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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6517-h.zip b/6517-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c291e52 --- /dev/null +++ b/6517-h.zip diff --git a/6517-h/6517-h.htm b/6517-h/6517-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2523bd --- /dev/null +++ b/6517-h/6517-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7393 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Grey Lady</title> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Lady, by Henry Seton Merriman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + +Title: The Grey Lady + +Author: Henry Seton Merriman + +Posting Date: September 13, 2014 [EBook #6517] +Release Date: September, 2005 +First Posted: December 25, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY LADY *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + + +</pre> + +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Grey Lady, by Henry Seton Merriman</a> +</h2> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE GREY LADY<br />BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN.</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p> “<i>The dog that snapt the shadow, +dropt the bone</i>.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>CONTENTS</p> +<p>BOOK THE FIRST</p> +<p>I. TWO IN THE FIELD.<br />II. +A MAN DOWN.<br />III. A SEA DOG.<br />IV. + PURGATORIO.<br />V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE.<br />VI. + AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE.<br />VII. + IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE.<br />VIII. THE DEAL.<br />IX. + CUT FOR PARTNERS.<br />X. THE GAME +OPENS.<br />XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA.<br />XII. + A SHUFFLE.<br />XIII. A CHOICE.<br />XIV. + A QUATRE.<br />XV. DON QUIXOTE.<br />XVI. + BROKEN.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>BOOK THE SECOND</p> +<p>I. BITS OF LIFE.<br />II. +A COMPACT.<br />III. BAFFLED.<br />IV. +FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER.<br />V. THE TEAR ON THE +SWORD.<br />VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY.<br />VII. + A VOYAGE.<br />VIII. A GREAT FIGHT.<br />IX. + THE EDITOR’S ROOM.<br />X. +THE CURTAIN LOWERS.<br />XI. “MILKSOP”.<br />XII. + THE END OF THE “CROONAH.”<br />XIII. +AT D’ERRAHA AGAIN.<br />XIV. THE COUNT’S STORY.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>BOOK THE FIRST.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I. TWO IN THE FIELD.</h3> +<p> <i>Qui n’accepte pas le regret +n’accepte pas la vie</i>.</p> +<p>The train technically known as the “Flying Dutchman,” +tearing through the plains of Taunton, and in a first-class carriage +by themselves, facing each other, two boys.</p> +<p>One of these boys remembers the moment to this day. A journey +accomplished with Care for a travelling companion usually adheres to +the wheels of memory until those wheels are still. Grim Care was +with these boys in the railway carriage. A great catastrophe had +come to them. A FitzHenry had failed to pass into her Majesty’s +Navy. Back and back through the generations--back to the days +when England had no navy--she had always been served at sea by a FitzHenry. +Moreover, there had always been a Henry of that name on the books. +Henry, the son of Henry, had, as a matter of course, gone down to the +sea in a ship, had done his country’s business in the great waters.</p> +<p>There was, if they could have looked at it from a racial point of +view, one small grain of consolation. The record was not even +now snapped--for Henry had succeeded, Luke it was who had failed.</p> +<p>Henry sat with his back to the engine, looking out over the flat +meadow-land, with some moisture remarkably like a tear in either eye. +The eyes were blue, deep, and dark like the eastern horizon when the +sun is setting over the sea. The face was brown, and oval, and +still. It looked like a face that belonged to a race, something +that had been handed down with the inherent love of blue water. +It is probable that many centuries ago, a man with features such as +these, with eyes such as these, and crisp, closely curling hair, had +leaped ashore from his open Viking boat, shouting defiance to the Briton.</p> +<p>This son of countless Henrys sat and thought the world was hollow, +with no joy in it, and no hope, because Luke had failed.</p> +<p>We are told that there shall be two in the field, that the one shall +be taken and the other left. But we have yet to learn why, in +our limited vision, the choice seems invariably to be mistaken. +We have yet to learn why he who is doing good work is called from the +field, leaving there the man whose tastes are urban.</p> +<p>Except for the sake of the record--and we cannot really be expected +in these busy times to live for generations past or yet unborn--except +for the record it would have been more expedient that Henry should fail +and Luke succeed. Everybody knew this. It was the common +talk on board the <i>Britannia</i>. Even the examiners knew it. +Luke himself was aware of it. But there had always been a fatality +about Luke.</p> +<p>And now, when it was quite apparent that Luke was a sailor and nothing +else, the Navy would have none of him. Those who knew him--his +kindly old captain and others--averred that, with a strict and unquestionable +discipline, Luke FitzHenry could be made a first-class officer and a +brilliant sailor. No one quite understood him, not even his brother +Henry, usually known as Fitz. Fitz did not understand him now; +he had not understood him since the fatal notice had been posted on +the broad mainmast, of which some may wot. He did not know what +to say, so, like the wise old Duke, he said nothing.</p> +<p>In the meantime the train raced on. Every moment brought them +nearer to London and to the Honourable Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>Fitz seemed to be realising this, for he glanced uneasily at his +brother, whose morose, sullen face was turned resolutely towards the +window.</p> +<p>“She’ll be a fool,” he said, “if she does +not give you another chance.”</p> +<p>“I would not take it,” answered Luke mechanically.