-you-do to you, my +dear," he replied in a somewhat offended voice--for the Colonel was +not fond of being overlooked, even in favour of an interesting son--"I +shall be happy to do my best to answer your question." + +"Oh! I am so sorry," she said, advancing her forehead to be kissed; +"but we saw each other the other day, didn't we, and one can't embrace +two people at once, and of course one must begin somewhere. But, why +have you made him so thin?" + +The Colonel surveyed Morris critically with his eyeglass. + +"Really, my dear Mary," he replied, "I am not responsible for the +variations in my son's habit of body." Then, as Morris turned away +irritably, he added in a stage whisper, "He's been a bit upset, poor +fellow! He felt your father's death dreadfully." + +Mary winced a little, then, recovering her vivacity, said: + +"Well, at any rate, uncle, I am glad to see that nothing of the sort +has affected your health; I never saw you looking better." + +"Ah! my dear, as we grow older we learn resignation----" + +"And how to look after ourselves," thought Mary. + +At that moment dinner was announced, and she went in on Morris's arm, +the Colonel gallantly insisting that it should be so. After this +things progressed a good deal better. The first plunge was over, and +the cool refreshing waters of Mary's conversation seemed to give back +to Morris's system some of the tone that it had lost. Also, when he +thought fit to use it, he had a strong will, and he thought fit this +night. Lastly, like many a man in a quandary before him, he discovered +the strange advantages of a scientific but liberal absorption of +champagne. Mary noticed this as she noticed everything, and said +presently with her eyes wide open: + +"Might I ask, my dear, if you are--ill? You are eating next to +nothing, and that's your fourth large glass of champagne--you who +never drank more than two. Don't you remember how it used to vex my +poor dad, because he said that it always meant half a bottle wasted, +and a temptation to the cook?" + +Morris laughed--he was able to laugh by now--and replied, as it +happened, with perfect truth, that he had an awful toothache. + +"Then everything is explained," said Mary. "Did you ever see me with a +toothache? Well, I should advise you not, for it would be our last +interview. I will paint it for you after dinner with pure carbolic +acid; it's splendid, that is if you don't drop any on the patient's +tongue." + +Morris answered that he would stick to champagne. Then Mary began to +narrate her experiences in the convent in a fashion so funny that the +Colonel could scarcely control his laughter, and even Morris, +toothache, heartache, and all, was genuinely amused. + +"Imagine, my dear Morris," she said, "you know the time I get down to +breakfast. Or perhaps you don't. It's one of those things which I have +been careful to conceal from you, but you will one day, and I believe +that over it our matrimonial happiness may be wrecked. Well, at what +hour do you think I found myself expected to be up in that convent?" + +"Seven," suggested Morris. + +"At seven! At a quarter to five, if you please! At a quarter to five +every morning did some wretched person come and ring a dinner-bell +outside my door. And it was no use going to sleep again, not the +least, for at half-past five two hideous old lay-sisters arrived with +buckets of water--they have a perfect passion for cleanliness--and +began to scrub out the cell whether you were in bed or whether you +weren't." + +Then she rattled on to other experiences, trivial enough in +themselves, but so entertaining when touched and lightened with her +native humour, that very soon the evening had worn itself pleasantly +away without a single sad or untoward word. + +"Good night, dear!" said Mary to Morris, who this time managed to +embrace her with becoming warmth; "you will come and see me to-morrow, +won't you--no, not in the morning. Remember I have been getting up at +a quarter to five for a month, and I am trying to equalise matters; +but after luncheon. Then we will sit before a good fire, and have a +talk, for the weather is so delightfully bad that I am sure I shan't +be forced to take exercise." + +"Very well, at three o'clock," said Morris, when the Colonel, who had +been reflecting to himself, broke in. + +"Look here, my dear, you must be down to lunch, or if you are not you +ought to be; so, as I want to have a chat with you about some of your +poor father's affairs, and am engaged for the rest of the day, I will +come over then if you will allow me." + +"Certainly, uncle, if you like; but wouldn't Morris do instead--as +representing me, I mean?" + +"Yes," he answered; "when you are married he will do perfectly well, +but until that happy event I am afraid that I must take your personal +opinion." + +"Oh! very well," said Mary with a sigh; "I will expect you at a +quarter past one." + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + TWO EXPLANATIONS + +Accordingly, at a quarter past one on the following day the Colonel +arrived at Seaview, went in to lunch with Mary, and made himself very +amusing and agreeable about the domestic complications of his old +friend, Lady Rawlins and her objectionable husband, and other kindred +topics. Then, adroitly enough, he changed the conversation to the +subject of the great gale, and when he talked of it awhile, said +suddenly: + +"I suppose that you have heard of the dreadful thing that happened +here?" + +"What dreadful thing?" asked Mary. "I have heard nothing; you must +remember that I have been in a convent where one does not see the +English papers." + +"The death of Stella Fregelius," said the Colonel sadly. + +"What! the daughter of the new rector--the young lady whom Morris took +off the wreck, and whom I have been longing to ask him about, only I +forgot last night? Do you mean to say that she is dead?" + +"Dead as the sea can make her. She was in the old church yonder when +it was swept away, and now lies beneath its ruins in four fathoms of +water." + +"How awful!" said Mary. "Tell me about it; how did it happen?" + +"Well, through Morris, poor fellow, so far as I can make out, and that +is why he is so dreadfully cut up. You see she helped him to carry on +his experiments with that machine, she sitting in the church and he at +home in the Abbey, with a couple of miles of coast and water between +them. Well, you are a woman of the world, my dear, and you must know +that all this sort of thing means a great deal more intimacy than is +desirable. How far that intimacy went I do not know, and I do not care +to inquire, though for my part I believe that it was a very little way +indeed. Still, Eliza Layard got hold of some cock and bull tale, and +you can guess the rest." + +"Perfectly," said Mary in a quiet voice, "if Eliza was concerned in +it; but please go on with the story." + +"Well, the gossip came to my ears----" + +"Through Eliza?" queried Mary. + +"Through Eliza--who said----" and he told her about the incident of +the ulster and the dog-cart, adding that he believed it to be entirely +untrue. + +As Mary made no comment he went on: "I forgot to say that Miss +Fregelius seems to have refused to marry Stephen Layard, who fell +violently in love with her, which, to my mind, accounts for some of +this gossip. Still, I thought it my duty, and the best thing I could +do, to give a friendly hint to the old clergyman, Stella's father, a +funny, withered-up old boy by the way. He seems to have spoken to his +daughter rather indiscreetly, whereon she waylaid me as I was walking +on the sands and informed me that she had made up her mind to leave +this place for London, where she intended to earn her own living by +singing and playing on the violin. I must tell you that she played +splendidly, and, in my opinion, had one of the most glorious contralto +voices that I ever heard." + +"She seems to have been a very attractive young woman," said Mary, in +the same quiet, contemplative voice. + +"I think," went on the Colonel, "take her all in all, she was about +the most attractive young woman that ever I saw, poor thing. Upon my +word, dear, old as I am, I fell half in love with her myself, and so +would you if you had seen those eyes of hers." + +"I remember," broke in Mary, "that old Mr. Tomley, after he returned +from inspecting the Northumberland living, spoke about Miss +Fregelius's wonderful eyes--at the dinner-party, you know, on the +night when Morris proposed to me," and she shivered a little as though +she had turned suddenly cold. + +"Well, let me go on with my story. After she had told me this, and I +had promised to help her with introductions--exactly why or how I +forget--but I asked her flat out if she was in love with Morris. +Thereon--I assure you, my dear Mary, it was the most painful scene in +all my long experience--the poor thing turned white as a sheet, and +would have fallen if I had not caught hold of her. When she came to +herself a little, she admitted frankly that this was her case, but +added--of which, of course, one may believe as much as one likes, that +she had never known it until I asked the question." + +"I think that quite possible," said Mary; "and really, uncle, to me +your cross-examination seems to have been slightly indiscreet." + +"Possibly, my dear, very possibly; even Solomon might be excused for +occasionally making a mistake where the mysterious articles which +young ladies call their hearts are concerned. I tell what happened, +that is all. Shall I go on?" + +"If you please." + +"Well, after this she announced that she meant to see Morris once to +say good-bye to him before she went to London, and left me. +Practically the next thing I heard about her was that she was dead." + +"Did she commit suicide?" asked Mary. + +"It is said not; it is suggested that after Morris's interview with +her in the Dead Church--for I gather there was an interview though +nobody knows about it, and that's where they met--she fell asleep, +which sounds an odd thing to do in the midst of such a gale as was +raging on Christmas Eve, and so was overwhelmed. But who can say? +Impressionable and unhappy women have done such deeds before now, +especially if they imagine themselves to have become the object of +gossip. Of course, also, the mere possibility of such a thing having +happened on his account would be, and indeed has been, enough to drive +a man like Morris crazy with grief and remorse." + +"What had he to be remorseful for?" asked Mary. "If a young woman +chanced to fall in love with him, why should he be blamed, or blame +himself for that? After all, people's affections are in their own +keeping." + +"I imagine--very little, if anything. At least, I know this, that when +I spoke to him about the matter after my talk with her, I gathered +from what he said that there was absolutely nothing between them. To +be quite frank, however, as I have tried to be with you, my dear, +throughout this conversation, I also gathered that this young lady had +produced a certain effect upon his mind, or at least that the +knowledge that she had avowed herself to be attached to him--which I +am afraid I let out, for I was in a great rage--produced some such +effect. Well, afterwards I believe, although I have asked no questions +and am not sure of it, he went and said good-bye to her in this +church, at her request. Then this dreadful tragedy happened, and there +is an end of her and her story." + +"Have you any object in telling it to me, uncle?" + +"Yes, my dear, I have. I wished you to know the real facts before they +reached you in whatever distorted version Morris's fancy or +imagination, or exaggerated candour, may induce him to present them to +you. Also, my dear, even if you find, or think you find that you have +cause of complaint against him, I hope that you will see your way to +being lenient and shutting your eyes a little." + +"Severity was never my strong point," interrupted Mary. + +"For this reason," went on the Colonel; "the young woman concerned was +a very remarkable person; if you could have heard her sing, for +instance, you would have said so yourself. It is a humiliating +confession, but I doubt whether one young man out of a hundred, +single, engaged, or married, could have resisted being attracted by +her to just such an extent as she pleased, especially if he were +flattered by the knowledge that she was genuinely attracted by +himself." + +Mary made no answer. + +"Didn't you say you had some documents you wanted me to sign?" she +asked presently. + +"Oh, yes; here is the thing," and he pulled a paper out of his pocket; +"the lawyers write that it need not be witnessed." + +Mary glanced at it. "Couldn't Morris have brought this?--he is your +co-executor, isn't he?--and saved you the trouble?" + +"Undoubtedly he could; but----" + +"But what?" + +"Well, if you want to know, my dear," said the Colonel, with a grave +countenance, "just now Morris is in a state in which I do not care to +leave more of this important business in his hands than is necessary." + +"What am I to understand by that, uncle?" she said, looking at him +shrewdly. "Do you mean that he is--not quite well?" + +"Yes, Mary, I mean that--he is not quite well; that is, if my +observation goes for anything. I mean," he went on with quiet +vehemence, "I mean that--just at present, of course, he has been so +upset by this miserable affair that for my part I wouldn't put any +confidence in what he says about it, or about anything else. The thing +has got upon his nerves and rendered him temporarily unfit for the +business of ordinary life. You know that at the best of times he is a +very peculiar man and not quite like other people. + +"Well, have you signed that? Thank you, my dear. By Jove! I must be +off; I shall be late as it is. I may rely upon your discretion as to +what we have been talking about, may I not? but I thought it as well +to let you know how the land lay." + +"Yes, uncle; and thank you for taking so much trouble." + +When the door had closed behind him Mary reflected awhile. Then she +said to herself: + +"He thinks Morris is a little off his head, and has come here to warn +me. I should not be surprised, and I daresay that he is right. Any +way, a new trouble has risen up between us, the shadow of another +woman, poor thing. Well, shadows melt, and the dead do not come back. +She seems to have been very charming and clever, and I daresay that +she fascinated him for a while, but with kindness and patience it will +all come right. Only I do hope that he will not insist upon making me +too many confidences." + +So thought Mary, who by nature was forgiving, gentle, and an optimist; +not guessing how sorely her patience as an affianced wife, and her +charity as a woman of the world, would be tried within the hour. + +From all of which it will be seen that for once the diplomacy of the +Colonel had prospered somewhat beyond its deserts. The departed cannot +explain or defend themselves, and Morris's possible indiscretions +already stood discounted in the only quarter where they might do harm. + +Half an hour later Mary, sitting beside the fire with her toes upon +the grate and her face to the window, perceived Morris on the gravel +drive, wearing a preoccupied and rather wretched air. She noted, +moreover, that before he rang the bell he paused for a moment as +though to shake himself together. + +"Here you are at last," she said, cheerfully, as he bent down to kiss +her, "seven whole minutes before your time, which is very nice of you. +Now, sit down there and get warm, and we will have a good, long talk." + +Morris obeyed. "My father has been lunching with you, has he not?" he +said somewhat nervously. + +"Yes, dear, and telling me all the news, and a sad budget it seems to +be; about the dreadful disasters of the great gale and the death of +that poor girl who was staying with you, Miss Fregelius." + +At the mention of this name Morris's face contorted itself, as the +face of a man might do who was seized with a sudden pang of sharp and +unexpected agony. + +"Mary," he said, in a hoarse and broken voice, "I have a confession to +make to you, and I must make it--about this dead woman, I mean. I will +not sail under false colours; you must know all the truth, and then +judge." + +"Dear me," she answered; "this sounds dreadfully tragic. But I may as +well tell you at once that I have already heard some gossip." + +"I daresay; but you cannot have heard all the truth, for it was known +only to me and her." + +Now, do what she would to prevent it, her alarm showed itself in +Mary's eyes. + +"What am I to understand?" she said in a low voice--and she looked a +question. + +"Oh, no!" he answered with a faint smile; "nothing at all----" + +"Not that you have been embracing her, for instance? That, I +understand, is Eliza Layard's story." + +"No, no; I never did such a thing in my life." + +A little sigh of relief broke from Mary's lips. At the worst this was +but an affair of sentiment. + +"I think, dear" she said in her ordinary slow voice, "that you had +better set out the trouble in your own words, with as few details as +possible, or none at all. Such things are painful, are they not-- +especially where the dead are concerned?" + +Morris bowed his head and began: "You know I found her on the ship, +singing as she only could sing, and she was a very strange and +beautiful woman--perhaps beautiful is not the word--" + +"It will do," interrupted Mary; "at any rate, you thought her +beautiful." + +"Then afterwards we grew intimate, very intimate, without knowing it, +almost--indeed, I am not sure that we should ever have known it had it +not been for the mischief-making of Eliza Layard----" + +"May she be rewarded," ejaculated Mary. + +"Well, and after she--that is, Eliza Layard--had spoken to my father, +he attacked Mr. Fregelius, his daughter, and myself, and it seems that +she confessed to my father that she was--was----" + +"In love with you--not altogether unnatural, perhaps, from my point of +view; though, of course, she oughtn't to have been so." + +"Yes, and said that she was going away and--on Christmas Eve we met +there in the Dead Church. Then somehow--for I had no intention of such +a thing--all the truth came out, and I found that I was no longer +master of myself, and--God forgive me! and you, Mary, forgive me, too +--that I loved her also." + +"And afterwards?" said Mary, moving her skirts a little. + +"And afterwards--oh! it will sound strange to you--we made some kind +of compact for the next world, a sort of spiritual marriage; I can +call it nothing else. Then I shook hands with her and went away, and +in a few hours she was dead--dead. But the compact stands, Mary; yes, +that compact stands for ever." + +"A compact of a spiritual marriage in a place where there is no +marriage. Do you mean, Morris, that you wish this strange proceeding +to destroy your physical and earthly engagement to myself?" + +"No, no; nor did she wish it; she said so. But you must judge. I feel +that I have done you a dreadful wrong, and I was determined that you +should know the worst." + +"That was very good of you," Mary said, reflectively, "for really +there is no reason why you should have told me this peculiar story. +Morris, you have been working pretty hard lately, have you not?" + +"Yes," he replied, absently, "I suppose I have." + +"Was this young lady what is called a mystic?" + +"Perhaps. Danish people often are. At any rate, she saw things more +clearly than most. I mean that the future was nearer to her mind; and +in a sense, the past also." + +"Indeed. You must have found her a congenial companion. I suppose that +you talked a good deal of these things?" + +"Sometimes we did." + +"And discovered that your views were curiously alike? For when one +mystic meets another mystic, and the other mystic has beautiful eyes +and sings divinely, the spiritual marriage will follow almost as a +matter of course. What else is to be expected? But I am glad that you +were faithful to your principles, both of you, and clung fast to the +ethereal side of things." + +Morris writhed beneath this satire, but finding no convenient answer +to it, made none. + +"Do you remember, my dear?" went on Mary, "the conversation we had one +day in your workshop before we were engaged--that's years ago, isn't +it--about star-gazing considered as a fine art?" + +"I remember something," he said. + +"That I told you, for instance, that it might be better if you paid a +little more attention to matters physical, lest otherwise you should +go on praying for vision till you could see, and for power until you +could create?" + +Morris nodded. + +"Well, and I think I said--didn't I? that if you insisted upon +following these spiritual exercises, the result might be that they +would return upon you in some concrete shape, and take possession of +you, and lead you into company and surroundings which most of us think +it wholesome to avoid." + +"Yes, you said something like that." + +"It wasn't a bad bit of prophecy, was it?" went on Mary, rubbing her +chin reflectively, "and you see his Satanic Majesty knew very well how +to bring about its fulfilment. Mystical, lovely, and a wonderful +mistress of music, which you adore; really, one would think that the +bait must have been specially selected." + +Crushed though he was, Morris's temper began to rise