</p> +<p>He was darker than his brother, with a longer chin and a peculiar +twist of the lips. His eyes were lighter in colour, and rather +too close together. A keen observer would have put him down as +a boy who in manhood might go wrong. The strange thing was that +no one could have hesitated for a moment in selecting Luke as the cleverer +of the two.</p> +<p>Fitz paused. He was not so quick with his tongue as with his +limbs. He knew his brother well enough to foresee the effect of +failure. Luke FitzHenry was destined to be one of those unfortunate +men who fail ungracefully.</p> +<p>“Do not decide in too great a hurry,” said Fitz at length, +rather lamely. “Don’t be a fool!”</p> +<p>“No, it has been decided for me by my beastly bad luck.”</p> +<p>“It <i>was</i> bad luck--deuced bad luck.”</p> +<p>They had bought a packet of cigarettes at Exeter, but that outward +sign of manhood lay untouched on the seat beside Fitz. It almost +seemed as if manhood had come to them both in a more serious form than +a swaggering indulgence in tobacco.</p> +<p>The boys were obviously brothers, but not aggressively twins. +For Luke was darker than Fitz, and somewhat shorter in stature.</p> +<p>It is probable that neither of them had ever seriously contemplated +the possibility of failure for one and not for the other. Neither +had ever looked onward, as it were, into life to see himself there without +the other. The life that they both anticipated was that life on +the ocean wave, of which home-keeping poets sing so eloquently; and +it had always been vaguely taken for granted that no great difference +in rank or success could sever them. Fitz was too simple-minded, +too honest to himself, to look for great honours in his country’s +service. He mistrusted himself. Luke mistrusted Providence.</p> +<p>Such was the difference between these two boys--the thin end of +a wedge of years which, spreading out in after days, turned each life +into a path of its own, sending each man inexorably on his separate +way.</p> +<p>These two boys were almost alone in the world. Their mother +had died in giving them birth. Their father, an old man when he +married, reached his allotted span when his sons first donned Her Majesty’s +brass buttons, and quietly went to keep his watch below. Discipline +had been his guiding star through life, and when Death called him he +obeyed without a murmur, trusting confidently to the Naval Department +in the first place, and the good God in the second, to look after his +boys.</p> +<p>That the late Admiral FitzHenry had sorely misplaced his confidence +in the first instance was a fact which the two boys were now called +upon to face alone in their youthful ignorance of the world. Fitz +was uneasily conscious of a feeling of helplessness, as if some all-powerful +protector had suddenly been withdrawn. Their two lives had been +pre-committed to the parental care of their country, and now it almost +took their breath away to realise that Luke had no such protector.</p> +<p>His was the pride that depreciates self. During the last twenty-four +hours Fitz had heard him boast of his failure, holding it up with a +singularly triumphant sneer, as if he had always distrusted his destiny +and took a certain pleasure in verifying his own prognostications. +There are some men who find a satisfaction in bad luck which good fortune +could never afford them.</p> +<p>In a large house in Grosvenor Gardens two ladies were at that same +moment speaking of the FitzHenrys. It was quite easy to see that +the smaller lady of the two was the mistress of the house, as also of +that vague abstract called the situation. She sat in the most +comfortable chair, which was, by the way, considerably too spacious +for her, and there was a certain aggressive sense of possession about +her attitude and manner.</p> +<p>Had she been a man, one would have said at once that here was a <i>nouveau +riche</i>, ever heedful of the fact that the big room and all the appurtenances +thereof were the fruits of toil and perseverance. There was a +distinct suggestion of self-manufacture about Mrs. Harrington--distinct, +that is to say, to the more subtle-minded. For she was not vulgar, +neither did she boast. But the expression of her keen and somewhat +worldly countenance betokened the intention of holding her own.</p> +<p>The Honourable Mrs. Harrington was not only beautifully dressed, +but knew how to wear her clothes <i>en grande dame</i>.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she was saying, “Luke has failed to pass +off the <i>Britannia</i>. It is a rare occurrence. I suppose +the boy is a fool.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington was rather addicted to the practice of calling other +people names. If the butler made a mistake she dubbed him an idiot +at once. She did not actually call her present companion, Mrs. +Ingham-Baker, a fool, possibly because she considered the fact too apparent +to require note.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, smoothed out the piece of +silken needlework with which she moved through life, and glanced at +her companion. She wanted to say the right thing. And Mrs. +Harrington was what the French call “difficult.” One +could never tell what the right thing might be. The art of saying +it is, moreover, like an ear for music, it is not to be acquired. +And Mrs. Ingham-Baker had not been gifted thus.</p> +<p>“And yet,” she said, “their father was a clever +man--as I have been told.”</p> +<p>“By whom?” inquired Mrs. Harrington blandly.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker paused in distress.</p> +<p>“I wonder who it was,” she pretended to reflect.</p> +<p>“So do I,” snapped Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s imagination was a somewhat ponderous affair, +and, when she trusted to it, it usually ran her violently down a steep +place. She concluded to say nothing more about the late Admiral +FitzHenry.</p> +<p>“The boy,” said Mrs. Harrington, returning to the hapless +Luke, “has had every advantage. I suppose he will try to +explain matters when he comes. I could explain it in one word +- stupidity.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker nervously, “the +brains have all gone to the other brother, Henry. It is sometimes +so with twins.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington laughed rather derisively.