beneath the lash +of Mary's sarcasm. He knew, however, that it was her method of showing +jealousy and displeasure, both of them perfectly natural, and did his +best to restrain himself. + +"I do not quite understand you," he said. "Also, you are unjust to +her." + +"Not at all. I daresay that in herself she was what you think her, a +perfect angel; indeed, the descriptions that I have heard from your +father and yourself leave no doubt of it in my mind. But even angels +have been put to bad purposes; perhaps their innocence makes it +possible to take advantage of them----" + +He opened his lips to speak, but she held up her hand and went on: + +"You mustn't think me unsympathetic because I put things as they +appear to my very mundane mind. Look here, Morris, it just comes to +this: If this exceedingly attractive young lady had made love to you, +or had induced you to make love to her, so that you ran away with her, +or anything else, of course you would have behaved badly and cruelly +to me, but at least your conduct would be natural, and to be +explained. We all know that men do this kind of thing, and women too, +for the matter of that, under the influence of passion--and are often +very sorry for it afterwards. But she didn't do this; she took you on +your weak side, which she understood thoroughly--probably because it +was her own weak side--and out-Heroded Herod, or, rather, out- +mysticised the mystic, finishing up with some spiritual marriage, +which, if it is anything at all, is impious. What right have we to +make bargains for the Beyond, about which we know nothing?" + +"She did know something," said Morris, with a sullen conviction. + +"You think she did because you were reduced to a state of mind in +which, if she had told you that the sun goes round the earth, you +would quite readily have believed her. My dearest Morris, that way +madness lies. Perhaps you understand now what I have been driving at, +and the best proof of the absurdity of the whole thing is that I, +stupid as I am, from my intimate knowledge of your character since +childhood, was able to predict that something of this sort would +certainly happen to you. You will admit that is a little odd, won't +you?" + +"Yes, it's odd; or, perhaps, it shows that you have more of the inner +sight than you know. But there were circumstances about the story +which you would find difficult to explain." + +"Not in the least. In your own answer lies the explanation--your +tendency to twist things. I prophesy certain developments from my +knowledge of your character, whereupon you at once credit me with +second sight, which is absurd." + +"I don't see the analogy," said Morris. + +"Don't you? I do. All this soul business is just a love affair gone +wrong. If circumstances had been a little different--if, for instance, +there had been no Mary Porson--I doubt whether anybody would have +heard much about spiritual marriages. Somehow I think that things +would have settled down into a more usual groove." + +Morris did not attempt to answer. He felt that Mary held all the +cards, and, not unnaturally, was in a mood to play them. Moreover, it +was desecration to him to discuss Stella's most secret beliefs with +any other woman, and especially with Mary. Their points of view were +absolutely and radically different. The conflict was a conflict +between the natural and the spiritual law; or, in other words, between +hard, brutal facts and theories as impalpable as the perfume of a +flower, or the sound waves that stirred his aerophone. Moreover, he +could see clearly that Mary's interpretation of this story was simple; +namely, that he had fallen into temptation, and that the shock of his +parting from the lady concerned, followed by her sudden and violent +death, had bred illusions in his mind. In short, that he was slightly +crazy; therefore, to be well scolded, pitied, and looked after rather +than sincerely blamed. The position was scarcely heroic, or one that +any man would choose to fill; still, he felt that it had its +conveniences; that, at any rate, it must be accepted. + +"All these questions are very much a matter of opinion," he said; then +added, unconsciously reflecting one of Stella's sayings, "and I +daresay that the truth is for each of us exactly what each of us +imagines it to be." + +"I was always taught that the truth is the truth, quite irrespective +of our vague and often silly imaginings; the difficulty being to find +out exactly what it is." + +"Perhaps," answered Morris, declining argument which is always useless +between people are are determined not to sympathise with each other's +views. "I knew that you would think my story foolish. I should never +have troubled you with it, had I not felt it to be my duty, for +naturally the telling of such a tale puts a man in a ridiculous +light." + +"I don't think you ridiculous, Morris; I think that you are suffering +slightly from shock, that is all. What I say is that I detest all this +spiritual hocus-pocus to which you have always had a leaning. I fear +and hate it instinctively, as some people hate cats, because I know +that it breeds mischief, and that, as I said before, people who go on +trying to see, do see, or fancy that they do. While we are in the +world let the world and its limitations be enough for us. When we go +out of the world, then the supernatural may become the natural, and +cease to be hurtful and alarming." + +"Yes," said Morris, "those are very good rules. Well, Mary, I have +told you the history of this sad adventure of which the book is now +closed by death, and I can only say that I am humiliated. If anybody +had said to me six months ago that I should have to come to you with +such a confession, I should have answered that he was a liar. But now +you see----" + +"Yes," repeated Mary, "I see." + +"Then will you give me your answer? For you must judge; I have told +you that you must judge." + +"Judge not, that ye be not judged," answered Mary. "Who am I that I +should pass sentence on your failings? Goodness knows that I have +plenty of my own; if you don't believe me, go and ask the nuns at that +convent. Whatever were the rights and wrongs of it, the thing is +finished and done with, and nobody can be more sorry for that +unfortunate girl than I am. Also I think that you have behaved very +well in coming to tell me about your trouble; but then that is like +you, Morris, for you couldn't be deceitful, however hard you might +try. + +"So, dear, with your leave, we will say no more about Stella Fregelius +and her spiritual views. When I engaged myself to you, as I told you +at the time, I did so with my eyes open, for better or for worse, and +unless you tell me right out that you don't want me, I have no +intention of changing my mind, especially as you need looking after, +and are not likely to come across another Stella. + +"There, I haven't talked so much for months; I am quite tired, and +wish to forget about all these disagreeables. I am afraid I have +spoken sharply, but if so you must make allowances, for such stories +are apt to sour the sweetest-tempered women--for half an hour. If I +have seemed bitter and cross, dear, it is because I love you better +than any creature in the world, and can't bear to think---- So you +must forgive me. Do you, Morris?" + +"Forgive! /I/ forgive!" he stammered overwhelmed. + +"There," she said again, very softly, stretching out her arms, "come +and give me a kiss, and let us change the subject once and for ever. I +want to tell you about my poor father; he left some messages for you, +Morris." + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + MORRIS, THE MARRIED MAN + +More than three years had gone by. Within twelve weeks of the date of +the conversation recorded in the last chapter Morris and Mary were +married in Monksland church. Although the wedding was what is called +"quiet" on account of the recent death of the bride's father, the +Colonel, who gave her away, was careful that it should be +distinguished by a certain stamp of modest dignity, which he +considered to be fitting to the station and fortune of the parties. To +him, indeed, this union was the cause of heartfelt and earnest +rejoicings, which is not strange, seeing that it meant nothing less +than a new lease of life to an ancient family that was on the verge of +disappearance. Had Morris not married the race would have become +extinct, at any rate in the direct line; and had he married where +there was no money, it might, as his father thought, become bankrupt, +which in his view was almost worse. + +The one terror which had haunted the Colonel for years like a +persistent nightmare was that a day seemed to be at hand when the +Monks would be driven from Monksland, where, from sire to son, they +had sat for so many generations. That day had nearly come when he was +a young man; indeed, it was only averted by his marriage with the +somewhat humbly born Miss Porson, who brought with her sufficient +dowry to enable him to pay off the major portion of the mortgages +which then crippled the estate. But at that time agriculture +flourished, and the rents from the property were considerable; +moreover, the Colonel was never of a frugal turn of mind. So it came +about that every farthing was spent. + +Afterwards followed a period of falling revenues and unlet farms. But +still the expenses went on, with the result, as the reader knows, that +at the opening of this history things were worse than they had ever +been, and indeed, without the help received from Mr. Porson, must ere +that have reached their natural end. Now the marriage of his son with +a wealthy heiress set a period to all such anxiety, and unless the +couple should be disappointed of issue, made it as certain as anything +can be in this mutable world, that for some generations to come, at +any rate, the name of Monk of Monksland would still appear in the +handbooks of county families. + +In the event these fears proved to be groundless, since by an +unexpected turn of the wheel of chance Morris became a rich man in +reward of his own exertions, and was thus made quite independent of +his wife's large fortune. This, however, was a circumstance which the +Colonel could not be expected to foresee, for how could he believe +that an electrical invention which he looked upon as a mere scientific +toy would ultimately bring its author not only fame, but an income of +many thousands per annum? Yet this happened. + +Other things happened also which, under the circumstances, were quite +as satisfactory, seeing that within two years of his marriage Morris +was the father of a son and daughter, so that the old Abbey, where, by +the especial request of the Colonel, they had established themselves, +once more echoed to the voices of little children. + + + +In those days, if anyone among his acquaintances had been asked to +point out an individual as prosperous and happy as, under the most +favoured circumstances, it is given to a mortal to be, he would +unhesitatingly have named Morris Monk. + +What was there lacking to this man? He had lineage that in his own +neighbourhood gave him standing better than that of many an upstart +baronet or knight, and with it health and wealth. He had a wife who +was acknowledged universally to be one of the most beautiful, +charming, and witty women in the county, whose devotion to himself was +so marked and open that it became a public jest; who had, moreover, +presented him with healthy and promising offspring. In addition to all +these good things he had suddenly become in his own line one of the +most famous persons in the world, so that, wherever civilized man was +to be found, there his name was known as "Monk, who invented that +marvellous machine, the aerophone." Lastly, there was no more need for +him, as for most of us, to stagger down his road beneath a never +lessening burden of daily labour. His work was done; a great +conception completed after half a score of years of toil and +experiment had crowned it with unquestionable success. Now he could +sit at ease and watch the struggles of others less fortunate. + +There are, however, few men on the right side of sixty whose souls +grow healthier in idleness. Although nature often recoils from it, man +was made to work, and he who will not work calls down upon himself +some curse, visible or invisible, as he who works, although the toil +seem wasted, wakes up one day to find the arid wilderness where he +wanders strown with a manna of blessing. This should be the prayer of +all of understanding, that whatever else it may please Heaven to take +away, there may be left to them the power and the will to work, +through disappointment, through rebuffs, through utter failure even, +still to work. Many things for which they are or are not wholly +responsible are counted to men as sins. Surely, however, few will +press more heavily upon the beam of the balance, when at length we are +commanded to unfold the talents which we have been given and earned, +than those fateful words: "Lord, mine lies buried in its napkin," or +worse still: "Lord, I have spent mine on the idle pleasures which my +body loved." + +Therefore it was not to the true welfare of Morris when through lack +of further ambition, or rather of the sting of that spur of necessity +which drives most men on, he rested upon his oars, and in practice +abandoned his labours, drifting down the tide. No man of high +intelligence and acquisitive brain can toil arduously for a period of +years and suddenly cease from troubling to find himself, as he +expects, at rest. For then into the swept and garnished chambers of +that empty mind enter seven or more blue devils. Depression marks him +for its own; melancholy forebodings haunt him; remorse for past +misdeeds long repented of is his daily companion. With these Erinnyes, +more felt perhaps than any of them, comes the devastating sense that +he is thwarting the best instinct of his own nature and the divine +command to labour while there is still light, because the night draws +on apace in which no man can labour. + +Mary was fond of society, in which she liked to be accompanied by her +husband, so Morris, whose one great anxiety was to please his wife and +fall in with her every wish, went to a great many parties which he +hated. Mary liked change also, so it came about that three months in +the season were spent in London, where they had purchased a house in +Green Street that was much frequented by the Colonel, and another two, +or sometimes three, months at the villa on the Riviera, which Mary was +very fond of on account of its associations with her parents. + +Also in the summer and shooting seasons, when they were at home, the +old Abbey was kept full of guests; for we may be sure that people so +rich and distinguished did not lack for friends, and Mary made the +very best of hostesses. + +Thus it happened that except at the seasons when his wife retired +under the pressure of domestic occurrences, Morris found that he had +but little time left in which to be quiet; that his life in short was +no longer the life of a worker, but that of a commonplace country +gentleman of wealth and fashion. + +Now it was Mary who had brought these things about, and by design; for +she was not a woman to act without reasons and an object. It is true +that she liked a gay and pleasant life, for gaiety and pleasure were +agreeable to her easy and somewhat indolent mind, also they gave her +opportunities of exercising her faculties of observation, which were +considerable. + +But Mary was far fonder of her husband than of those and other +vanities; indeed, her affection for him shone the guiding star of her +existence. From her childhood she had been devoted to this cousin, +who, since her earliest days, had been her playmate, and at heart had +wished to marry him, and no one else. Then he began his experiments, +and drifted quite away from her. Afterwards things changed, and they +became engaged. Again the experiments were carried on, with the aid of +another woman, and again he drifted away from her; also the drifting +in this instance was attended by serious and painful complications. + +Now the complications had ceased to exist; they threatened her +happiness no more. Indeed, had they been much worse than they were she +would have overlooked them, being altogether convinced of the truth of +the old adage which points out the folly of cutting off one's nose to +spite one's face. Whatever his failings or shortcomings, Morris was +her joy, the human being in whose company she delighted; without whom, +indeed, her life would be flat, stale, and unprofitable. The stronger +then was her determination that he should not slip back into his +former courses; those courses which in the end had always brought +about estrangement from herself. + +Inventions, the details of which she could not understand, meant, as +she knew well, long days and weeks of solitary brooding; therefore +inventions, and, indeed, all unnecessary work, were in his case to be +discouraged. Such solitary brooding also drew from the mind of Morris +a vague mist of thought about matters esoteric which, to Mary's +belief, had the properties of a miasma that crept like poison through +his being. She wished for no more star-gazing, no more mysticism, and, +above all, no more memories of the interloping woman who, in his +company, had studied its doubtful and dangerous delights. + +Although since the day of Morris's confession Mary had never even +mentioned the name of Stella to him, she by no means forgot that such +a person once existed. Indeed, carelessly and without seeming to be +anxious on the subject, she informed herself about her down to the +last possible detail; so that within a few months of the death of Miss +Fregelius she knew, as she thought, everything that could be known of +her life at Monksland. Moreover, she saw three different pictures of +her: one a somewhat prim photograph which Mr. Fregelius, her father, +possessed, taken when she was about twenty; another, a coloured +drawing made by Morris--who was rather clever at catching likenesses-- +of her as she appeared singing in the chapel on the night when she had +drawn the page-boy, Thomas, from his slumbers; and the third, also a +photograph, taken by some local amateur, of her and Morris standing +together on the beach and engaged evidently in eager discussion. + +From these three pictures, and especially from Morris's sketch, which +showed the spiritual light shining in her eyes, and her face rapt, as +it were, in a very ecstasy of music, Mary was able to fashion with +some certainty the likeness of the living woman. The more she studied +this the more she found it formidable, and the more she understood how +it came about that her husband had fallen into folly. Also, she +learned to understand that there might be greater weight and meaning +in his confession than she had been inclined to allow to it at the +time; that, at any rate, its extravagances ought not to be set down +entirely, as her father-in-law had suggested with such extreme +cleverness, to the vagaries of a mind suffering from sudden shock and +alarm. + +All these conclusions made Mary anxious, by wrapping her husband round +with common domestic cares and a web of daily, social incident, to +bury the memory of this Stella beneath ever-thickening strata of +forgetfulness; not that in themselves these reminiscences, however +hallowed, could do her any further actual harm; but because the train +of thought evoked thereby was, as she conceived, morbid, and dangerous +to the balance of his mind. + +The plan seemed wise and good, and, in the case of most men, probably +would have succeeded. Yet in Morris's instance from the commencement +it was a failure. She had begun by making his story and ideas, absurd +enough on the face of them, an object of somewhat acute sarcasm, if +not of ridicule. This was a mistake, since thereby she caused him to +suppress every outward evidence of them; to lock them away in the most +secret recesses of his heart. If the lid of a caldron full of fluid is +screwed down while a fire continues to burn beneath it, the steam +which otherwise would have passed away harmlessly, gathers and +struggles till the moment of inevitable catastrophe. The fact that for +a while the caldron remains inert and the steam invisible is no +indication of safety. To attain safety in such a case either the fire +must be raked out or the fluid tapped. Mary had screwed down the lid +of her domestic caldron, but the flame still burned beneath, and the +water still boiled within. + +This was her first error, and the second proved almost as mischievous. +She thought to divert Morris from a central idea by a multitude of +petty counter-attractions; she believed that by stopping him from the +scientific labours and esoteric speculation connected with this idea, +that it would be deadened and in time obliterated. + +As a matter of fact, by thus emptying his mind of its serious and +accustomed occupations, Mary made room for the very development she +dreaded to flourish like an upas tree. For although he breathed no +word of it, although he showed no sign of it, to Morris the memory of +the dead was a constant companion. Time heals all things, that is the +common saying; but would it be possible to formulate any fallacy more +complete? There are many wounds that time