</p> +<p>“Stupid woman to have twins,” she muttered.</p> +<p>This was apparently one of several grievances against the late Mrs. +FitzHenry.</p> +<p>“They have a little money of their own, have they not?” +inquired Mrs. Ingham-Baker, with the soft blandness of one for whom +money has absolutely no attraction.</p> +<p>“About enough to pay their washerwoman.”</p> +<p>There was a pause, and then Mrs. Ingham-Baker heaved a little sigh.</p> +<p>“I am sure, dear,” she said, “that in some way +you will be rewarded for your great kindness to these poor orphan boys.”</p> +<p>She shook her head wisely, as if reflecting over the numerous cases +of rewarded virtue which had come under her notice, and the action made +two jet ornaments in her cap wobble, in a ludicrous manner, from side +to side.</p> +<p>“That may be,” admitted the lady of the house, “though +I wish I felt as sure about it as you do.”</p> +<p>“But then,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, in a low and +feeling tone, “you always were the soul of generosity.”</p> +<p>The “soul of generosity” gave an exceedingly wise little +smile--almost as if she knew better--and looked up sharply towards +the door. At the same moment the butler appeared.</p> +<p>“Mr. Pawson, ma’am,” he said.</p> +<p>The little nod with which this information was received seemed to +indicate that Mr. Pawson had been expected.</p> +<p>Beneath her black curls Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s beady eyes were +very much on the alert.</p> +<p>“In the library, James,” said Mrs. Harrington--and the +two jet ornaments bending over the silken needlework gave a little throb +of disappointment.</p> +<p>“Mr. Pawson,” announced the lady of the house, “is +the legal light who casts a shadow of obscurity over my affairs.”</p> +<p>And with that she left the room.</p> +<p>As soon as the door was closed Mrs. Ingham-Baker was on her feet. +She crossed the room to where her hostess’s key-basket and other +belongings stood upon a table near the window. She stood looking +eagerly at these without touching them. She even stooped down +to examine the address of an envelope.</p> +<p>“Mr. Pawson!” she said, in a breathless whisper. +“Mr. Pawson--what does that mean? Can she be going +to alter her--no! But--yes, it may be! Perhaps Susan knows.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker then rang the bell twice, and resumed her seat.</p> +<p>Presently an aged servant came into the room. It was easy to +see at a glance that she was a very old woman, but the years seemed +to weigh less on her mind than on her body.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said composedly.</p> +<p>“Oh--eh, Susan,” began Mrs. Ingham-Baker almost cringingly. +“I rang because I wanted to know if a parcel has come for me--a +parcel of floss-silk--from that shop in Buckingham Palace Road, you +know.”</p> +<p>“If it had come,” replied Susan, with withering composure, +“it would have been sent up to you.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, of course I know that, Susan. But I thought +that perhaps it might have been insufficiently addressed or something +- that you or Mary might have thought that it was for Mrs. Harrington.”</p> +<p>“She don’t use floss silks,” replied the imperturbable +Susan.</p> +<p>“I was just going to ask her about it, when she was called +away by some one. I think she said that it was her lawyer.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Mr. Pawson.”</p> +<p>Susan’s manner implied--very subtly and gently--that her +place in this pleasant house was more assured than that of Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +and perhaps that stout diplomatist awoke to this implication, for she +pulled herself up with considerable dignity.</p> +<p>“I hope that nothing is wrong,” she said, in a tone that +was intended to disclaim all intention of discussing such matters with +a menial. “I should be sorry if Mrs. Harrington was drawn +into any legal difficulty; the law is so complicated.”</p> +<p>Susan was engaged in looking for a speck of dust on the mantelpiece, +not for its own intrinsic value, but for the sake of Mary’s future. +She had apparently no observation of value to offer upon the vexed subject +of the law.</p> +<p>“I was rather afraid,” pursued Mrs. Ingham-Baker gravely, +“that Mrs. Harrington might be unduly incensed against that poor +boy, Luke FitzHenry; that in a moment of disappointment, you know, she +might be making some--well, some alteration in her will to the detriment +of the boy.”</p> +<p>Susan stood for a moment in front of the lady, with a strange little +smile of amusement among the wrinkles of her face.</p> +<p>“Yes, that may be,” she said, and quietly left the room.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II. A MAN DOWN.</h3> +<p><i> Caress the favourites, avoid the +unfortunate, and trust nobody</i>.</p> +<p>The atmosphere of Mrs. Harrington’s drawing-room seemed to +absorb the new-found manhood of the two boys, for they came forward +shyly, overawed by the consciousness of their own boots, by the conviction +that they carried with them the odour of cigarette smoke and failure.</p> +<p>“Well, my dears,” said the Honourable Mrs. Harrington, +suddenly softened despite herself by the sight of their brown young +faces. “Well, come here and kiss me.”</p> +<p>All the while she was vaguely conscious that she was surprising herself +and others. She had not intended to treat them thus. Mrs. +Harrington was a woman who had a theory of life--not a theory to talk +about, but to act upon. Her theory was that “heart” +is all nonsense. She looked upon existence here below as a series +of contracts entered into with one’s neighbour for purposes of +mutual enjoyment or advantage. She thought that life could be +put down in black and white. Which was a mistake. She had +gone through fifty years of it without discovering that for the sake +of some memory--possibly a girlish one--hidden away behind her cold +grey eyes, she could never be sure of herself in dealing with man or +boy whose being bore the impress of the sea.