does not heal, and often +enough against the dead it has no power at all--for how can time +compete against the eternity of which they have become a part? The +love of them where they have been truly loved, remains quite +unaltered; in some instances, indeed, it is emdued with a power of +terrible and amazing growth. + +On earth, very probably, that deep affection would have become subject +to the natural influences of weakening and decay; and, in the instance +of a man and woman, the soul-possessing passion might have passed, to +be replaced by a more moderate, custom-worn affection. But the dead +are beyond the reach of those mouldering fingers. There they stand, +perfect and unalterable, with arms which never cease from beckoning, +with a smile that never grows less sweet. Come storm, come shine, +nothing can tarnish the pure and gleaming robes in which our vision +clothes them. We know the worst of them; their faults and failings +cannot vex us afresh, their errors are all forgiven. It is their best +part only that remains unrealised and unread, their purest aspirations +which we follow with leaden wings, their deepest thoughts that we +still strive to plumb with the short line of our imagination or +experience, and to weigh in our imperfect balances. + +Yes, there they stand, and smile, and beckon, while ever more radiant +grow their brows, and more to be desired the knowledge of their +perfect majesty. There is no human passion like this passion for the +dead; none so awful, none so holy, none so changeless. For they have +become eternal, and our desire for them is sealed with the stamp of +their eternity, and strengthens in the shadow of its wings till the +shadows flee away and we pass to greet them in the dawn of the +immortal morning. + +Yes, within the secret breast of Morris the flame of memory still +burned, and still seethed those bitter waters of desire for the dead. +There was nothing carnal about this desire, since the passions of the +flesh perish with the flesh. Nor was there anything of what a man may +feel when he sees the woman whom he loves and who loves him, forced to +another fate, for to those he robs death has this advantage over the +case of other successful rivals: his embrace purifies, and of it we +are not jealous. The longing was spiritual, and for this reason it did +not weaken, but, indeed, became a part of him, to grow with the spirit +from which it took its birth. Still, had it not been for a chance +occurrence, there, in the spirit, it might have remained buried, in +due course to pass away with it and seek its expression in unknown +conditions and regions unexplored. + +In a certain fashion Morris was happy enough. He was very fond of his +wife, and he adored his little children as men of tender nature do +adore those that are helpless, and for whose existence they are +responsible. He appreciated his public reputation, his wealth, and the +luxury that lapped him round, and above all he was glad to have been +the means of restoring, and, indeed, of advancing the fortunes of his +family. + +Moreover, as has been said, above all things he desired to please +Mary, the lovely, amiable woman who had complimented him with her +unvarying affection; and--when he went astray--who, with scarcely a +reproach, had led him back into its gentle fold. Least of all, +therefore, was it his will to flaunt before her eyes the spectre from +a past which she wished to forget, or even to let her guess that such +a past still permeated his present. Therefore, on this subject settled +the silence of the dead, till at length Mary, observant as she was, +became well-nigh convinced that Stella Fregelius was forgotten, and +that her fantastic promises were disproved. Yet no mistake could have +been more profound. + +It was Morris's habit, whenever he could secure an evening to himself, +which was not very often, to walk to the Rectory and smoke his pipe in +the company of Mr. Fregelius. Had Mary chanced to be invisibly +present, or to peruse a stenographic report of what passed at one of +these evening calls--whereof, for reasons which she suppressed, she +did not entirely approve--she might have found sufficient cause to +vary her opinion. On these occasions ostensibly Morris went to talk +about parish affairs, and, indeed, to a certain extent he did talk +about them. For instance, Stella who had been so fond of music, once +described to him the organ which she would like to have in the fine +old parish church of Monksland. Now that renovated instrument stood +there, and was the admiration of the country-side, as it well might be +in view of the fact that it had cost over four thousand pounds. + +Again, Mr. Fregelius wished to erect a monument to his daughter, +which, as her body never had been found, could properly be placed in +the chancel of the church. Morris entered heartily into the idea and +undertook to spend the hundred pounds which the old gentleman had +saved for this purpose on his account and to the best advantage. In +affect he did spend it to excellent advantage, as Mr. Fregelius +admitted when the monument arrived. + +It was a lovely thing, executed by one of the first sculptors of the +day, in white marble upon a black stone bed, and represented the +mortal shape of Stella. There she lay to the very life, wrapped in a +white robe, portrayed as a sleeper awakening from the last sleep of +death, her eyes wide and wondering, and on her face that rapt look +which Morris had caught in his sketch of her, singing in the chapel. +At the edge of the base of this remarkable effigy, set flush on the +black marble in letters of plain copper was her name--Stella Fregelius +--with the date of her death. On one side appeared the text that she +had quoted, "O death, where is thy sting?" and on the other its +continuation, "O grave, where is thy victory?" and at the foot part of +a verse from the forty-second psalm: "Deep calleth unto deep. . . . +All Thy waves and storms have gone over me." + +Like the organ, this monument, which stood in the chancel, was much +admired by everybody, except Mary, who found it rather theatrical; +and, indeed, when nobody was looking, surveyed it with a gloomy and a +doubtful eye. + +That Morris had something to do with the thing she was quite certain, +since she knew well that Mr. Fregelius would never have invented any +memorial so beautiful and full of symbolism; also she doubted his +ability to pay for a piece of statuary which must have cost many +hundreds of pounds. A third reason, which seemed to her conclusive, +was that the face on the statue was the very face of Morris's drawing, +although, of course, it was possible that Mr. Fregelius might have +borrowed the sketch for the use of the sculptor. But of all this, +although it disturbed her, occurring as it did just when she hoped +that Stella was beginning to be forgotten, she spoke not a word to +Morris. "Least said, soonest mended," is a good if a homely motto, or +so thought Mary. + +The monument had been in place a year, but whenever he was at home +Morris's visits to Mr. Fregelius did not grow fewer. Indeed, his wife +noticed that, if anything, they increased in number, which, as the +organ was now finished down to the last allegorical carvings of its +case, seemed remarkable and unnecessary. Of course, the fact was that +on these occasions the conversation invariably centred on one subject, +and that subject, Stella. Considered in certain aspects, it must have +been a piteous thing to see and hear these two men, each of them +bereaved of one who to them above all others had been the nearest and +dearest, trying to assuage their grief by mutual consolations. Morris +had never told Mr. Fregelius all the depth of his attachment to his +daughter, at least, not in actual, unmistakable words, although, as +has been said, from the first her father took it for granted, and +Morris, tacitly at any rate, had accepted the conclusion. Indeed, very +soon he found that no other subject had such charms for his guest; +that of Stella he might talk for ever without the least fear that +Morris would be weary. + +So the poor, childless, unfriended old man put aside the reserve and +timidity which clothed him like a garment, and talked on into those +sympathetic ears, knowing well, however--for the freemasonry of their +common love taught it to him--that in the presence of a third person +her name, no allusion to her, even, must pass his lips. In short, +these conversations grew at length into a kind of seance or solemn +rite; a joint offering to the dead of the best that they had to give, +their tenderest thoughts and memories, made in solemn secrecy and with +uplifted hearts and minds. + +Mr. Fregelius was an historian, and possessed some interesting +records, upon which it was his habit to descant. Amongst other things +he instructed Morris in the annals of Stella's ancestry upon both +sides, which, as it happened, could be traced back for many +generations. In these discourses it grew plain to his listener whence +had sprung certain of her qualities, such as her fearless attitude +towards death, and her tendency towards mysticism. Here in these musty +chronicles, far back in the times when those of whom they kept record +were half, if not wholly, heathen, these same qualities could be +discovered among her forbears. + +Indeed, there was one woman of whom the saga told, a certain +ancestress named Saevuna, whereof it is written "that she was of all +women the very fairest, and that she drew the hearts of men with her +wonderful eyes as the moon draws mists from a marsh," who, in some +ways, might have been Stella herself, Stella unchristianized and +savage. + +This Saevuna's husband rebelled against the king of his country, and, +being captured, was doomed to a shameful death by hanging as a +traitor. Thereon, under pretence of bidding him farewell, she +administered poison to him, partaking of the same herself; "and," +continues the saga, "they both of them, until their pains overcame +them, died singing a certain ancient song which had descended in the +family of one of them, and is called the Song of the Over-Lord, or the +Offering to Death. This song, while strength and voice remained to +them, it is the duty of this family to say or sing, or so they hold +it, in the hour of their death. But if they sing it, except by way of +learning its words and music from their mothers, and escape death, it +will not be for very long, seeing that when once the offering is laid +upon his altar, the Over-Lord considers it his own, and, after the +fashion of gods and men, takes it as soon as he can. So sweet and +strange was the singing of this Saevuna until she choked that the king +and his nobles came out to hear it, and all men thought it a great +marvel that a woman should sing thus in the very pains of death. +Moreover, they declared, many of them, that while the song went on +they could think of nothing else, and that strange and wonderful +visions passed before their eyes. But of this nobody can know the +truth for certain, as the woman and her husband died long ago." + +"You see," said Mr. Fregelius, when he had finished translating the +passage aloud, "it is not wonderful that I thought it unlucky when I +heard that you had found Stella singing this same song upon the ship, +much as centuries ago her ancestress, Saevuna, sang it while she and +her husband died." + +"At any rate, the omen fulfilled itself," answered Morris, with a +sigh, "and she, too, died with the song upon her lips, though I do not +think that it had anything to do with these things, which were fated +to befall." + +"Well," said the clergyman, "the fate is fulfilled now, and the song +will never be sung again. She was the last of her race, and it was a +law among them that neither words nor music should ever be written +down." + +When such old tales and legends were exhausted, and, outside the +immediate object of their search, some of them were of great interest +to a man who, like Morris, had knowledge of Norse literature, and was +delighted to discover in Mr. Fregelius a scholar acquainted with the +original tongues in which they were written, these companions fell +back upon other matters. But all of them had to do with Stella. One +night the clergyman read some letters written by her as a child from +Denmark. On another he produced certain dolls which she had dressed at +the same period of her life in the costume of the peasants of that +country. On a third he repeated a piece of rather indifferent poetry +composed by her when she was a girl of sixteen. Its strange title was, +"The Resurrection of Dead Roses." It told how in its author's fancy +the flowers which were cut and cast away on earth bloomed again in +heaven, never to wither more; a pretty allegory, but treated in a +childish fashion. + +Thus, then, from time to time, as occasion offered, did this strange +pair celebrate the rites they thought so harmless, and upon the altar +of memory make offerings to their dead. + + + + CHAPTER XX + + STELLA'S DIARY + +It seems to be a law of life that nothing can stand completely still +and changeless. All must vary, must progress or retrograde; the very +rocks in the bowels of the earth undergo organic alterations, while +the eternal hills that cover them increase or are worn away. Much more +is this obvious in the case of ephemeral man, of his thoughts, his +works, and everything wherewith he has to do, he who within the period +of a few short years is doomed to appear, wax, wane, and vanish. + +Even the conversations of Mr. Fregelius and Morris were subject to the +working of this universal rule; and in obedience to it must travel +towards a climax, either of fruition, however unexpected, or, their +purpose served, whatever it may have been, to decay and death, for +lack of food upon which to live and flourish. The tiniest groups of +impulses or incidents have their goal as sure and as appointed as that +of the cluster of vast globes which form a constellation. Between them +the principal distinction seems to be one of size, and at present we +are not in a position to say which may be the most important, the +issue of the smallest of unrecorded causes, or of the travelling of +the great worlds. The destiny of a single human soul shaped or +directed by the one, for aught we know, may be of more weight and +value than that of a multitude of hoary universes naked of life and +spirit. Or perhaps to the Eye that sees and judges the difference is +nothing. + +Thus even these semi-secret interviews when two men met to talk over +the details of a lost life with which, however profoundly it may have +influenced them in the past, they appeared, so far as this world is +concerned, to have nothing more to do, were destined to affect the +future of one of them in a fashion that could scarcely have been +foreseen. This became apparent, or put itself in the way of becoming +apparent, when on a certain evening Morris found Mr. Fregelius seated +in the rectory dining-room, and by his side a little pile of +manuscript volumes bound in shabby cloth. + +"What are those?" asked Morris. "Her translation of the Saga of the +Cave Outlaws?" + +"No, Morris," answered Mr. Fregelius--he called him Morris when they +were alone--"of course not. Don't you remember that they were bound in +red?" he added reproachfully, "and that we did them up to send to the +publisher last week?" + +"Yes, yes, of course; he wrote to me yesterday to say that he would be +glad to bring out the book"--Morris did not add, "at my risk."--"But +what are they?" + +"They are," replied Mr. Fregelius, "her journals, which she appears to +have kept ever since she was fourteen years of age. You remember she +was going to London on the day that she was drowned--that Christmas +Day? Well, before she went out to the old church she packed her +belongings into two boxes, and there those boxes have lain for three +years and more, because I could never find the heart to meddle with +them. But, a few nights ago I wasn't able to sleep--I rest very badly +now--so I went and undid them, lifting out all the things which her +hands had put there. At the bottom of one of the boxes I found these +volumes, except the last of them, in which she was writing till the +day of her death. That was at the top. I was aware that she kept a +diary, for I have seen her making the entries; but of its contents I +knew nothing. In fact, until last night I had forgotten its +existence." + +"Have you read it now?" asked Morris. + +"I have looked into it; it seems to be a history of her thoughts and +theories. Facts are very briefly noted. It occurred to me that you +might like to read it. Why not?" + +"Yes, yes, very much," answered Morris eagerly. "That is, if you think +she will not mind. You see, it is private." + +Mr. Fregelius took no notice of the tense of which Morris made use, +for the reason that it seemed natural to him that he should employ it. +Their strange habit was to talk of Stella, not as we speak of one +dead, but as a living individuality with whom they chanced for a while +to be unable to communicate. + +"I do not think that she will mind," he answered slowly; "quite the +reverse, indeed. It is a record of a phase and period of her existence +which, I believe, she might wish those who are--interested in her--to +study, especially as she had no secrets that she could desire to +conceal. From first to last I believe her life to have been as clear +as the sky, and as pure as running water." + +"Very well," answered Morris, "if I come across any passage that I +think I ought not to read, I will skip." + +"I can find nothing of the sort, or I would not give it to you," said +Mr. Fregelius. "But, of course, I have not read the volumes through as +yet. There has been no time for that. I have sampled them here and +there, that is all." + + + +That night Morris took those shabby note-books home with him. Mary, +who according to her custom went to bed early, being by this time fast +asleep, he retired to his laboratory in the old chapel, where it was +his habit to sit, especially when, as at the present time, his father +was away from home. Here, without wasting a moment, he began his study +of them. + +It was with very strange sensations, such as he had never before +experienced, that he opened the first of the volumes, written some +thirteen years earlier, that is, about ten years before Stella's +death. Their actual acquaintance had been but brief. Now he was about +to complete his knowledge of her, to learn many things which he had +found no time, or had forgotten to inquire into, to discover the +explanation of various phases of her character hitherto but half- +revealed; perhaps to trace to its source the energy of that real, but +mystic, faith with which it was informed. This diary that had come--or +perhaps been sent to him--in so unexpected a fashion, was the key +whereby he hoped to open the most hidden chambers of the heart of the +woman whom he loved, and who loved him with all her strength and soul. + +Little wonder, then, that he trembled upon the threshold of such a +search. He was like the neophyte of some veiled religion, who, after +long years of arduous labour and painful preparation, is at length +conducted to the doors of its holy of holies, and left to enter there +alone. What will he find beyond them? The secret he longed to learn, +the seal and confirmation of his hard-won faith, or empty, baulking +nothingness? Would the goddess herself, the unveiled Isis, wait to +bless her votary within those doors? Or would that hall be tenanted +but by a painted and bedizened idol, a thing fine with ivory and gold, +but dead and soulless? + +Might it not be better indeed to turn back while there was yet time, +to be content to dwell on in the wide outer courts of the imagination, +where faith is always possible, rather than to hazard all? No; it +would, Morris felt, be best to learn the whole truth, especially as he +was sure that it could not prove other than satisfying and beautiful. +Blind must he have been indeed, and utterly without intuition if with +every veil that was withdrawn from it the soul of Stella did not shine +more bright. + +Another question remained. Was it well that he should read these +diaries? Was not his mind already full enough of Stella? If once he +began to read, might it not be overladen? In short, Mary had dealt +well by him; when those books were open in his hand, would he be +dealing well by Mary? Answers--excellent answers--to these queries +sprang up in his mind by dozens. + +Stella was dead. "But you are sworn to her in death," commented the +voice of Conscience. "Would you rob the living of your allegiance +before the time?" + +There was no possible harm in reading the records of the life and +thoughts of a friend, or even of a love departed. "Yet," suggested the +voice of Conscience, "are you so sure that this life /is/ departed? +Have you not at whiles felt its presence, that mysterious presence of +the dead, so sweet, so heavy, and so unmistakable, with which at some +time or other in their lives many have made acquaintance? Will not the +study of this life cause that life to draw near? the absorption of +those thoughts bring about the visits of other and greater thoughts, +whereof they may have been, as it were, the seed?" + +Anyone who knew its author would be interested to read this human +document, the product of an intelligence singularly bright and clear; +of a vision whose point of outlook was one of the highest and most +spiritual peaks in the range of our human imaginings. "Quite so," +agreed the voice of Conscience. "For instance, Mary would be +delighted. Why not begin with her? In fact, why not peruse these pages +together--it would lead to some interesting arguments? Why pore over +them in this selfish manner all alone and at the dead of night when no +one can possibly disturb you, or, since you have blocked the +hagioscope, even see you? And why does the door of that safe stand +open? Because of the risk of fire if anyone should chance to come in +with a candle, I suppose. No, of course it would not be right to leave +such books about; especially as they do not belong to you." + +Then enraged, or at least seriously irritated, by these impertinent +comments of his inner self upon himself, Morris bade Conscience to be +gone to its own place. Next, after contemplating it for a while as Eve +might have contemplated the apple, unmindful of a certain petition in +the Lord's Prayer, he took up the volume marked I, and began to read +the well-remembered hand-writing with its quaint mediaeval-looking +contractions. Even at the age when its author had opened her diary, he +noted that this writing was so tiny and neat that many of the pages +might have been taken from a monkish missal. Also there were few +corrections; what she set down was already determined in her mind. + +From that time forward Morris sat up even later than usual, nor did he +waste those precious solitary hours. But the diary covered ten full +years of a woman's life, during all of which time certainly never a +week passed without her making entries in it, some of them of +considerable length. Thus it came about--for he skipped no word--that +a full month had gone by before Morris closed the last volume and +slipped it away into its hiding-place in the safe. + +As Mr. Fregelius had said, the history was a history of thoughts and +theories, rather than of facts, but notwithstanding this, perhaps on +account of it, indeed, it was certainly a work which would have struck +the severest and least interested critic as very remarkable. The +prevailing note was that of vividness. What the writer had felt, what +she had imagined, what she had desired, was all set out, frequently in +but few words, with such crystal clearness, such incisive point, that +it came home to the reader's thought as a flash of sudden light might +come home to his eye. In a pre-eminent degree Stella possessed the +gift of expression. Even her most abstruse self-communings and +speculations were portrayed so sharply that their meaning could not +possibly be mistaken. This it was that gave the book much of its +value. Her thoughts were not vague, she could define them in her own +consciousness, and, what is more rare, on paper. + +So much for the form of the journal, its matter is not so easy to +describe. At first, as might be expected from her years, it was +somewhat childish in character, but not on that account the less sweet +and fragrant of a child's poor heart. Here with stern accuracy were +recorded her little faults of omission and commission--how she had +answered crossly; how she had not done her duty; varied occasionally +with short poems, some copied, some of her own composition, and +prayers also of her making, one or two of them very touching and +beautiful. From time to time, too--indeed this habit clung to her to +the last--she introduced into her diary descriptions of scenery, +generally short and detached, but set there evidently because she +wished to preserve a sketch in words of some sight that had moved her +mind. + +Here is a brief example describing a scene in Norway, where she was +visiting, as it appeared to her upon some evening in late autumn: +"This afternoon I went out to gather cranberries on the edge of the +fir-belt below the Stead. Beneath me stretched the great moss-swamp, +so wide that I could not discern its borders, and grey as the sea in +winter. The wind blew and in the west the sun was setting, a big, red +sun which glowed like the copper-covered cathedral dome that we saw +last week. All about in the moss stood pools of black, stagnant water +with little straggling bushes growing round them. Under the clouds +they were ink, but in the path of the red light, there they were +blood. A man with a large basket on his back and a long staff in his +hand, was walking across the moss from west to east. The wind tossed +his cloak and bent his grey beard as he threaded his way among the +pools. The red light fell upon him also, and he looked as though he +were on fire. Before him, gathering thicker as the sun sank, were +shadows and blackness. He seemed to walk into the blackness like a man +wading into the sea. It swallowed him up; he must have felt very +lonely with no one near him in that immense grey place. Now he was all +gone, except his head that wore a halo of the red light. He looked +like a saint struggling across the world into the Black Gates. For a +minute he stood still, as though he were frightened. Then a sudden +gust seemed to sweep him on again, right into the Gates, and I lost +sight of that man whom I shall never see any more. I wonder whether he +was a saint or a sinner, and what he will find beyond the Gates. A +curlew flew past me, borne out of the darkness, and its cry made me +feel sad and shiver. It might have been the man's soul which wished to +look upon the light again. Then the sun sank, and there was no light, +only the wind moaning, and far, far away the sad cry of the curlew." + +This description was simple and unpolished as it was short. Yet it +impressed the mind of Morris, and its curious allegorical note +appealed to his imagination. The grey moss broken by stagnant pools, +lonesome and primeval; the dreary pipe of the wildfowl, the red and +angry sun fronting the gloom of advancing, oblivious night; the +solitary traveller, wind-buffeted, way-worn, aged, heavy-laden, +fulfilling the last stage of his appointed journey to a realm of sleep +and shadow. All these sprang into vision as he read, till the +landscape, concentrated, and expressing itself in its tiny central +point of human interest, grew more real in memory and meaning than +many with which he was himself familiar. + +Yet that description was written by an untrained girl not yet +seventeen years of age. But with such from first to last, and this was +by no means the best of them, he found her pages studded. + +Then, jotted down from day to day, came the account of the illness and +death of her twin sister, Gudrun, a pitiful tale to read. Hopes, +prayers, agonies of despair, all were here recorded; the last scene +also was set out with a plain and noble dignity, written by the bed of +death in the presence of death. Now under the hand of suffering the +child had become a woman, and, as was fitting, her full soul found +relief in deeper notes. "Good-bye, Gudrun," she ended, "my heart is +broken; but I will mourn for you no more. God has called you, and we +give you back to God. Wait for me, my sister, for I am coming also, +and I will not linger. I will walk quickly." + +It was from this sad day of her only sister's death that the first +real developments of the mystical side of Stella's character must be +dated. The sudden vanishing in Gudrun in the bloom of youth and beauty +brought home to her the lesson which all must learn, in such a fashion +that henceforth her whole soul was tinged to its sad hue. + +"Now I understand it all," she wrote after returning from the funeral. +"We do not live to die, we die to live. As a grain of sand to the +whole shore, as a drop of water to the whole sea, so is what we call +our life to the real life. Of course one has always been taught that +in church, but I never really comprehended it before. Henceforth this +thought shall be a part of me! Every morning when I wake I will +remember that I am one night nearer to the great dawn, every night +when I lie down to sleep I will thank God that another day of waiting +has ended with the sunset. Yes, and I will try to live so that after +my last sunset I may meet the end as did Gudrun; without a single +doubt or fear, for if I have nothing to reproach myself with, why +should I be reproached? If I have longed for light and lived towards +the light, however imperfect I may be, why should I be allotted to the +darkness?" + +Almost on the next page appeared a prayer "For the welfare and greater +glory" of her who was dead, and for the mourner who was left alive, +with this quaint note appended: "My father would not approve of this, +as it is against the rubric, but all the same I mean to go on praying +for the dead. Why should I not? If my poor petitions cannot help them +who are above the need for help, at least they may show that they are +not forgotten. Oh! that must be the bitter part; to live on full of +love and memory and watch forgetfulness creeping into the hearts of +the loved and the remembered. The priests never thought of it, but +there lies the real purgatory." + +The diary showed it to be a little more than a year after this that +spiritual doubts began to possess the soul of Stella. After all, was +she not mistaken? Was there any world beyond the physical? Were we not +mere accidents, born of the will or the chance of the flesh, and +shaped by the pressure of centuries of circumstance? Were not all +religions different forms of a gigantic fraud played by his own +imagination upon blind, believing man? And so on to the end of the +long list of those questions which are as old as thought. + +"I look," she wrote under the influence of this mood, "but everywhere +is blackness; blackness without a single star. I cry aloud, but the +only answer is the echo of my own voice beating back upon me from the +deaf heavens. I pray for faith, yet faith fades and leaves me. I ask +for signs, and there is no sign. The argument? So far as I have read +and heard, it seems the other way. And yet I do not believe their +proofs. I do not believe that so many generations of good men would +have fed full upon a husk of lies and have lain down to sleep at last +as though satisfied with meat. My heart rises at the thought. I am +immortal. I know that I am immortal. I am a spirit. In days to come, +unchained by matter, time, or space, I shall stand before the throne +of the Father of all spirits, receiving of His wisdom and fulfilling +His commandments. Yet, O God, help Thou my unbelief. O God, draw and +deliver me from this abyss." + +From this time forward here and there in the diary were to be found +passages, or rather sentences, that Morris did not understand. They +alluded to some secret and persistent effort which the writer had been +making, and after one of them came these words, "I have failed again, +but she was near me; I am sure that she was very near me." + +Then at last came this entry, which, as the writing showed, was +written with a shaking hand. "I have seen her beyond the possibility +of a doubt. She appeared, and was with me quite a while; and, oh! the +rapture! It has left me weak and faint after all that long, long +preparation. It is of the casting forth of spirits that it is said, +'This kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting,' but it is also +true of the drawing of them down. To see a spirit one must grow akin +to spirits, which is not good for us who are still in the flesh. I am +satisfied. I have seen, and I /know/. Now I shall call her back no +more lest the thing should get the mastery of me, and I become +unfitted for my work on earth. This morning I could scarcely hold the +bow of the violin, and its sweetest notes sounded harsh to me; I heard +discords among their harmonies. Also I had no voice to sing, and after +all the money and time that have been spent upon them, I must keep up +my playing and singing, since, perhaps, in the future if my father's +health should fail, as it often threatens to do, they may be our only +means of livelihood. NO, I shall try no more; I will stop while there +is yet time, while I am still my own mistress and have the strength to +deny me this awful joy. But I have seen! I have seen, and I am +thankful, who shall never doubt again. Yet the world, and those who +tread it, can never more be quite the same to me, and that is not +wholesome. This is the price which must be paid for vision of that +which we were not meant to touch, to taste, to handle." + +After this, for some years--until it was decided, indeed, that they +should move to Monksland--there was little of startling interest in +the diary. It recorded descriptions of the wild moorland scenery, of +birds, and ferns, and flowers. Also there were sketches of the +peasantry and of the gentlefolk with whom the writer came in contact; +very shrewd and clever, some of them, but with this peculiarity--that +they were absolutely free from unkindness of thought or words, though +sometimes their author allowed herself the license of a mitigated +satire. Such things, with notes of domestic and parish matters, and of +the progress made in her arduous and continual study of vocal and +instrumental music, made up the sum of these years of the diary. Then +at length, at the beginning of the last volume, came this entry: + +"The unexpected has happened, somebody has actually been found in +whose eyes this cure of souls is desirable--namely, a certain Mr. +Tomley, the rector of a village called Monksland, upon the East Coast +of England. I will sum up the history of the thing. For some years I +have been getting tired of this place, although, in a way, I love it +too. It is so lonely here, and--I confess my weakness--playing and +singing as I do now, I should like, occasionally, to have a better +audience than a few old, half-deaf clergymen, their preoccupied and +commonplace wives, some yeomen farmers, and a curate or two. + +"It was last year, though I find that I didn't put it down at the +time, that at the concert in aid of the rebuilding of Pankford church +I played Tartini's 'Il Trillo del Diavolo,' to me one of the weirdest +and most wonderful bits of violin music in the world. I know that I +was almost crying when I finished it. But next day I saw in the report +in the local paper, written by 'Our Musical Man,' that 'Miss Fregelius +then relieved the proceedings with a comic interlude on the violin, +which was much appreciated by the audience.' It was that, I confess it +--yes, the idiotic remark of 'Our Musical Man,' which made me +determine if it was in any way possible that I would shake the dust of +this village off my feet. Then, so far as my father is concerned, the +stipend is wretched and decreasing. Also he has never really got on +here; he is too shy, too reserved, perhaps, in a way, too well read +and educated, for these rough-and-ready people. Even his foreign name +goes against him. The curates about here call him 'Frigid Fregelius.' +It is the local idea of a joke. + +"So I persuaded him to advertise for an exchange, although he said it +was a mere waste of money, as nobody in his senses would look at this +parish. Then came the wonderful thing. After the very first +advertisement--yes, the very first--arrived a letter from Mr. Tomley, +rector of Monksland, where the stipend is 100 pounds a year better +than this, saying that he would wish to inquire into the matter. He +has inquired, he has been, a pompous old gentleman with a slow voice +and a single lock of white hair above his forehead; he says that it is +satisfactory, and that, subject to the consent of the bishop, etc., he +thinks that he will be glad to effect the exchange. Afterwards I found +him in front of the house staring at the moorland behind, the sea in +front, and the church in the middle, and looking very wretched. I +asked him why he wanted to do it--the words popped out of my mouth, I +couldn't help them; it was all so odd. + +"Then I found out the reason. Mr. Tomley has a wife who is, or thinks +she is--I am not sure which--an invalid, and who, I gather, speaks to +Mr. Tomley with no uncertain sound. Mr. Tomley's wife was the niece of +a long-departed rector who was inducted in 1815, and reigned here for +forty-five years. He was rich, a bachelor, and rebuilt the church. (Is +it not all written in the fly-leaf of the last register?) Mrs. Tomley +inherited her uncle's landed property in this neighbourhood, and says +that she is only well in the air of Northumberland. So Mr. Tomley has +to come up here, which he doesn't at all like, although I gather that +he is glad to escape from his present squire, who seems to be a +distinguished but arbitrary old gentleman, an ex-Colonel of the +Guards; rather quarrelsome, too, with a habit of making fun of Mrs. +Tomley. There's the explanation. + +"So just because of the silly criticism of 'Our Musical Man' we are +going to move several hundred miles. But is that really the cause? Are +these things done of our own desire, or do we do them because we must, +as our forefathers believed? Beneath our shouts and chattering they +have always heard the slow thunder of the waves of Fate. Through the +flare of our straw fires and the dust of our hurrying feet, they could +always see the shadow of his black banners and the sheen of his +advancing spears, and for them every wayside sign-post was painted +with his finger. + +"I think like that, too, perhaps because I am all, nearly all, Norse, +and we do not shake off the strong and ancient shackle of our blood in +the space of a few generations of Christian freedom and enlightenment. +Yes, I see the finger of Fate upon this sign-post of an advertisement +in a Church paper. His flag is represented to me by Mr. Tomley's white +and cherished lock. Assuredly our migration is decreed of the Norns, +therefore I accept it without question; but I should like to know what +kind of a web of destiny they are weaving for us yonder in the place +called Monksland." + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + THE END OF STELLA'S DIARY + +A month or two later in the diary came the account of the shipwreck of +the Trondhjem and of the writer's rescue from imminent death. "My +first great adventure," the pages were headed. They told how her +father, with whom ready-money was a scarce commodity, and who had a +passion for small and uncomfortable economies, suddenly determined to +save two or three pounds by taking a passage in a Norwegian tramp +steamboat named the Trondhjem. This vessel, laden with a miscellaneous +cargo, had put in at a Northumbrian port, and carried freight +consisting of ready-made windows, door-frames, and other wooden house- +fittings suited to the requirements of the builders of seaside villas, +to be delivered at the rising watering-place of Northwold, upon her +way to London. Then followed a description of the voyage, the dirt of +the ship, the surpassing nastiness of the food, and the roughness of +the crew, whose sailor-like qualities inspired the writer with no +confidence. + +Next, the diary which now had been written up by Stella in the Abbey +where Morris read it, went on to tell of how she had gone to her berth +one night in the cabin next to that occupied by her father, and being +tired by a long day in the strong sea air had fallen instantly into a +heavy sleep, which was disturbed by a nightmare-like dream of shock +and noise. This imagined pandemonium, it said, was followed by a great +quiet, in the midst of which she awoke to miss the sound of the +thumping screw and of the captain shouting his orders from the bridge. + +For a while, the writing told, she lay still, till a sense that +something was wrong awoke her thoroughly, when she lit the candle +which she kept by her berth, and, rising, peeped out into the saloon +to see that water was washing along its floor. Presently she made +another discovery, that she was alone, utterly alone, even her +father's cabin being untenanted. + +The rest need not be repeated in detail. Throwing on some garments, +and a red cloak of North-country frieze, she made her way to the deck +to find that the ship was abandoned by every living soul, including +her own father; why, or under what circumstances, remained a mystery. +She retreated into the captain's cabin, which was on deck, being +afraid to go below again in the darkness, and sheltered there until +the light came. Then she went out, and though the dim, mist-laden dawn +crept forward to the forecastle, and staring over the side discovered +that the prow of the ship was fixed upon a rock, while her stern and +waist, which floated clear, heaved and rolled with every sea. As she +stood thus the vessel slipped back along the reef three feet or more, +throwing her to the deck, and thrilling her from head to foot with the +most sickening sensation she had ever experienced. Then the Trondhjem +caught and hung again, but Stella, so she wrote, knew that the end +must be near, as the ship would lift off with the full tide and +founder, and for the first time felt afraid. + +"I did not fear what might come after death," went on the diary, "but +I did fear the act of death. I was so lonely, and the dim waters +looked so cold; the brown shoulders of the rocks which showed now and +again through the surges, so cruel. To be dashed by those cold waters +upon those iron rocks till the life was slowly ground out of my body! +And my father--the thought of him tormented my mind. Was he dead, or +had he deserted me? The last seemed quite impossible, for it would +have supposed him a coward, and I was sure that he would rather die +than leave me; therefore, as I feared, the first must be true. I was +afraid, and I was wretched, and I said my prayers and cried a little, +while the cold struck me through the red cloak, and the damp mist made +me shiver. + +"Then suddenly I remembered that it had not been the custom of my +ancestors and countrywomen of the old time to die weeping, and with +the thought some of my courage came back. I rose from the deck and +stood upon the prow of the ship, supporting myself by a rope, as many +a dead woman of my race has done before me in the hour of battle and +shipwreck. As I stood thus, believing that I was about to die, there +floated into my mind a memory of the old Norse song that my mother had +taught me as she learned it from her mother. It is called the 'Song of +the Overlord,' and for generations without count on their death-beds +has been sung, or if they were too weak to sing, whispered, by the +women of my family. Even my mother murmured it upon the day she died, +although to all appearances she had become an Englishwoman; and the +first line of it, + + + "'Hail to thee, Sky King! Hail to thee, Earth King!' + + +were the last words that the gentlest creature whom I ever knew, my +sister Gudrun, muttered before she became unconscious. This song it +has always been held unlucky to sing except upon the actual approach +of death, since otherwise, so goes the old saying, 'it draws the arrow +whose flight was wide,' and Death, being invoked, comes soon. Still, +for me I believed there was no escape, for I was quite sure from her +movements that the steamer would soon come off the rocks, and I had +made my confession and said my prayers. So I began to sing, and sang +my loudest, pleasing myself with the empty, foolish thought that in +some such circumstance as this many a Danish sea-king's daughter had +sung that song before me. + +"Then, as I sang, a wind began to blow, and suddenly the mist was +driven before it like puffs of smoke, and in the east behind me rose +the red ball of the sun. Its light fell upon the rocks and upon the +waters beyond them, and there to my amazement, appearing and +disappearing upon the ridges and hollows of the swell, I saw a man +alone in a sailing-boat, which rode at anchor within thirty yards of +me. At first I thought that it must be my father, then the man caught +sight of me, and I saw his face as he looked up, for the sun shone +upon his dark eyes, and knew that he was a stranger. + +"He lifted his anchor and called to me to come to the companion +ladder, and his voice told me that he was a gentleman. I could not +meet him as I was, with my hair loose, and bare-footed like some Norse +Viking girl. So I took the risk, for now, although I cannot tell why, +I felt sure that no harm would come to him or me, and ran to the +cabin, where also was this volume of my diary and my mother's jewels +that I did not wish to lose. When at last I was ready after a fashion, +I came out with my bag, and there, splashing through the water of the +saloon, ran the stranger, shouting angrily to me to be quick, as the +ship was lifting off the rock, which made me think how brave it was of +him to come aboard to look for me. In an instant he caught me by the +hand, and was dragging me up the stairs and down the companion, so +that in another minute we were together in the boat, and he had told +me that my father was on shore--thank God!--though with a broken +thigh." + +Then some pages of the diary were taken up with the description of the +twenty-four hours which she had spent on the open sea with himself, of +their landing, dazed and exhausted, at the Dead Church, and her +strange desire to explore it, their arrival at the Abbey, and her +meeting with her father. After these came a passage that may be +quoted:-- + +"He is not handsome--I call him plain--with his projecting brow, large +mouth, and untidy brown hair. But notwithstanding his stoop and his +thin hands, he looks a fine man, and, when they light up, his eyes are +beautiful. It was brave of him, too, very brave, although he thinks +nothing of it, to come out alone to look for me like that. I wonder +what brought him? I wonder if anything told his mind that I, a girl +whom he had never seen, was really on the ship and in danger? Perhaps +--at any rate, he came, and the odd thing is that from the moment I +saw him, and especially from the moment I heard his voice, I felt as +though I had known him all my life. Probably he would think me mad if +I were to say so; indeed, I am by no means sure that he does not pay +me that compliment already, with some excuse, perhaps, in view of the +'Song of the Overlord' and all my wild talk. Well, after such a night +as I had spent anyone might be excused for talking foolishly. It is +the reaction from never expecting to talk again at all. The chief +advantage of a diary is that one may indulge in the luxury of telling +the actual truth. So I will say that I feel as though I had known him +always; always--and as though I understood him as one understands a +person one has watched for years. What is more, I think that he +understands me more than most people do; not that this is wonderful, +seeing how few I know. At any rate, he guesses more or less what I am +thinking about, and can see that there is something in the ideas which +others consider foolish, as perhaps they are. + +"It is very odd that I, who had made sure that I was gone, should be +still alive in this pleasant house, and saved from death by this +pleasant companion, to find my father, whom I feared was dead, also +living. And all this after I had sung the 'Song of the Overlord!' So +much for its ill-luck. But, all the same, my father was rather upset +when he heard that I had been found singing it. He is very +superstitious, my dear old father; that is one of the few Norse +characteristics which he has left in him. I told him that there was no +use in being disturbed, since, in the end, things must go as they are +fated. + +"Mr. Monk is engaged to a Miss Porson. He told me that in the boat. I +asked him what he was thinking of when we nearly over-set against that +dreadful rock. He answered that he could only think of the song he had +heard me singing on the ship, which I considered a great compliment to +my voice, quite the nicest I ever had. But he ought to have been +thinking about the lady to whom he is engaged, and he understood that +I thought so, which I daresay I should not have allowed him to do. +However, when people believe that they are going to be drowned they +grow confidential, and expose their minds freely. He exposed his when +he told me that he thought I was talking egregious nonsense, and I am +afraid that I laughed at him. I don't think that he really can love +her--that is, as engaged people are supposed to love each other. If he +did he would not have grown so angry--with himself--and then turned +upon me because the recollection of my old death song had interfered +with the reflections which he ought to have offered upon her altar. +That is what struck me as odd; not his neglecting to remember her in a +moment of danger, since then we often forget everything except some +triviality of the hour. But, of course, this is all nonsense, which I +oughtn't to write here even, as most people have their own ways of +being fond of each other. Also, it is no affair of mine. + +"I have seen Miss Porson's photograph, a large one of her in Court +dress, which stands in Mr. Monk's laboratory (such a lovely place, it +was an old chapel). She is a beautiful woman; large and soft and +regal-looking, a very woman; it would be difficult to imagine a better +specimen of 'the eternal feminine.' Also, they say, that is, the nurse +who is looking after my father says, that she is very rich and devoted +to 'Mr. Morris.' So Mr. Morris is a lucky man. I wonder why he didn't +save her from a shipwreck instead of me. It would have given an +appropriate touch of romance to the affair, which is now entirely +wasted upon a young person, if I may still call myself so, with whom +it has no concern. + +"What interests me more than our host's matrimonial engagements, +however, are his experiments with aerophones. That is a wonderful +invention if only it can be made to work without fail upon all +occasions. I do wish that I could help him there. It would be some +return for his great kindness, for it must be a dreadful nuisance to +have an old clergyman with a broken leg and his inconvenient daughter +suddenly quartered upon you for an unlimited period of time." + +The record of the following weeks was very full, but almost entirely +concerned--brief mention of other things, such as her father's health +excepted--with full and accurate notes and descriptions of the +aerophone experiments. To Morris reading them it was wonderful, +especially as Stella had received no training in the science of +electricity, that she could have grasped the subject thus thoroughly +in so short a time. Evidently she must have had a considerable +aptitude for its theory and practice, as might be seen by the study +that she gave to the literature which he lent her, including some +manuscript volumes of his own notes. Also there were other entries. +Thus: + +"To-day Mr. Stephen Layard proposed to me in the Dead Church. I had +seen it coming for the last three weeks and wished to avoid it, but he +would not take a hint. I am most sorry, as I really think he cares +about me--for the while--which is very kind of him. But it is out of +the question, and I had to say no. Indeed, he repels me. I do not even +like being in the same room with him, although no doubt this is very +fastidious and wrong of me. I hope that he will get over it soon; in +fact, although he seemed distressed, I am not vain enough to suppose +that it will be otherwise. . . . + +"Of course, my father is angry, for reasons which I need not set down. +This I expected, but he said some things which I wish he had left +unsaid, for they made me answer him as I ought not to have done. +Fathers and daughters look at marriage from such different +standpoints; what is excellent in their eyes may be as bad as death, +or in some cases worse to the woman who of course must pay the +price. . . . + +"I sang and played my best last night, my very, very best; indeed, I +don't think I ever did so well before, and perhaps never shall again. +He was moved--more moved than I meant him to be, and I was moved +myself. I suppose that it was the surroundings; that old chapel--how +well those monks understood acoustic properties--the moonlight, the +upset to my nerves this afternoon, my fear that he believed that I had +accepted Mr. L. (imagine his believing that! I thought better of him, +and he /did/ believe it)--everything put together. + +"While I was singing he told me that he was going away--to see Miss +Porson at Beaulieu, I suppose. When I had finished--oh! how tired I +was after the effort was over--he asked me straight out if I intended +to marry Mr. Layard, and I asked him if he was mad! Then I put another +question, I don't know why; I never meant to do it, but it came up +from my heart--whether he had not said that he was going away? In +answer he explained that he was thinking of so doing, but had changed +his mind. Oh! I was pleased when I heard that. I was never so pleased +in my life before. After all, the gift of music is of some use. + +"But why should I have been pleased? Mr. Monk's comings or goings are +nothing to me; I have no right to interfere with them, even +indirectly, or to concern myself about them. Yet I cried when I heard +those words, but I suppose it was the music that made me cry; it has +that inconvenient effect sometimes. Well, I have no doubt that he will +see plenty of Miss Porson, and it would have been a great pity to +break off the experiments just now." + +One more extract from the very last entry in the series of books. It +was written at the Rectory on Christmas Eve, just before Stella +started out to meet Morris at the Dead Church: + +"He--Colonel M.--asked me and I told him the truth straight out. I +could not help myself; it burst from my lips, although the strange +thing is that until he put it into my mind with the question, I knew +/nothing/. Then of a sudden, in an instant; in a flash; I understood +and I knew that my whole being belonged to this man, his son Morris. +What is love? Once I remember hearing a clever cynic argue that +between men and women no such thing exists. He called their affection +by other names, and said that for true love to be present the +influence of sex must be absent. This he proved by declaring that this +marvellous passion of love about which people talk and write is never +heard of where its object is old or deformed, or even very ugly, +although such accidents of chance and time are no bar to the true love +of--let us say--the child and the parent, or the friend and the +friend. + +"Well, the argument seemed difficult to answer, although at the time I +knew that it must be wrong, but how could I, who was utterly without +experience, talk of such a hard matter? Now I understand that love; +the real love between a man and a woman, if it be real, embraces all +the other sorts of love. More--whether the key be physical or +spiritual, it unlocks a window in our hearts through which we see a +different world from the world that we have known. Also with this new +vision come memories and foresights. This man whom I love--three +months ago I had never seen his face--and now I feel as though I had +known him not only all my life, but from the beginning of time--as +though we never could be parted any more. + +"And I talk thus about one who has never said a tender word to me. +Why? Because my thought, is his thought, and my mind his mind. How am +I sure of that? Because it came upon me at the moment when I learned +the truth about myself. He and I are one, therefore I learned the +truth about him also. + +"I was like Eve when she left the Tree; knowledge was mine, only I had +eaten of the fruit of Life. Yet the taste of it must be bitter in my +mouth. What have I done? I have given my spirit into the keeping of a +man who is pledged to another woman, and, as I think, have taken his +from her keeping to my own. What then? Is this other woman, who is so +good and kind, to be robbed of all that is left to her in the world? +Am I to take from her him who is almost her husband? Never. If his +heart has come to me I cannot help it--for the rest, no. So what is +left to me? His spirit and all the future when the flesh is done with; +that is heritage enough. How the philosopher who argued about the love +of men and women would laugh and mock if he could see these words. +Supposing that he could say, 'Stella Fregelius, I am in a position to +offer you a choice. Will you have this man for your husband and live +out your natural lives upon the strict stipulation that your +relationship ends absolutely and forever with your last breaths? Or +will you let him go to the other woman for their natural lives with +the prospect of that heritage which your imagination has fashioned; +that dim eternity of double joy where, hand in hand, twain and yet +one, you will fulfil the secret purpose of your destinies?' + +"What should I answer then? + +"Before Heaven I would answer that I would not sell myself to the +devil of the flesh and of this present world. What! Barter my +birthright of immortality for the mess of pottage of a few brief years +of union? Pay out my high hopes to their last bright coin for this +dinner of mingled herbs? Drain the well of faith dug with so many +prayers and labours, that its waters may suffice to nourish a rose +planted in the sand, whose blooms must die at the first touch of +creeping earthly frost? + +"The philosopher would say that I was mad; that the linnet in the hand +is better than all the birds of paradise which ever flew in fabled +tropic seas. + +"I reply that I am content to wait till upon some glorious morning my +ship breaks into the silence of those seas, and, watching from her +battered bulwarks, I behold the islands of the Blest and catch the +scent of heavenly flowers, and see the jewelled birds, whereof I dream +floating from palm to palm. + +"'But if there are no such isles?' he would answer; 'If, with their +magic birds and flowers, they are indeed but the baseless fabric of a +dream? If your ship, amidst the ravings of the storm and the darkness +of the tortured night, should founder once and for ever in the dark +strait which leads to the gateways of that Dawn--those gateways +through which no traveller returns to lay his fellows' course for the +harbours of your perfect sea; what then?' + +"Then I would say, let me forswear God Who has suffered me to be +deceived with false spirits, and sink to depths where no light breaks, +where no memories stir, where no hopes torment. Yes, then let me deny +Him and die, who am of all women the most miserable. But it is not so, +for to me a messenger has /come/; at my prayer once the Gates were +opened, and now I know quite surely that it was permitted to me to see +within them that I might find strength in this the bitter hour of my +trial. + +"Yet how can I choke the truth and tread down the human heart within +me? Oh! the road which my naked feet must tread is full of thorns, and +heavy the cross that I must bear. I go now, in a few minutes' time, to +bid him farewell. If I can help it I shall never see him again. No, +not even after many years, since it is better not. Also, perhaps this +is weakness, but I should wish him to remember me wearing such beauty +as I have and still young, before time and grief and labour have +marked me with their ugly scars. It is the Stella whom he found +singing at the daybreak on the ship which brought her to him, for whom +I desire that he should seek in the hour of a different dawn. + +"I go presently, to my marriage, as it were; a cold and pitiful feast, +many would think it--these nuptials of life-long renunciation. The +philosopher would say, Why renounce? You have some advantages, some +powers, use them. The man loves you, play upon his natural weakness. +Help yourself to the thing that chances to be desirable in your eyes. +Three years hence who will blame you, who will even remember? His +father? Well, he likes you already, and in time a man of the world +accepts accomplished facts, especially if things go well, as they will +do, for that invention must succeed. No one else? Yes; three others. +He would remember, however much he loved me, for I should have brought +him to do a shameful act. And she would remember, whom I had robbed of +her husband, coming into his life after he had promised himself to +her. Last of all--most of all, perhaps--I myself should remember, day +by day, and hour by hour, that I was nothing more than one of the +family of thieves. + +"No; I will have none of such philosophy; at least I, Stella +Fregelius, will live and die among the upright. So I go to my cold +marriage, such as it is; so I bend my back to the burden, so I bow my +head to the storm; and throughout it all I thank God for what he has +been pleased to send me. I may seem poor, but how rich I am who have +been dowered with a love that I know to be eternal as my eternal soul. +I go, and my husband shall receive me, not with a lover's kiss and +tenderness, but with words few and sad, with greetings that, almost +before their echoes die, must fade into farewells. I wrap no veil +about my head, he will set no ring upon my hand, perchance we shall +plight no troth. So be it; our hour of harvest is not yet. + +"Yesterday was very sharp and bleak, with scuds of sleet and snow +driven by the wind, but as I drove here with my father I saw a man and +a woman in the midst of an empty, lifeless field, planting some winter +seed. Who, looking at them, who that did not know, could foretell the +fruits of their miserable, unhopeful labour? Yet the summer will come +and the sweet smell of the flowering beans, and the song of the +nesting birds, and the plentiful reward of the year crowned with +fatness. It is a symbol of this marriage of mine. To-day we sow the +seed; next, after a space of raving rains and winds, will follow the +long, white winter of death, then some dim, sweet spring of awakening, +and beyond it the fulness of all joy. + +"What is there about me that it would make me ashamed that he should +know; this husband to whom I must tell nothing? I cannot think. No +other man has been anything to me. I can remember no great sin. I have +worked, making the best of such gifts as I possess. I have tried to do +my duty, and I will do it to the end. Surely my heart is whole and my +hands are clean. Perhaps it is a sin that I should have learned to +love him; that I should look to a far future where I may be with him. +If so, am I to blame, who ask nothing here? Can I conquer destiny who +am its child? Can I read or shape the purpose of my Maker? + +"And so I go. O God, I pray Thee of Thy mercy, give me strength to +bear my temptations and my trials; and to him, also, give every +strength and blessing. O Father, I pray Thee of Thy mercy, shorten +these