</p> +<p>The strange thing was that she had never found it out. We speak +pityingly of animals that do not know their own strength. Which +of us knows his own weakness? There was a man connected with Mrs. +Harrington’s life, one of the contractors in black and white, +who had found out this effect of a brown face and a blue coat upon a +woman otherwise immovable. This man, Cipriani de Lloseta, who +contemplated life, as it were, from a quiet corner of the dress circle, +kept his knowledge for his own use.</p> +<p>Fitz and Luke obeyed her invitation without much enthusiasm. +They were boyish enough to object to kissing on principle. They +then shook hands awkwardly with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, and drifted together +again with that vague physical attraction which seems to qualify twins +for double harness on the road of life. There was trouble ahead +of them; and without defining the situation, like soldiers surprised, +they instinctively touched shoulders.</p> +<p>It was the psychological moment. There was a little pause, +during which Mrs. Harrington seemed to stiffen herself, morally and +physically. Had she not stiffened herself, had she only allowed +herself, as it were, to go--to call Luke to her and comfort him and +sympathise with him--it would have altered every life in that room, +and others outside of it. Even blundering, cringing, foolish Mrs. +Ingham-Baker would have acted more wisely, for she would have followed +the dictates of an exceedingly soft, if shallow, heart.</p> +<p>“I had hoped for a more satisfactory home-coming than this,” +said Mrs. Harrington in her hardest voice. When she spoke in this +tone there was the faintest suggestion of a London accent.</p> +<p>Fitz made a little movement, a step forward, as if she had been unconsciously +approaching the brink of some danger, and he wished to warn her. +The peculiar twist in Luke’s lips became momentarily more visible, +and he kept his deep, despondent eyes fixed on the speaker’s face.</p> +<p>There are two kinds of rich women. The one spends her money +in doing good, the other pays it away to gratify her love of power. +Of the Honourable Mrs. Harrington it was never reported that she was +lavish in her charities.</p> +<p>“I think,” she said, “that I ought to tell you +that I have been paying the expenses of your education almost entirely. +I was in no way bound to do so. I took charge of you at your father’s +death because I--because he was a true friend to me. I do not +grudge the money, but in return I expected you to work hard and get +on in your profession.”</p> +<p>She stiffened herself with a rustling sound of silk, proudly conscious +of injured virtue, full of the charity that exacteth a high interest.</p> +<p>“We did our best,” replied Fitz, with a simple intrepidity +which rather spoilt the awesomeness of the situation.</p> +<p>“I am not speaking to you,” returned the lady. +“You have worked and have passed your examination satisfactorily. +You are not clever--I know that; but you have managed to get into the +Navy, where your father was before you, and your grandfather before +him. I have no doubt you will give satisfaction to your superior +officers. I was talking to Luke.”</p> +<p>“We all knew that,” said Luke, in a dangerous voice, +which trite observation she chose to ignore.</p> +<p>“You have had equal advantages,” pursued the dispenser +of charity. “I have shown no favour; I have treated you +alike. It had been my intention to do so all your lives and after +my death.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker was so interested at this juncture that she leant +forward with parted lips, listening eagerly. The Honourable Mrs. +Harrington allowed herself the plebeian pleasure of returning the stare +with a questioning glance which broke off into a little laugh.</p> +<p>“Have you,” she continued, addressing Luke directly, +“any reason to offer for your failure--beyond the usual one of +bad luck?”</p> +<p>Luke looked at her in a lowering way and made no reply. Had +Mrs. Harrington been a poor woman, she would have recognised that the +boy was at the end of his tether. But she had always been surrounded +- as such women are--by men, and more especially by women, who would +swallow any insult, any insolence, so long as it was gilded. The +world had, in fact, accepted the Honourable Mrs. Harrington because +she could afford to gild herself.</p> +<p>“It was bad luck, and nothing else,” burst out Fitz, +heedless of her sarcastic tones. “Luke is a better sailor +than I am. But he always was weak in his astronomy, and it all +turned on astronomy.”</p> +<p>“I should imagine it all turned on stupidity,” said Mrs. +Harrington.</p> +<p>“I’m stupid, if you like,” said Fitz; “Luke +isn’t. Luke is clever; ask any chap on board!”</p> +<p>“I do not need to ask any chap on board,” said Mrs. Harrington. +“My own common sense tells me that he is clever. He has +proved it.”</p> +<p>“It’s like a woman--to hit a fellow when he’s +down,” said Luke, with his hands deep in his pockets.</p> +<p>He turned to Mrs. Ingham-Baker for sympathy in this sentiment, and +that soft-hearted lady deemed it expedient to turn hastily away, avoiding +his glance, denying all partisanship.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker was not a person given to the disguise of her own +feelings. She was plausible enough to the outer world. To +herself she was quite frank, and hardly seemed to recognise this as +the event she had most desired. It is to be presumed that her +heart was like her physical self, a large, unwieldy thing, over which +she had not a proper control. The organ mentioned had a way of +tripping her up. It tripped her now, and she quite forgot that +this quarrel was precisely what she had wanted for years. She +had looked forward to it as the turning-point in her daughter Agatha’s +fortunes.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker had, in fact, wondered more than a thousand times +why the Honourable Mrs. Harrington should do all for the FitzHenrys +and nothing for Agatha. She did not attempt to attribute reasons. +She knew her sex too well for that. She merely wondered, which +means that she cherished a question until it grew into a grievance. +The end of it she knew would be a quarrel. This might not come +until the FitzHenrys should have grown to man’s estate and man’s +privilege of quarrelling with his female relatives about the youthful +female relative of some other person. But it would come, surely. +Mrs. Ingham-Baker, the parasite, knew her victim, Mrs. Harrington, well +enough to be sure of that.</p> +<p>And now that this quarrel had arisen--much sooner than she could +have hoped--providentially brought about by an astronomical examination-paper, +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was forced to face the humiliating fact that she felt +sorry for Luke.</p> +<p>It would have been different had Agatha been present, but that ingenious +maiden was at school at Brighton. Had her daughter been in the +room, Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s motherly instinct would have narrowed +itself down to her. But in the absence of her own child, Luke’s +sorry plight appealed to that larger maternal instinct which makes good +women in unlikely places.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker was, however, one of the many who learn to curb +the impulse of a charitable intention. She looked out of the window, +and pretended not to notice that the culprit had addressed his remark +to her. To complete this convenient deafness she gave a simulated +little cough of abstraction, which entirely gave her away.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington chose to ignore Luke’s taunt.</p> +<p>“And,” she inquired sweetly, “what do you intend +to do now?”</p> +<p>Quite suddenly the boy turned on her.</p> +<p>“I intend,” he cried, “to make my own life--whatever +it may be. If I am starving I will not come to you. If half-a-crown +would save me, I would rather die than borrow it from you. You +think that you can buy everything with your cursed money. You +can’t buy me. You can’t buy a FitzHenry. You +- you can’t--”</p> +<p>He gave a little sob, remembered his new manhood--that sudden, complete +manhood which comes of sorrow--pulled himself up, and walked to the +door. He opened it, turned once and glanced at his brother, and +passed out of the room.</p> +<p>So Luke FitzHenry passed out into his life--a life which he was +to make for himself. Passionate--quick to love, to hate, to suffer; +deep in his feeling, susceptible to ridicule or sarcasm--an orphan. +The stairs were dark as he went down them.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington gave a little laugh as the door closed behind him. +She had always been able to repurchase the friendship of her friends.</p> +<p>Fitz made a few steps towards the door before her voice arrested +him. “Stop!” she cried.</p> +<p>He paused, and the old sense of discipline that was in his blood +made him obey. He thought that he would find Luke upstairs on +the bed with his face buried in his folded arms, as he had found him +a score of times during their short life.</p> +<p>“I think you are too hard on him,” he answered hotly. +“It is bad enough being ploughed, without having to stand abuse +afterwards.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” said Mrs. Harrington, “just you come +here and sit beside me. We will leave Luke to himself for a little. +It is much better. Let him think it out alone.”</p> +<p>What was there in this fair-haired boy’s demeanour, voice, +or being that appealed to Mrs. Harrington, despite her sterner self?</p> +<p>So Fitz was pacified by the lady’s gentler manner, and consented +to remain. He made good use of his time, pleading Luke’s +cause, explaining his bad fortune, and modestly disclaiming any credit +to himself for having succeeded where his brother failed. But +all the while the boy was restless, eager to get away and run upstairs +to Luke, who he felt sure was living years in every moment, as children +do in those griefs which we take upon ourselves to call childish.</p> +<p>At last he rose.</p> +<p>“May I go now?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, if you like. But do not bring Luke to me until +he is prepared to apologise for his ingratitude and rudeness.”</p> +<p>“What a dear boy he is!” ejaculated Mrs. Ingham-Baker +almost before the door was closed. “So upright and honest +and straightforward.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Harrington, with a sigh of anger.</p> +<p>“He will be a fine man,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker. +“I shall die quite happy if my Agatha marries such a man as Henry +will be.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington glanced at her voluminous friend rather critically.</p> +<p>“You do not look like dying yet,” she said.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker put her head on one side and looked resigned.</p> +<p>“One never knows,” she answered. “It is a +great responsibility, Marian, to have a daughter.”</p> +<p>“I should imagine, from what I have seen of Agatha, that the +child is quite capable of taking care of herself.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the fond mother, “she is intelligent. +But a girl is so helpless in the world, and when I am gone I should +feel happier if I knew that my child had a good husband, such as Fitz, +to take care of her.”</p> +<p>Neither of these ladies being of the modern school of feminine learning, +the vague theology underlying this remark was allowed to pass unnoticed.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington drummed with her thin wrinkled fingers on the arm +of her chair, and waited with a queer anticipatory little smile for +her friend to proceed.</p> +<p>“But, of course,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, blundering +into the little feminine snare, “a naval man can scarcely marry. +They are always so badly off. I suppose poor Fitz will not be +able to support a wife until he is quite middle-aged.”</p> +<p>“That remains to be seen,” said Mrs. Harrington, with +a gleam in her hard grey eyes, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker pricked her finger.</p> +<p>“I am sure,” said the latter lady unctuously, when she +had had time to think it out, “I am sure I should be content for +her to live very quietly if I only knew that she had married a good +man. I always say that riches do not make happiness.”</p> +<p>“Yes, a number of people say that,” answered Mrs. Harrington, +and at the same moment Fitz burst into the room.</p> +<p>“Aunt Marian,” he cried, “he has gone!”</p> +<p>“Who has gone?” asked the lady of the house coldly. +“Please close the door.”