the days of my tribulation upon earth. Accept and sanctify this +my sacrifice of denial; grant me pardon here, and hereafter through +all the abyss of time in Thy knowledge and presence, that perfect +peace which I desire with him to whom I am appointed. Amen." + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + THE EVIL GATE + +Such was the end of the diary of Stella. + +Morris shut the book with something like a sob. Then he rose and began +to tramp up and down the length of the long, lonely room, while +thoughts, crowded, confused, and overwhelming, pressed in upon his +mind. What a woman was this whom he had lost! Who had known another so +pure, so spiritual? Surely she did not belong to this world, and +therefore her last prayer was so quickly answered, therefore Heaven +took her. Many reading those final pages might have said with the +philosopher she imagined that the shock of love and the sorrow of +separation had turned her brain, and that she was mad. For who, so +such might argue, would think that person otherwise than mad who dared +to translate into action, and on earth to set up as a ruling star, +that faith which day by day their lips professed. + +Yet it would seem after that this "dreamer and mystic" Stella believed +in nothing which our religion, accepted by millions without cavil, +does not promise to its votaries. Its revelations and rewards marked +the extremest limits of her fantasy; immortality of the personal soul, +its foundation stone, was the rock on which she built. A heaven where +there is no earthly marriage, but where each may consort with the +souls most loved and most desired; where all sorrows are forgotten, +all tears are wiped away, all purposes made clear, reserved for those +who deny themselves, do their duty, and seek forgiveness of their sins +--this heaven conceived by Stella, is it not vowed to us in the pages +of the Gospel? Is it not vowed again and again, sometimes with more +detail, sometimes with less; sometimes in open, simple words, +sometimes wrapped in the mystic allegory of the visions of St. John; +but everywhere and continually held before us as our crown and great +reward? And the rest, such things as her belief in guardian angels, +and that it had been given to her mortal eyes to behold and commune +with a beloved ghost, is there not ample warrant for them in those +inspired writings? Were not the dead seen of many in Jerusalem on the +night of fear, and are we not told of "ministering spirits sent forth +to do service for the sake of them that shall inherit salvation?" and +of the guardian angels, who look continually upon the Father? + +Now it all grew clear to Morris. In Stella he beheld an example of the +doctrines of Christianity really inspiring the daily life of the +believer. If her strong faith animated all those who served under that +banner, then in like circumstances they would act as she had acted. +They would have no doubts; their fears would vanish; their griefs be +comforted, and, to a great extent, even the promptings and passions of +their mortality would be trodden under foot. With Stella they would be +ready to neglect the temporary in their certainty of the eternal, and +even to welcome death, to them in truth, and not in mere convention, +the Gate of Life. + +Many things are promised to those who can achieve faith. Stella +achieved it and became endued with some portion of the promise. +Spiritual faith, not inherited, nor accepted, but hard-won by personal +struggle and experience; that was the key-note to her character and +the explanation of her actions. Yet that faith, when examined into, +was nothing exotic; no combination of mysticism and mummery, but one +founded upon the daily creed of the English and its fellow churches, +and understood and applied to the circumstances of a life which was as +brief as it seemed to be unfortunate. This was Morris's discovery, +open and obvious enough, and yet at first until he grew accustomed to +it, a thing marvellous in his eyes; one, moreover, in which he found +comfort; since surely that straight but simple path was such as his +feet might follow. + +And she loved him. Oh! how she had loved him. There could be no doubt; +there were her words written in that book, not hastily spoken beneath +the pressure of some sudden wind of feeling, but set down in black and +white, thought over, reasoned out, and recorded. And then their +purport. They were a paean of passion, but the dirge of its denial. +They dwelt upon the natural hopes of woman only to put them by. + +"Yet how can I choke the truth and tread down the human heart within +me? Oh! the road that my naked feet must tread is full of thorns, and +heavy the cross that I must bear. . . . So I go to my marriage, such +as it is, so I bend my back to the burden, so I bow my head to the +storm, and through it all I thank God for what He has been pleased to +send me. I may seem poor, but how rich I am who have been dowered with +a love that I know to be eternal as my eternal soul." + +That was her creed, those were the teachings of her philosophy. And +this was the woman who had loved him, who died loving him. Her very +words came back, spoken but a few seconds before the end:--"Remember +every word which I have said to you. Remember that we are wed--truly +wed; that I go to wait for you, and that even if you do not see me, I +will, if I may, be near you always." + +"I go to wait for you. I will be near you always." Here was another +inspiration. For three years or more he had been thinking of her as +dead. Or rather he had thought of her in that nebulous, undefined +fashion in which we consider the dead; the slumberous people who +forget everything, who see nothing; who, if they exist at all, are +like stones upon the beach rolled to and fro blind and senseless, not +of their own desire, but by the waves of a fearful fate that itself is +driven on with the strength of a secret storm of Will. And this fate +some call the Breath of God, and some the working of a soulless force +that compels the universe, past, present, and to be. + +But was this view as real as it is common? If Stella were right, if +our religion were right, it must be most wrong. That religion told us +that the Master of mankind descended into Hades to preach to the souls +of men. Did he preach to dumb, ocean-driven stones, to frozen forms +and fossils who had once been men, or to spirits, changed, but active +and existent? + +Stella, too, had walked in the valley of doubt, by the path which all +who think must tread; it was written large in the book of her life. +But she had not fainted there; she had lived through its thunder- +rains, its arid blasts of withering dust, its quivering quicksands, +and its mirage-like meadows gay with deceitful, poisonous flowers. At +last she had reached the mountain slopes of Truth to travel up them +higher--ever higher, till she won their topmost peak, where the sun +shone undimmed and the pure air blew; whence the world seemed far away +and heaven very near. Yes, and from that heaven she had called down +the spirit of her lost sister, and thenceforward was content and sure. + +She had called down the spirit of her sister. Was it not written in +the pages which she thought that no eye but hers would see? + +Well, if such spirits were, hers--Stella's--must be also. And if they +could be made apparent, why should not hers share their qualities? + +Morris paused in his swift walk and trembled: "I will be near you +always." For aught he knew she was near him now--present, perhaps, in +this very room. While she was still in life, what were her +aspirations? This was one of them, he remembered, as it fell from her +lips: "Still to be with those whom I have loved on earth, although +they cannot see me; to soothe their sorrows, to support their +weakness, to lull their fears." And if this were so; if any power were +given her to fulfil her will, whom would she sooner visit than +himself? + +Stay! That was her wish on earth, while she was a woman. But would she +still wish it afterwards? The spirit was not the flesh, the spirit +could see and be sure, while the flesh must be content with deductions +and hazardings. If she could see, she would know him as he was; every +failing, every secret infirmity, every infidelity of heart, might be +an open writing to her eyes. And then would she not close that book in +horror? + +A great writer has said in effect that no man would dare to affront +the ears of his fellows--men much worse than himself perhaps--with the +true details of his hidden history. Knowing all the truth, they would +shrink from him. How much more then at such sights and sounds would a +pure spirit, washed clean of every taint of earth, fly from his soiled +presence, wailing and aghast? Nay, men are hypocrites, who, in greater +or less degree, themselves practice the very sins that shock them, but +spirits, knowing all, would forgive all. They are above hypocrisy. If +the Lord of spirits can weigh the "dust whereof we are made" and still +be merciful, shall his bright messengers trample it in scorn and hate? +Will they not also consider the longings of the heart and its +uprightness, and be pitiful towards the failings of the flesh? Would +Stella hate him because he remained as he was made--as herself she +might once have been? Because having no wings with which to rule the +air he must still tramp onwards through the foetid, clinging mud of +earth? + +Oh! how he longed to see her, that he might win her faith; win it +beyond all doubt by the evidence of his earthly eyes and senses. "If I +die, search and you shall see," she had once said to him, and then +added, "No, do not search, but wait." Wait! How could he wait? "At +your death I will be with you." Why he might live another fifty years! +That book of her recorded thoughts had aroused in him such a desire +for the sight, or at least the actual knowledge of her continued +being, that his blood was aflame as with a madness. And yet how should +he search? + +"Stella," he whispered, "come to me, Stella!" But no Stella came; no +wings rustled, no breath stirred; the empty room was as the room had +been. Its silence seemed to mock him. Those who slept beneath its +marble floor were not more silent. + +Was he mad that he should claim the power to work this miracle--to +charm the dead back through the Gates of Death as Orpheus charmed +Eurydice? Yet Stella did this thing--but how? He turned to the volume +and page of her diary which dealt with the drawing down of Gudrun. +Yes, here she spoke of continual efforts and of "that long, long +preparation"--of prayer and fasting also. Here, too, was the whole +secret summed up in a dozen words: "To see a spirit one must grow akin +to spirits." Well, it could be done, and he would do it. But look +further on where she said: "I shall call her back no more, lest the +thing should get the mastery of me, and I become unfitted for my work +on earth. . . . I will stop while there is yet time, while I am still +mistress of my mind, and have the strength to deny myself this awful +joy." + +Was there not a warning in these words, and in those other words: "No, +do not search, but wait." Surely they told of risk to him who, being +yet on earth, dared to lift a corner of the veil which separates flesh +and spirit. "Should get the mastery of me." If he saw her once would +he be able to do as Stella did, and by an effort of his will separate +himself from a communion so fearful yet so sweet? "Unfitted for my +work." Supposing that it did get the mastery of him, would he not also +be unfitted for his work on earth? + +His work? What work had he now? It seemed to be done; for attending +scientific meetings, receiving dividends, playing the country squire's +only son and the wealthy host whilst awaiting the title which Mary +wished for--these things are not work, and somehow his days were so +arranged that he was never allowed to go beyond them. All further +researches and experiments were discouraged. What did it matter if he +were unfitted for that which he could no longer do? His work was +finished. There it stood before him in that box, stamped "Monk's +aerophone. The Twin. No. 3412." + +No; he had but one ambition left. To pierce the curtain of thick night +and behold her who was lost to him; her who loved him as man had been +seldom loved. + +The fierce temptation struck him as a sudden squall strikes a ship +with all her canvas spread. For a moment mast and rigging stood the +strain, then they went by the board. He would do it if it killed him; +but the task must be undertaken properly, deliberately, and above all +in secret. To-morrow he would begin. When he had satisfied himself; +when he had seen; then he could always stop. + +A few minutes later Morris stood beside his wife's bed. There she lay, +in the first perfection of young motherhood and beauty, a lovely, +white-wrapped vision with straying golden hair; her sweet, rounded +face pink with the flush of sleep, and the long lashes lying like +little shadows on her cheek. + +Morris looked at her, and his doubts returned. What would Stella say? +he thought to himself. It almost seemed to him that he could hear her +voice, bidding him forbear; bidding him render unto his wife those +things which were his wife's: all honour, loyalty, and devotion. If he +entered on this course could he still render them? Was there not such +a thing as moral infidelity, and did not such exercises as he proposed +partake of its nature? Perhaps, perhaps. On the whole it might be well +to put all this behind him. + +It was three o'clock, he was tired out, and must sleep. The morning +would be a more fitting time to ponder such weighty questions of the +unwritten matrimonial law. + +In due course, the morning came--indeed, it was not far off--and with +it wiser counsels. Mary woke early and talked about the baby, which +was teething; indeed, so soon as the nurse was up she sent for it that +the three of them might hold a consultation over a swollen gum. Also +she discussed the date of their departure to Beaulieu, for again +Christmas was near at hand; adding, however, somewhat to Morris's +relief, that unless the baby's teeth went on better she really did not +think that they could go, as it would be most unwise to take her out +of the care of Dr. Charters and trust her to the tender mercies of +foreign leeches. Morris agreed that it might be risky, and mentioned +that in a letter which he had received from the concierge at Beaulieu +a few days before, that functionary said that the place was overrun +with measles and scarlatina. + +"Morris!" ejaculated Mary, sitting bolt upright in bed, "and you never +told me! What is more, had it not been for baby's teeth, which brought +it to your mind, I believe you never would have told me, and I might +have taken those unprotected little angels and--Oh! goodness, I can't +bear to think of it." + +Morris muttered some apologies, whereon Mary, looking at him +suspiciously through her falling hair, asked: + +"Why did you forget to show me the letter? Did you suppress it because +you wanted to go to Beaulieu?" + +"No," answered Morris with energy; "I hate Beaulieu. I forgot, that is +all; because I have so much to think about, I suppose." + +"So much? I thought that things were arranged now so that you had +nothing at all to think about except how to spend your money and be +happy with me, and adore the dear angels-- Yes, I think that perhaps +the nurse had better take her away. Touch the bell, will you? There, +she's gone. Keep her well wrapped up, and mind the draught, nurse. + +"No, don't get up yet, Morris; I want to talk to you. You have been +very gloomy of late, just like you used to be before you married, +mooning about and staring at nothing. And what on earth do you do +sitting up to all hours of the morning in that ghosty old chapel, +where I wouldn't be alone at twelve o'clock for a hundred pounds?" + +"I read," said Morris. + +"Read? Read what? Novels?" + +"Sometimes," answered Morris. + +"Oh, how can you tell such fibs? Why, that last book by Lady What's- +her-name which came in the Mudie box--the one they say is so improper +--has been lying on your table for over two months, and you can't tell +me yet what it was the heroine did wrong. Morris, you are not +inventing anything more, are you?" + +Here was an inspiration. "I admit that I am thinking of a little +thing," he said with diffidence, as though he were a budding poet with +a sonnet on his mind. + +"A little thing? What little thing?" + +"Well, a new kind of aerophone designed to work uninfluenced by its +twin." + +"Well, and why shouldn't it? Everything can't have a twin--only I +suppose there would be nothing to hear." + +"That's just the point," replied Morris in his old professional +manner. "I think there would be plenty to hear if only I could make +the machine sensitive to the sounds and capable of reproducing them." + +"What sounds?" asked Mary. + +"Well, if, for instance, one could successfully insulate it from the +earth noises, the sounds which permeate space, and even those that +have their origin upon the surfaces of the planets and perhaps of the +more distant stars." + +"Great heavens!" exclaimed Mary, "imagine a man who can want to let +loose upon our poor little world every horrible noise that happens in +the stars. Why, what under heaven would be the use of it?" + +"Well, one might communicate with them. Conceivably even one might +hear the speech of their inhabitants, if they have any; always +presuming that such an instrument could be made, and that it can be +successfully insulated." + +"Hear the speech of their inhabitants! That is your old idea, but you +will never succeed, that's one blessing. Morris, I suspect you; you +want to stop at home here to work at this horrible new machine; to +work for years, and years, and years without the slightest result. I +suppose that you didn't invent that about the measles and the +scarlatina, did you? The two of them together sound rather clumsy, as +though you might have done so." + +"Not a bit, upon my honour," answered Morris. "I will go and get the +letter," and, not sorry to escape from further examination, he went. + +Whether the cause were Mary's doubts and reproaches, or the infant's +gums, or the working of his own conscience,--he felt that a man with a +teething baby has no right to cultivate the occult. For quite a long +period, a whole fortnight, indeed, Morris steadily refrained from any +attempt to fulfil his dangerous ambition to "pierce the curtain of +thick night." Only he read and re-read Stella's diary--that secret, +fascinating work which in effect was building a wall between him and +the healthy, common instincts of the world--till he knew whole pages +of it by heart. Also he began a series of experiments whereof the +object was to produce an improved and more sensitive aerophone. + +That any instrument which the intellect of man could produce would +really succeed in conveying sounds which, if they exist at all, are +born in the vast cosmic areas that envelope our earth and its +atmosphere, he believed to be most improbable. Still, such a thing was +possible, for what is not? Moreover, the world itself as it rushes on +its fearful journey across the depths of space has doubtless many +voices that have not yet been heard by the ears of men, some of which +he might be able to discover and record. At the least he stood upon +the threshold of a new knowledge, and now a great desire arose in him +to pass its doors, if so he might, for who could tell what he would +learn or see behind them? And by degrees, as he worked, always with +one ulterior object in his mind, his scruples vanished or were +mastered by the growth of his longing, till this became his ruling +passion--to behold the spirit of Stella. Now he no longer reasoned +with himself, but openly, nakedly, in his own heart gave his will over +to the achievement of this monstrous and unnatural end. + +How was it to be done? That was now the sole dilemma which tormented +him--as the possible methods of obtaining the drink he craves, or the +drug that gives him peace and radiant visions, torment the dipsomaniac +or the morphia victim in his guarded prison. He thought of his +instruments, those magic machines with the working of which Stella had +been familiar in her life. He even poured petitions into them in the +hope that these might be delivered far beyond the ken of man, only to +learn that he was travelling a road which led to a wall impassable; +the wall that, for the lack of a better name, we call Death, which +bars the natural from the spiritual. + +Wonderful as were his electrical appliances, innumerable as might be +their impalpable emanations, insoluble as seemed the mystery of their +power of catching and transmitting sounds by the agency of ether, they +were still physical appliances producing physical effects in obedience +to the laws of nature. But what he sought lay beyond nature and was +subject to some rule of which he did not even know the elements, and +much less the axioms. Herein his instruments, or indeed, any that man +could make, were as futile and as useless as would be the prayers of +an archbishop addressed to a Mumbo-jumbo in a fetish house. The link +was wanting; there was, and could be, no communication between the +two. The invisible ether which he had subdued to his purposes