</p> +<p>“Luke! He has gone! He went straight out of the +house, and the butler does not know where he went to! It is all +your fault, Aunt Marian; you had no right to speak to him like that! +You know you hadn’t. I am going to look for him.”</p> +<p>“Now, do not get excited,” said Mrs. Harrington soothingly. +“Just come here and listen to me. Luke has behaved very +badly. He has been idle and stubborn on board the <i>Britannia</i>. +He has been rude and ungrateful to me.”</p> +<p>She found she had taken the boy’s hand, and she dropped it +suddenly, as if ashamed of showing so much emotion.</p> +<p>“I am not going to have my house upset by the tantrums of a +bad-tempered boy. It is nearly dinner time. Luke is sure +to come back. If he is not back by the time we have finished dinner +I will send one of the men out to look for him. He is probably +sulking in some corner of the gardens.”</p> +<p>Seeing that Fitz was white with anxiety, she forgot herself so much +as to draw him to her again.</p> +<p>“Now, Fitz,” she said, “you must obey me and leave +me to manage Luke in my own way. I know best. Just go and +dress for dinner. Luke will come back--never fear.”</p> +<p>But Luke did not come back.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III. A SEA DOG.</h3> +<p><i> There is one that slippeth in his +speech, but not from his heart.</i></p> +<p>The glass door of the dining-room of the Hotel of the Four Nations +at Barcelona was opened softly, almost nervously, by a shock-headed +little man, who peered into the room.</p> +<p>One of the waiters stepped forward and drew out a chair.</p> +<p>“Thank ye--thank ye,” said the new-comer, in a thick +though pleasant voice.</p> +<p>He looked around, rather bewildered--as if he had never seen a <i>table +d’hôte</i> before. It almost appeared as if a doubt +existed in his mind whether or not he was expected to go and shake hands +with some one present, explaining who he was.</p> +<p>As, however, no one appeared to invite this confidence he took the +chair offered and sat gravely down.</p> +<p>The waiter laid the menu at his side, and the elderly diner, whose +face and person bespoke a seafaring life, gazed politely at it. +He was obviously desirous of avoiding hurting the young man’s +feelings, but the card puzzled as much as it distressed him.</p> +<p>Observing with the brightest of blue eyes the manners and customs +of his neighbours, the old sailor helped himself to a little wine from +the decanter set in front of him, and filled up the glass with water.</p> +<p>The waiter drew forward a small dish of olives and another containing +slices of red sausage of the thickness, consistency, and flavour of +a postage stamp. The Englishman looked dubiously at these delicacies +and shook his head--still obviously desirous of giving no offence. +Soup was more comprehensible, and the sailor consumed his portion with +a non-committing countenance. But the fish, which happened to +be of a Mediterranean savour--served in little lumps--caused considerable +hesitation.</p> +<p>“Is it slugs?” inquired the mariner guardedly--as if +open to conviction--in a voice that penetrated half the length of the +table.</p> +<p>The waiter explained in fluent Castilian the nature of the dish.</p> +<p>“I want to know if it’s slugs,” repeated the sailor, +with a stout simplicity.</p> +<p>One or two commercial travellers, possessing a smattering of English, +smiled openly, and an English gentleman seated at the side of the inquirer +leant gravely towards him.</p> +<p>“That is a preparation of fish,” he explained. +“You won’t find it at all bad.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, sir,” replied the old man, helping himself +with an air of relief which would have been extremely comic had it been +shorn of its pathos. “I am afraid,” he went on confidentially, +“of gettin’ slugs to eat. I’m told that they +eat them in these parts.”</p> +<p>“This,” replied the other, with stupendous gravity, “is +not the slug season. Besides, if you did get ’em, I dare +say you would be pleasantly surprised.”</p> +<p>“Maybe, maybe! Though I don’t hold by foreign ways.”</p> +<p>Such was the beginning of a passing friendship between two men who +had nothing in common except their country; for one was a peer of the +realm, travelling in Spain for the transaction of his own private affairs, +or possibly for the edification of his own private mind, and the other +was Captain John Thomas Bontnor, late of the British mercantile service.</p> +<p>Being a simple-minded person, as many seamen are, Captain Bontnor +sought to make himself agreeable.</p> +<p>“This is the first time,” he said, “that I have +set foot in Spain, though I’ve heard the language spoken, having +sailed in the Spanish Main, and down to Manilla one voyage likewise. +It is a strange-sounding language, I take it--a lot of jabbering and +not much sense.”</p> +<p>He spoke somewhat slowly, after the manner of one who had always +had a silent tongue until grey hairs came to mellow it.</p> +<p>The young man, his hearer, looked slightly distressed, as if he was +suppressing some emotion. He was rather a vacuous-looking young +man--startlingly clean as to countenance and linen. He was shaven, +and had he not been distinctly a gentleman, he might have been a groom. +He apparently had a habit of thrusting forward his chin for the purpose +of scratching it pensively with his forefinger. This elegant trick +probably indicated bewilderment, or, at all events, a slight mystification +- he had recourse to it now--on the question of the Spanish language.</p> +<p>“Well,” he answered gravely, “if you come to analyse +it, I dare say there is as much sense in it as in other languages--when +you know it, you know.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” murmured the captain, with a glowing sense of +satisfaction at his own conversational powers. He felt he was +becoming quite a society man.</p> +<p>“But,” pursued the hereditary legislator, “it’s +tricky--deuced tricky. The nastiest lot of irregular verbs I’ve +come across yet. Still, I get along all right. Worst of +it is, you know, that when I’ve got a sentence out all right with +its verbs and things, I’m not in a fit state to catch the answer.”</p> +<p>“Knocks you on to your beam-ends,” suggested Captain +Bontnor.