was +still a constituent part of the world of matter; he must discover the +spiritual ether, and discover also the animating force by which it +might be influenced. + +Now he formed a new plan--to reach the dead by his petitions, by the +invocation of his own spirit. "Seek me and you shall find me," she had +said. So he sought and called in bitterness and concentration of +heart, but still he did not find. Stella did not come. + +He was in despair. She had promised, and her promise seemed to be +broken. Then it was that in turning the pages of her diary he came +across a passage that had escaped him, or which he had forgotten. It +ran thus: + +"In the result I have learned this, that we cannot compel the departed +to appear. Even if they hear us they will not, or are not suffered to +obey. If we would behold them we must create the power of vision in +our own natures. They are about us always, only we cannot see or feel +their presence; our senses are too gross. To succeed we must refine +our senses until they acquire an aptitude beyond the natural. Then +without any will or any intervention on their parts, we may triumph, +perhaps even when /they/ do not know that we have triumphed." + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + STELLA COMES + +Now, by such arts as are known to those who have studied mysticism in +any of its protean forms, Morris set himself to attempt communication +with the unseen. In their practice these arts are as superlatively +unwholesome as in their result, successful or not, they are unnatural. +Also, they are very ancient. The Chaldeans knew them, and the +magicians who stood before Pharaoh knew them. To the early Christian +anchorites and to the gnostics they were familiar. In one shape or +another, ancient wonder-workers, Scandinavian and mediaeval seers, +modern Spiritualists, classical interpreters of oracles, Indian +fakirs, savage witch-doctors and medicine men, all submitted or submit +themselves to the yoke of the same rule in the hope of attaining an +end which, however it may vary in its manifestations, is identical in +essence. + +This is the rule: to beat down the flesh and its instincts and nurture +the spirit, its aspirations and powers. And this is the end--to escape +before the time, if only partially and at intervals, into an +atmosphere of vision true or false, where human feet were meant to +find no road, and the trammelled minds of men no point of outlook. +That such an atmosphere exists even materialists would hesitate to +deny, for it is proved by the whole history of the moral world, and +especially by that of the religions of the world, their founders, +their prophets and their exponents, many of whom have breathed its +ether, and pronounced it the very breath of life. Their feet have +walked the difficult path; standing on those forbidden peaks they have +scanned the dim plains and valleys of the unseen, and made report of +the dreams and shapes that haunt them. Then the busy hordes of men +beneath for a moment pause to listen and are satisfied. + +"Lo, here is Truth," they cry, "now we may cease from troubling." So +for a while they rest till others answer, "Nay, /this/ is Truth; our +teacher told it us from yonder mountain, the only Holy Hill." And yet +others fall upon them and slay them, shouting, "Neither of these is +Truth. She dwells not among the precipices, but in the valley; there +we have heard her accents." + +And still from cliff to cliff and along the secret vales echoes the +voice of Truth; and still upon the snow-wreathed peaks and across the +space of rolling ocean, and even among the populous streets of men, +veiled, mysterious, and changeful, her shape is seen by those who have +trained themselves or been inspired to watch and hear. But no two see +the same shape, and no two hear the same voice, since to each she +wears a different countenance, and speaks with another tongue. For +Truth is as the sand of the shore for number, and as the infinite hues +of the rainbow for variety. Yet the sand is ground out of one mother +rock, and all the colours of earth and air are born of a single sun. + +So, practising the ancient rites and mysteries, and bowing himself to +the ancient law whose primeval principles every man and woman may find +graven upon the tablets of their solitary heart, Morris set himself to +find that truth, which for him was hid in the invisible soul of +Stella, the soul which he desired to behold and handle, even if the +touch and sight should slay him. + +Day by day he worked, for as many hours as he could make his own, at +the details of his new experiments. These in themselves were +interesting, and promised even to be fruitful; but that was not his +object, or, at any rate, his principal object in pursuing them with +such an eager passion of research. The talk and hazardings which had +passed between himself and Stella notwithstanding, both reason and +experience had taught him already that all instruments made by the +hand of man were useless to break a way into the dwellings of the +departed. A day might come when they would enable the inhabitants of +the earth to converse with the living denizens of the most distant +stars; but never, never with the dead. He laboured because of the +frame of thought his toil brought with it, but still more that he +might be alone: that he might be able to point to his soiled hands, +the shabby clothes which he wore when working with chemicals or at the +forge, the sheets of paper covered with half-finished and maddening +calculations, as an excuse why he should not be taken out, or, worse +still, dragged from his home to stay for nights, or perhaps whole +weeks, in other places. Even his wife, he felt, would relent at the +sight of those figures, and would fly from the odour of chemicals. + +In fact, Mary did both, for she hated what she called "smells," and a +place strewn with hot irons and bottles of acids, which, as she +discovered, if disturbed burnt both dress and fingers. The sight also +of algebraic characters pursuing each other across quires of paper, +like the grotesque forces of some broken, impish army, filled her +indolent mind with a wondering admiration that was akin to fear. The +man, she reflected, who could force those cabalistic symbols to reveal +anything worth knowing must indeed be a genius, and one who deserved +not to be disturbed, even for a tea party. + +Although she disapproved deeply of these renewed studies, such was +Mary's secret thought. Whether it would have sufficed alone to +persuade her to permit them is another matter, since her instinct, +keen and subtle as any of Morris's appliances, warned her that in them +lay danger to her home and happiness. But just then, as it happened, +there were other matters to occupy her mind. The baby became seriously +ill over its teething, and, other infantile complications following, +for some weeks it was doubtful whether she would survive. + +Now Mary belonged to the class of woman which is generally known as +"motherly," and adored her offspring almost to excess. Consequently +for those weeks she found plenty to think about without troubling +herself over-much as to Morris and his experiments. For these same +reasons, perhaps, she scarcely noticed, seated as she was some +distance away at the further end of the long table, how very ethereal +her husband's appetite had become, or that, although he took wine as +usual, it was a mere pretence, since he never emptied his glass. The +most loving of women can scarcely be expected to consider a man's +appetite when that of a baby is in question, or, while the child +wastes, to take note whether or no its father is losing flesh. Lastly, +as regards the hours at which he came to bed, being herself a sound +sleeper Mary had long since ceased to interest herself about them, on +the wise principle that so long as she was not expected to sit up it +was no affair of hers. + +Thus it happened that Morris worked and meditated by day, and by night +--ah! who that has not tried to climb this difficult and endless +Jacob's ladder resting upon the earth and losing itself far, far away +in the blue of heaven above, can understand what he did by night? But +those who have stood even on its lowest rung will guess, and--for the +rest it does not matter. + +He advanced; he knew that he advanced, that the gross wall of sense +was wearing thin beneath the attacks of his out-thrown soul; that even +if they were not drawn, from time to time the black curtains swung +aside in the swift, pure breath of his continual prayers. Moreover, +the dead drew near to him at moments, or he drew near the dead. Even +in his earthly brain he could feel their awful presence as wave by +wave soft, sweet pulses of impression beat upon him and passed through +him. Through and through him they passed till his brow ached, and +every nerve of his body tingled, as though it had become the receiver +of some mysterious current that stirred his blood with what was not +akin to it, and summoned to his mind strange memories and foresights. +Visions came also that he could not define, to slip from his frantic +grasp like wet sand through the fingers of a drowning man. More and +more frequently, and with an ever increasing completeness, did this +unearthly air, blowing from a shore no human foot has trod, breathe +through his being and possess him, much as some faint wind which we +cannot feel may be seen to possess an aspen tree so that it turns +white and shivers when every other natural thing is still. And as that +aspen turns white and shivers in this thin, impalpable air, so did his +spirit blanch and quiver with joy and dread mingled mysteriously in +the cup of his expectant soul. + +Again and again those sweet, yet sickening waves flowed over him, to +leave him shaken and unnerved. At first they were rare visitors, +single clouds floating across his calm, coming he knew not whence and +vanishing he knew not whither. Now they drove in upon him like some +scud, ample yet broken, before the wind, till at whiles, as it were, +he could not see the face of the friendly, human sun. Then he was like +a traveller lost in the mist upon a mountain top, sure of nothing, +feeling precipices about him, hearing voices calling him, seeing white +arms stretched out to lead him, yet running forward gladly because +amid so many perils a fate was in his feet. + +Now, too, they came with an actual sense of wind. He would wake up at +night even by his wife's side and feel this unholy breath blowing ice- +cold on his brow and upon the backs of his outstretched hands. Yet if +he lit a candle it had no power to stir its flame; yes, while it still +blew sharp upon him the flame of the candle did not move. Then the +wind would cease, and within him the intangible, imponderable power +would arise, and the voices would speak like the far, far, murmur of a +stream, and the thoughts which he could not weigh or interpret would +soak into his being like some strange dew, and, soft, soft as falling +snow, invisible feet would tread the air about him, till of a sudden a +door in his brain seemed to shut, and he woke to the world again. + +Every force is subject to laws. Even if they were but the emanations +of an incipient madness which like all else have their origins, +destinies, and forms, these possessing vapours were a force, which in +time Morris, whose mind from a lifelong training was scientific and +methodical, accustomed, moreover, to struggle for dominion over +elements unknown or imperfectly appreciated, learned to regulate if +not entirely to control. Their visits were pleasant to him, a delight +even; but to experience this joy to the utmost he discovered that +their power must be concentrated; that if the full effect was to be +produced this moral morphia must be taken in strong doses, and at +stated intervals, sufficient space being allowed between them to give +his mental being time to recuperate. Science has proved that even the +molecules of a wire can grow fatigued by the constant passage of +electricity, or the edge of a razor by too frequent stropping. Both of +them, to be effective, to do their utmost service, must have periods +of rest. + +Here, then, his will came to his aid, for he found that by its strong, +concentrated exertion he was enabled both to shut off the sensations +or to excite them. Another thing he found also--that after a while it +was impossible to do without them. For a period the anticipation of +their next visit would buoy him up; but if it were baulked too long, +then reaction set in, and with it the horrors of the Pit. + +This was the first stage of his insanity--or of his vision. + +Dear as such manifestations might be to him, in time he wearied of +them; these hints which but awakened his imagination, these fantastic +spiced meats which, without staying it, only sharpened his spiritual +appetite. More than ever he longed to see and to know, to make +acquaintance with the actual presence, whereof they were but the +forerunners, the cold blasts that go before the storm, the vague, +mystical draperies which veiled the unearthly goddess at whose shrine +he was a worshipper. He desired the full fierce fury of the tempest, +the blinding flash of the lightning, the heavy hiss of the rain, the +rush of the winds bursting on him from the four horizons; he desired +the naked face of his goddess. + +And she came--or he acquired the power to see her, whichever it might +be. She came suddenly, unexpectedly, completely, as a goddess should. + + + +It was on Christmas Eve, at night, the anniversary of Stella's death +four years before. Morris and his wife were alone at the Abbey, as the +Colonel had gone for a fortnight or so to Beaulieu, just to keep the +house aired, as he explained. Also Lady Rawlins was there with her +husband, the evil-tempered man who by a single stroke of sickness had +been converted into a babbling imbecile, harmless as a babe, and +amused for the most part with such toys as are given to babes. She, so +Morris understood, had intimated that Sir Jonah was failing, really +failing quickly, and that in her friendlessness at a foreign place, +especially at Christmas time, she would be thankful to have the +comfort of an old friend's presence. This the old friend, who, having +been back from town for a whole month, was getting rather bored with +Monksland and the sick baby, determined to vouchsafe, explaining that +he knew that young married people liked to be left to each other now +and again, especially when they were worried with domestic troubles. +Lady Rawlins was foolish and fat, but, as the Colonel remembered, she +was fond. Where, indeed, could another woman be found who would endure +so much scientific discipline and yet be thankful? Also, within a few +weeks, after the expected demise of Jonah, she would be wondrous +wealthy--that he knew. Therefore it seemed that the matter was worth +consideration--and a journey to Beaulieu. + +So the Colonel went, and Morris, more and more possessed by his +monomania, was glad that he had gone. His absence gave him greater +opportunities of loneliness; it was now no longer necessary that he +should sit at night smoking with his father, or, rather, watching him +smoke at the expense of so many precious hours when he should be up +and doing. + +Morris and Mary dined tete-a-tete that evening, but almost immediately +after dinner she had gone to the nurseries. The baby was now +threatened with convulsions, and a trained nurse had been installed. +But, as Mary did not in the least trust the nurse, who, according to +her account, was quite unaccustomed to children, she insisted upon +dogging that functionary's footsteps. Therefore, Morris saw little of +her. + + + +It was one o'clock on Christmas morning, or more. Hours ago Morris had +gone though his rites, the ritual that he had invented or discovered-- +in its essence, simple and pathetic enough--whereby he strove to bring +himself to the notice of the dead, and to fit himself to see or hear +the dead. Such tentative mysticism as served his turn need not be +written down, but its substance can be imagined by many. Then, through +an exercise of his will, he had invoked the strange, trance-like state +which has been described. The soft waves flowing from an unknown +source had beat upon his brain, and with them came the accustomed +phenomena; the sense of some presence near, impending, yet impotent; +suggesting by analogy and effect the misdirected efforts of a blind +person seeking something in a room, or the painful attempt of one +almost deaf, striving to sift out words from a confused murmur of +sounds. The personality of Stella seemed to pervade him, yet he could +see nothing, could hear nothing. The impression might be from within, +not from without. Perhaps, after all, it was nothing but a dream, a +miasma, a mirage, drawn by his own burning thought from the wastes and +marshes of his mind peopled with illusive hopes and waterlogged by +memories. Or it might be true and real; as yet he could not be certain +of its origin. + +The fit passed, delightful in its overpowering emptiness, but +unsatisfying as all that had gone before it, and left him weak. For a +while Morris crouched by the fire, for he had grown cold, and could +not think accurately. Then his vital, human strength returned, and, as +seemed to him to be fitting upon this night of all nights, he began +one by one to recall the events of that day four years ago, when +Stella was still a living woman. + +The scene in the Dead Church, the agonies of farewell; he summoned +them detail by detail, word by word; her looks, the changes of her +expression, the movements of her hands and eyes and lips; he counted +and pictured each precious souvenir. The sound of her last sentences +also, as the blind, senseless aerophone had rendered them just before +the end, one by one they were repeated in his brain. There stood the +very instrument; but, alas! it was silent now, its twin lay buried in +the sea with her who had worked it. + +Morris grew weary, the effort of memory was exhausting, and after it +he was glad to think of nothing. The fire flickered, the clear light +of the electric lamps shone upon the hard, sixteenth-century faces of +the painted angels in the ancient roof; without the wind soughed, and +through it rose the constant, sullen roar of the sea. + +Tired, disappointed, unhappy, and full of self-reproaches, for when +the madness was not on him he knew his sin, Morris sank into a doze. +Now music crept softly into his sleep; sweet, thrilling music, +causing him to open his eyes and smile. It was Christmas Eve, and +doubtless he heard the village waifs. + +Morris looked up arousing himself to listen, and lo! there before him, +unexpected and ineffable, was Stella; Stella as she appeared that +night on which she had sung to him, just as she finished singing, +indeed, when he stood for a while in the faint moonlight, the flame of +inspiration still flickering in those dark eyes and the sweet lips +drawn down a little as though she were about to weep. + +The sight did not astonish him, at the moment he never imagined even +then that this could be her spirit, that his long labours in a soil no +man was meant to till had issued into harvest. Surely it was a dream, +nothing but a dream. He felt no tremors, no cold wind stirred his +hair; his heart did not stand still, nor his breath come short. Why +should a man fear so beautiful a dream? Yet, vaguely enough, he wished +that it might last forever, for it was sweet to see her so--as she had +been. As she had been--yet, was she ever thus? Surely some wand of +change had touched her. She was beautiful, but had she worn that +beauty? And those eyes! Could any such have shone in the face of +woman? + +"Stella," he whispered, and from roof and walls crept back the echo of +his voice. He rose and went towards her. She had vanished. He +returned, and there she was. + +"Speak!" he muttered; "speak!" But no word came, only the lovely +changeless eyes shone on and watched him. + +Listen! Music seemed to float about the room, such music as he had +never heard--even Stella could not make the like. The air was full of +it, the night without was full of it, millions of voices took up the +chant, and from far away, note by note, mighty organs and silver +trumpets told its melody. + +His brain reeled. In the ocean of those unimagined harmonies it was +tossed like a straw upon a swirling river, tossed and overwhelmed. + +Slowly, very slowly, as the straw might be sucked into the heart of a +whirlpool, his soul was drawn down into blackness. It shuddered, it +was afraid; this vision of a whirlpool haunted him. He could see the +narrow funnel of its waters, smooth, shining like jet, unspecked by +foam, solid to all appearances; but, as he was aware, alive, every +atom of them, instinct with some frightful energy, the very face of +force--and in the teeth of it, less than a dead leaf, himself. + +Down he went, down, and still above him shone the beautiful, pitying, +changeless eyes; and still round him echoed that strange, searching +music. The eyes receded, the music became faint, and then--blackness. + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + DREAMS AND THE SLEEP + +The Christmas Day which followed this strange night proved the +happiest that Morris could ever remember to have spent since his +childhood. In his