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Lord Seahampton settled his throat more comfortably in his spotless +collar, and proceeded to help himself to a fourth mutton cutlet.</p> +<p>“Staying here long?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“No, not long,” answered Captain Bontnor slowly, as if +meditating; then suddenly he burst into his story. “You +see, sir,” he said, “I’m getting on in years, and +I’m not quite the build for foreign travel. It sort of flurries +me. I’m a bit past it. I’m not here for pleasure, +you know.”</p> +<p>This seemed to have the effect of sending Lord Seahampton off into +a brown study--not apparently of great value so far as depth of thought +was concerned. He looked as if he were wondering whether he himself +was in Barcelona for pleasure or not.</p> +<p>“No,” he murmured encouragingly,</p> +<p>“It is like this,” pursued Captain Bontnor, confidentially. +“My sister, Amelia Ann, married above her.”</p> +<p>“Very much to her credit,” said Lord Seahampton, with +a stolid face and a twinkle in his eye. “And--”</p> +<p>“Died.”</p> +<p>“Dear, dear!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” pursued the captain, “she died nineteen +years ago, leaving a little girl. He’s dead now--Mr. Challoner. +He’s my brother-in-law, but I call him Mr. Challoner, because +he’s above me.”</p> +<p>“I trust he is,” said Lord Seahampton, cheerfully, with +a glance at the painted ceiling. “I trust he is.”</p> +<p>The captain chuckled. “I mean in a social way,” +he explained. “And now he’s dead, his daughter Eve +is left quite alone in the world, and she telegraphed for me. +She is living in the Island of Majorca.”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>The kindly old blue eyes flashed round on his companion’s face.</p> +<p>“Do you know it?”</p> +<p>The peer thrust forward his chin and spoilt what small claims he +had to good looks.</p> +<p>“No; I’ve heard of it, though. I know of a wom +- a lady, who has large estates there--a Mrs. Harrington.”</p> +<p>“The Honourable Mrs. Harrington is a sort of relation of my +niece’s, Miss Challoner. I call her Miss Challoner, although +she is my niece, because she is above me.”</p> +<p>His lordship glanced at the ceiling again.</p> +<p>“I mean she is a lady. And I’m going to Majorca +to fetch her. At least, I’m trying to get there, but I cannot +somehow find out about the boat. They’re a bit irregular, +it seems, and this stupid jabbering of theirs does flurry me so. +Now, what’s this? Eh? Pudding, is it? Well, +it doesn’t look like it. No, thank ye!”</p> +<p>The poor old man was soon upset by insignificant trifles, and after +he had given way to a little burst of petulance like this, he had a +strange, half pathetic way of staring straight in front of him for a +few seconds, as if collecting himself again.</p> +<p>It happened that Lord Seahampton was a good-natured young man, with +rather a soft heart, such as many horsey persons possess. Something +in Captain Bontnor touched him; some simple British quality which he +was pleased to meet with, thus, in a foreign land.</p> +<p>“Look here,” he said, “I’ll go out with you +afterwards and find out all about the boat, take your ticket, and fix +the whole thing up.”</p> +<p>“I’m sure you’re very kind,” began the old +sailor hesitatingly. He fumbled at his necktie for a moment with +unsteady, weather-beaten hands. “But I shouldn’t like +to trespass on your time. I take it you’re here for pleasure?”</p> +<p>Lord Seahampton smiled.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m here for pleasure; that’s what I’m +in the world for.”</p> +<p>Still Captain Bontnor hesitated.</p> +<p>“You might meet some of your friends,” he began tentatively, +“in the streets, you know.” He paused and looked down +at his own hands; he turned one palm up, showing the faint tattoo on +the wrist. “I’m only a rough seafaring man,” +he went on. “They might think it strange--might wonder +whom you had picked up.”</p> +<p>The spotless collar seemed to be very uncomfortable.</p> +<p>“I’ve always made a practice,” mumbled Lord Seahampton, +rather incoherently, “of letting my friends think what they damned +well please. May I ask your name?”</p> +<p>“Bontnor’s my name. Captain Bontnor, at your service.”</p> +<p>“My name’s Seahampton.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor turned and looked at him.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m Lord Seahampton.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” ejaculated Captain Bontnor, under his breath. +His social facilities did not quite rise to an occasion like this.</p> +<p>“As soon as you’ve finished,” went on his companion +rather hurriedly, “we’ll go out and look up these steamer +people. Miss Challoner will be anxious for you to get there as +soon as you can.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes!”</p> +<p>The captain laid aside his napkin and began to show signs of getting +flurried again.</p> +<p>“Her name is Eve,” he said, in the hurried way which +was rather pathetic. “Now, I wonder what I should call her. +Poor young thing! if she’s distressed about her father’s +death--which is only natural, I’m sure--it would sound a bit +chilly like to call her Miss Challoner. What do you think, Mr. +- eh--er--Lord--sir?”</p> +<p>“Well, I think I should call her Eve--it’s a pretty +name--and take her by the hand, and--yes, I think I’d kiss her. +Especially if she was a nice-looking girl,” he added for his own +personal edification as he preceded his companion into the hall.</p> +<p>He was fumbling in the tail pocket of his short tweed coat as he +went. In the hall he turned.</p> +<p>“Got anything to smoke?” he asked, in his most abrupt +manner, as if the cut of his collar did not allow of verbosity.</p> +<p>The old man shyly produced some cigars in a leather case, which had +never been of great value, even in the far-off days of its youth.</p> +<p>“I hardly like to offer them to you,” he said slowly. +“T--they’re not expensive, and I couldn’t explain +to the young woman what I wanted.”</p> +<p>“Rather like the look of them,” said Lord Seahampton, +taking one and cutting the end off with a certain show of eagerness. +This young man’s reputation for personal bravery was a known quantity +on the hunting-field. “Old sailors,” he continued, +“generally know good tobacco.”