worldly circumstances of course he was oppressed by +none of the everyday worries which at this season are the lot of most +--no duns came to trouble him, nor through lack of means was he forced +to turn any beggar from his door. Also the baby was much better, and +Mary's spirits were consequently radiant. Never, indeed, had she been +more lovely and charming than when that morning she presented him with +a splendid gold chronometer to take the place of the old silver watch +which was his mother's as a girl, and that he had worn all his life. +Secretly he sorrowed over parting with that familiar companion in +favour of its new eighty-guinea rival, although it was true that it +always lost ten minutes a day, and sometimes stopped altogether. But +there was no help for it; so he kissed Mary and was grateful. + +Moreover, the day was beautiful. In the morning they walked to church +through the Abbey plantations, which run for nearly half a mile along +the edge of the cliff. The rime lay thick upon the pines and firs-- +every little needle had its separate coat of white whereon the sun's +rays glistened. The quiet sea, too, shone like some gigantic emerald, +and in the sweet stillness the song of a robin perched upon the +bending bough of a young poplar sounded pure and clear. + +Yet it was not this calm and plenty, this glittering ocean flecked +with white sails, and barred by delicate lines of smoke, this blue and +happy sky, nor all the other good things that were given to him in +such abundance, which steeped his heart in Sabbath rest. Although he +sought no inspiration from such drugs, and, indeed, was a stranger to +them, rather was his joy the joy of the opium-eater while the poison +works; the joy of him who after suffering long nights of pain has +found their antidote, and perhaps for the first time appreciates the +worth of peace, however empty. His troubled heart had ceased its +striving, his wrecked nerves were still, his questionings had been +answered, his ends were attained; he had drunk of the divine cup which +he desired, and its wine flowed through him. The dead had visited him, +and he had tasted of the delight which lies hid in death. On that day +he felt as though nothing could hurt him any more, nothing could even +move him. The angry voices, the wars, the struggles, the questionings +--all the things which torment mankind; what did they matter? He had +forced the lock and broken the bar; if only for a little while, the +door had opened, and he had seen that which he desired to see and +sought with all his soul, and with the wondrous harvest of this pure, +inhuman passion, that owes nothing to sex, or time, or earth, he was +satisfied at last. + +"Why did you look so strange in church?" asked Mary as they walked +home, and her voice echoed in the spaces of his void mind as words +echo in an empty hall. + +His thoughts were wandering far, and with difficulty he drew them +back, as birds tied by the foot are drawn back and, still fluttering +to be free, brought home to the familiar cage. + +"Strange, dear?" he answered; "did I look strange?" + +"Yes; like a man in a dream or the face of a saint being comfortably +martyred in a picture. Morris, I believe that you are not well. I will +speak to the doctor. He must give you a tonic, or something for your +liver. Really, to see you and that old mummy Mr. Fregelius staring at +each other while he murmured away about the delights of the world to +come, and how happy we ought to be at the thought of getting there, +made me quite uncomfortable." + +"Why? Why, dear?" asked Morris, vacantly. + +"Why? Because the old man with his pale face and big eyes looked more +like an astral body than a healthy human being; if I met him in his +surplice at night, I should think he was a ghost, and upon my word, +you are catching the same expression. That comes of your being so much +together. Do be a little more human and healthy. Lose your temper; +swear at the cook like your father; admire Jane Rose's pretty bonnet, +or her pretty face; take to horse-racing, do anything that is natural, +even if it is wicked. Anything that doesn't make one think of graves, +and stars, and infinities, and souls who died last night; of all of +which no doubt we shall have plenty in due season." + +"All right, dear," answered Morris, with a fine access of forced +cheerfulness, "we will have some champagne for dinner and play picquet +after it." + +"Champagne! What's the use of champagne when you only pretend to drink +it and fill up the glass with soda-water? Picquet! You hate it, and so +do I; and it is silly losing large sums of money to each other which +we never mean to pay. That isn't the real thing, there's no life in +that. Oh, Morris, if you love me, do cultivate some human error. It is +terrible to have a husband in whom there is nothing to reform." + +"I will try, love," said Morris, earnestly. + +"Yes," she replied, with a gloomy shake of the head, "but you won't +succeed. When Mrs. Roberts told me the other day that she was afraid +her husband was taking to drink because he went out walking too often +with that pretty widow from North Cove--the one with the black and +gold bonnet whom they say things about--I answered that I quite envied +her, and she didn't in the least understand what I meant. But I +understand, although I can't express myself." + +"I give up the drink," said Morris; "it disagrees; but perhaps you +might introduce me to the widow. She seems rather attractive." + +"I will," answered Mary, stamping her foot. "She's a horrid, vulgar +little thing; but I'll ask her to tea, or to stay, and anything, if +she can only make you look rather less disembodied." + +That night the champagne appeared, and, feeling his wife's eyes upon +him, Morris swallowed two whole glasses, and in consequence was quite +cheerful, for he had eaten little--circumstances under which champagne +exhilarates--for a little while. Then they went into the drawing-room +and talked themselves into silence about nothing in particular, after +which Morris began to wander round the room and contemplate the +furniture as though he had never seen it before. + +"What are you fidgeting about?" asked Mary. "Morris, you remind me of +somebody who wants to slip away to an assignation, which in your case +is absurd. I wish your father were back, I really do; I should be glad +to listen to his worst and longest story. It isn't often that I sit +with you, so it would be kinder if you didn't look so bored. I'm +cross; I'm going to bed. I hope you will spend a pleasant night in the +chapel with your thoughts and your instruments and the ghosts of the +old Abbots. But please come into my room quietly; I don't like being +woke up after three in the morning, as I was yesterday." And she went, +slamming the door behind her. + +Morris went also with hanging head and guilty step to his accustomed +haunt in the old chapel. He knew that he was doing wrong; he could +sympathise with Mary's indignation. Yet he was unable to resist, he +must see again, must drink once more of that heavenly cup. + +And he failed. Was it the champagne? Was it Mary's sharp words which +had ruffled him? Was it that he had not allowed enough time for the +energy which came from him enabling her to appear before his mortal +eyes, to gather afresh in the life-springs of his own nature? Or was +she also angry with him? + +At least he failed. The waves came indeed, and the cold wind blew, but +there was no sound of music, and no vision. Again and again he strove +to call it up--to fancy that he saw. It was useless, and at last, +weary, broken, but filled with a mad irritation such as might be felt +by a hungry man who sees food which he cannot touch, or by a jealous +lover who beholds her that should have been his bride take another +husband before his eyes, he crept away to such rest as he could win. + +He awoke, ill, wretched, and unsatisfied, but wisdom had come to him +with sleep. He must not fail again, it was too wearing; he must +prepare himself according to the rules which he had laid down. Also he +must conciliate his wife, so that she did not speak angrily to him, +and thus disturb his calm of mind. Broken waters mirror nothing; if +his soul was to be the glass in which that beloved spirit might +appear, it must be still and undisturbed. If? Then was she built up in +his imagination, or did he really see her with his eyes? He could not +tell, and after all it mattered little so long as he did see her. + +He grew cunning--in such circumstances a common symptom--affecting a +"bonhomie," a joviality of demeanour, indeed, which was rather +overdone. He suggested that Mary should ask some people to tea, and +twice he went out shooting, a sport which he had almost abandoned. +Only when she wanted to invite certain guests to stay, he demurred a +little, on account of the baby, but so cleverly that she never +suspected him of being insincere. In short, as he could attain his +unholy end in no other way, Morris entered on a career of mild +deception, designed to prevent his wife from suspecting him of she +knew not what. His conduct was that of a man engaged in an intrigue. +In his case, however, the possible end of his ill-doing was not the +divorce-court, but an asylum, or so some observers would have +anticipated. Yet did man ever adore a mistress so fatal and destroying +as this poor shadow of the dead which he desired? + +It was not until New Year's Eve that Stella came again. Once more +enervated and exhausted by the waves, Morris sank into a doze whence, +as before, he was awakened by the sound of heavenly music to which, on +this night, was added the scent of perfume. Then he opened his eyes-- +to behold Stella. As she had been at first, so she was now, only more +lovely--a hundred times lovelier than the imagination can paint, or +the pen can tell. Here was nothing pale or deathlike, no sheeted, +melancholy spectre, but a radiant being whose garment was the light, +and whose eyes glowed like the heart of some deep jewel. About her +rolled a vision of many colours, such hues as the rainbow has fell +upon her face and about her hair. And yet it was the same Stella that +he had known made perfect and spiritual and, beyond all imagining, +divine. + +Once more he addressed--implored her, and once more no answer came; +nor did her face change, or that wondrous smile pass from her lips +into the gravity of her eyes. This, at least, was sure; either that +she no longer had any understanding knowledge of his earthly tongue, +or that its demonstration was to her a thing forbidden. What was she +then? That double of the body which the Egyptians called the /Ka/, or +the soul itself, the {preuma}, no eidolon, but the immortal /ego/, +clothed in human semblance made divine? + +Why was there no answer? Because his speech was too gross for her to +hearken to? Why did she not speak? Because his ears were deaf? Was +this an illusion? No! a thousand times. When he approached she +vanished, but what of it? He was mortal, she a spirit; they might not +mix. + +Yet in her own method she did speak, spoke to his soul, bidding the +scales fall from its eyes so that it might see. And it saw what human +imagination could not fashion. Behold those gardens, those groves that +hang upon the measureless mountain face, and the white flowers which +droop in tresses from the dark bough of yonder towering poplar tree, +and the jewelled serpent nestling at its root. + +Oh! they are gone, and when the flame-eyed Figure smote, the vast, +barring, precipices fall apart and the road is smooth and open. + +How far? A million miles? No, twenty thousand millions. Look, yonder +shines the destined Star; now come! So, it is reached. Nay, do not +stop to stare. Look again! out through utter space to where the low +light glows. So, come once more. The suns float past like windblown +golden dust--like the countless lamps of boats upon the bosom of a +summer sea. There, beneath, lies the very home of Power. Those +springing sparks of light? They are the ineffable Decrees passing +outward through infinity. That sound? It is the voice of worlds which +worship. + +Look now! Out yonder see the flaming gases gather and cohere. They +burn out and the great globe blackens. Cool mists wrap it, rains fall, +seas collect, continents arise. There is life, behold it, various and +infinite. And hearken to the whisper of this great universe, one tiny +note in that song of praise you heard but now. Yes, the life dies, the +ball grows black again; it is the carcase of a world. How long have +you watched it? For an hour, a breath; but, as you judge time, some +ten thousand million years. Sleep now, you are weary; later you shall +understand. + +Thus the wraith of Stella spoke to his soul in visions. Presently, +with drumming ears and eyes before which strange lights seemed to +play, Morris staggered from the place, so weak, indeed, that he could +scarcely thrust one foot before the other. Yet his heart was filled +with a mad joy, and his brain was drunken with the deep cup of a +delight and a knowledge that have seldom been given to man. + +On other nights the visions were different. Thus he saw the spirits of +men going out and returning, and among them his own slumbering spirit +that a vast and shadowy Stella bore in her arms as a mother bears a +babe. + +He saw also the Vision of Numbers. All the infinite inhabitants of all +the infinite worlds passed before him, marching through the ages to +some end unknown. Once, too, his mind was opened, and he understood +the explanation of Evil and the Reason of Things. He shouted at their +glorious simplicity--shouted for joy; but lo! before he rose from his +chair they were forgotten. + +Other visions there were without count. Also they would mix and fall +into new patterns, like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. There was +no end to them, and each was lovelier, or grander, or fraught with a +more sweet entrancement, than the last. And still she who brought +them, she who opened his eyes, who caused his ears to hear and his +soul to see; she whom he worshipped; his heart's twin, she who had +sworn herself to him on earth, and was there waiting to fulfil the +oath to all eternity; the woman who had become a spirit, that spirit +that had taken the shape of a woman--there she stood and smiled and +changed, and yet was changeless. And oh! what did it matter if his +life was draining from him, and oh! to die at those glittering feet, +with that perfumed breath stirring in his hair! What did he seek more +when Death would be the great immortal waking, when from twilight he +passed out to light? What more when in that dawn, awful yet smiling, +she should be his and he hers, and they twain would be one, with +thought that answered thought, since it was the same thought? + + + +There is much that might be told--enough to fill many pages. It would +be easy, for instance, to set out long lists of the entrancing dreams +which were the soul speech of the spirit of Stella, and to some +extent, to picture them. Also the progress of the possession of Morris +might be described and the student of his history shown, step by step, +how the consummation that in her life days Stella had feared, overtook +him; how "the thing got the mastery of him," and he became "unfitted +for his work on earth!" How, too, his body wasted and his spiritual +part developed, till every physical sight and deed became a cause of +irritation to his new nature, and at times even a source of active +suffering. + +Thus an evil odour, the spectacle of pain, the cry of grief, the sight +of the carcases of dead animals, to take a few examples out of very +many, were agonies to his abnormal, exasperated nerves. Nor did it +stop there, since the misfortune which threatened Stella when at +length she had succeeded in becoming bodily conscious of the presence +of the eidolon of her sister, and "heard discords among the harmonies" +of the rich music of her violin, overtook him also. + +Thus, for instance, in the scent of the sweetest rose at times Morris +would discover something frightful; even the guise of tender childhood +ceased to be lovely in his eyes, for now he could see and feel the +budding human brute beneath. Worse still, his beautiful companion, +Mary, fair and gracious as she was, became almost repulsive to him, so +that he shrank from her as in common life some delicate-nurtured man +might shrink from a full-bodied, coarse-tongued young fishwife. Even +her daily need of food, which was healthy though not excessive, +disgusted him to witness,--he who was out of touch with all wholesome +appetites of earth, whose distorted nature sought an alien rest and +solace. + +Of Mary herself, also, it might be narrated how, after first mocking +at the thought and next thrusting it away, by degrees she grew to +appreciate the reality of the mysterious foreign influence which +reigned in her home. It might be told how in that spiritual +atmosphere, shedding its sleepy indolence, her own spirit awoke and +grew conscious and far-seeing, till impressions and hints which in the +old days she would have set aside as idle, became for her pregnant +with light and meaning. Then at last her eyes were opened, and +understanding much and guessing more she began to watch. The attitude +of the Colonel also could be studied, and how he grew first +suspicious, then sarcastic, and at last thoroughly alarmed, even to +his ultimate evacuation of the Abbey House, detailed at length. + +But to the chronicler of these doings and of their unusual issues at +any rate, it appears best to resist a natural temptation; to deny the +desire to paint such closing scenes in petto. Much more does this +certainty hold of their explanation. Enough has been said to enable +those in whom the spark of understanding may burn, to discover by its +light how much is left unsaid. Enough has been hinted at to teach how +much there is still to guess. At least few will deny that some things +are best abandoned to the imagination. To attempt to drag the last +veil from the face of Truth in any of her thousand shapes is surely a +folly predoomed to failure. From the beginning she has been a veiled +divinity, and veiled, however thinly, she must and will remain. Also, +even were it possible thus to rob her, would not her bared eyes +frighten us? + + + +It was late, very late, and there, pale and haggard in the low light +of the fire, once again Morris stood pleading with the radiant image +which his heart revealed. + +"Oh, speak! speak!" he moaned aloud. "I weary of those pictures. They +are too vast; they crush me. I grow weak. I have no strength left to +fight against the power of this fearful life that is discovered. I +cannot bear this calm everlasting life. It sucks out my mortality as +mists are sucked up by the sun. Become human. Speak. Let me touch your +hand. Or be angry. Only cease smiling that awful smile, and take those +solemn eyes out of my heart. Oh, my darling, my darling! remember that +I am still a man. In pity answer me before I die." + + + +Then a low and awful cry, and Morris turned to behold Mary his wife. +At last she had seen and heard, and read his naked heart. At last she +knew him--mad, and in his madness, most unfaithful--a man who loved +one dead and dragged her down to earth for company. + +Look! there in his charmed and secret sight stood the spirit, and +there, over against her, the mortal woman, and he--wavering--he lost +between the two. + + + +Certainly he had been sick a long while, since the sun-ray touched the +face of the old abbot carved in that corner of the room to support the +hammer beam. This, as he had known from a child, only chanced at mid- +summer. Mary was bending over him, but he was astonished to find that +he could sit up and move. Surely, then, his mind must have been more +ill than his body. + +"Hush!" she said, "drink this, dear, and go to sleep." + +It was a week after, and Morris had told her all, the kind and gentle +wife who was so good to him, who understood and could even smile as he +explained, in faltering, shame-heavy words. And he had sworn for her +sake and his children's sake, that he would put away this awful +traffic, and seek such fellowship no more. + +Nor for six months did he seek it; not till the winter returned. Then, +when his body was strong again, the ravening hunger of his soul +overcame him, and, lest he should go mad or die of longing, Morris +broke his oath--as she was sure he would. + + + +One night Mary missed her husband from her side, and creeping down in +the grey of the morning, she found him sitting in his chair in the +chapel workshop, smiling strangely, but cold and dead. Then her heart +seemed to break, for she loved him. Yet, remembering her promises, and +the dust whereof he was made, and the fate to which he had been +appointed, she forgave him all. + +The search renewed, or the fruit of some fresh discovery--what he +sought or what he saw, who knows?--had killed him. + +Or perhaps Stella had seemed to speak at last and the word he heard +her say was /Come!/ + + + +This, then, is the end of the story of Stella Fregelius upon earth, +and this the writing on a leaf torn from the book of three human +destinies. Remember, only one leaf. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stella Fregelius, by H. 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