</p> +<p>And all the while he had half-a-dozen of the best Havanas in his +pocket. Some instinct, which he was much too practical to define, +and possibly too stupid to detect, told him that this was one of those +occasions where it is much more blessed to receive than to give.</p> +<p>“And so,” continued Captain Bontnor, as they were walking +down the shady side of that noisiest street in the world, the Rambla, +“and so you would just call her Eve, if you was me?”</p> +<p>“I should.”</p> +<p>“Remember that she is a lady, you know. Quite a lady.”</p> +<p>“I am remembering that,” replied the peer stolidly; “that’s +why I am of the opinion just expressed.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor gave a little sigh of relief, as if one of his many +difficulties had been removed. At the same time he glanced furtively +towards the inexpensive cigar, which was affording distinct if somewhat +exaggerated enjoyment.</p> +<p>Together they walked down the broad street and turned along the quay. +And here Captain Bontnor found himself talking quite easily and affably +about palm-trees and tramways, and other matters of local interest, +to the first peer whom he had ever seen in the flesh.</p> +<p>Out of sheer good nature, and with a vague question in his mind as +to whether Miss Challoner knew what sort of help she had called in, +Lord Seahampton obtained the necessary information--no easy matter +in this country--and took the necessary ticket. Ticket and information +alike were obtained from a grave gentleman who smoked a cigarette, and +did the honours of his little office as if it had been a palace--showing +no desire to sell the ticket, and taking payment as if he were conferring +a distinct favour.</p> +<p>The steamer left that same afternoon, and Lord Seahampton sent his +<i>protégé</i> back rejoicing to the hotel to pack up. +Then the youthful peer bestowed the remainder of the cheap cigar on +an individual in reduced circumstances and lighted one of his own. +He was quite unconscious of having done a good action. Such actions +are supposed to bring their own reward, but experience suggests that +it is best not to count upon anything of a tangible nature.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV. PURGATORIO.</h3> +<p> <i>Like lutes of angels, touched so +near<br /> Hell’s confines, that +the damned can hear</i>.</p> +<p>Time: Five o’clock in the afternoon. Five o’clock, +that is to say, by the railway time. There is another time in +Barcelona--the town time, to wit--which differs from the hour of the +iron road by thirty minutes or thereabouts. But then the town +time is Spanish, that is to say that no one takes any notice of it. +For into Spanish life time comes but little. If one wishes to +catch a train--but, by the way, in Spain we do not catch, we take the +train--a subtle difference--if then we wish to take the train, we +arrive at the station three-quarters of an hour before the time indicated +for departure, and there we make our arrangements with due dignity.</p> +<p>Place: The Rambla, which for those who speak alien tongues has an +Arabic sound, and tells us that this, the finest promenade in the world, +was once a sandy river-bed. Here now the grave caballero promenades +himself from early morning to an eve that knows no dew.</p> +<p>Priest and peasant, the great lady and the gentleman who sells one +a glass of water for a centimo, brush past each other. The great +lady is dressed in black, as all Spanish ladies are, and on her head +she wears the long-lived mantilla, which will last our time and the +time of our grandsons. The humbler women-folk wear bright handkerchiefs +in place of the mantilla; in dress they affect bright colours.</p> +<p>With the sterner sex, the line of demarcation is equally distinct. +There is the man who wears the peasant’s blouse, and the man who +wears the cloak.</p> +<p>It is with one of the latter that we have to deal--a tall, grave +man, with quiet eyes and a long, pointed chin. The air is chilly, +and this promenader’s black cloak is thrown well over the shoulder, +displaying the bright-coloured lining of velvet, which is all the relief +the Spaniard allows his sombre self.</p> +<p>The caballero’s face is brown, as of one whose walk is not +always beneath the shady trees. The expression of it is chastened. +One sees the history of a country in the faces of its men. In +this there is the history of a past, it is the face of a man living +in a bygone day. He notes the interest of the moment with grave +surprise, but his life is behind him.</p> +<p>This man has the Spaniard’s thoughtful interest in a trifle. +He pauses to note the number of the sparrows, as thick as leaves upon +the trees. He carefully unfolds his cloak, gives the loose end +a little shake, and casts it skilfully over his shoulder, so that it +falls across his back, and, hanging there, displays the bright lining. +He pauses to watch the result of an infantile accident. The baby +picks itself up and brushes the dust from its diminutive frock with +all the earnestness of early youth. And the cavalier walks on.</p> +<p>All this with a contemplative grandeur of demeanour worthy of larger +if not better things.</p> +<p>In the roadway at the side of the broad promenade a carriage and +pair followed this gentleman--carriage and horses which were beautiful +even in this land of horses. For this was Cipriani de Lloseta +de Mallorca, a great man in Barcelona, if he wished it, a greater in +his own little island of Majorca, whether he wished it or not.</p> +<p>Leading out of this same fascinating Rambla, to the left, up towards +the impenetrable fortress of Juich--impenetrable excepting once, and +then it was the pestilent Englishman, as usual--leading then to the +left is the Calle de la Paz. In the Street of the Peace there +is a house, on the left hand also, into the door of which one could +not only drive a coach and four, but eke a load of straw. Moreover, +the driver could go to sleep and leave it to the horses, for there is +plenty of space. This is the Casa Lloseta, the town residence +since time immemorial of the family of that name. There are servants +at the door, there are servants on the broad marble staircase, there +are servants everywhere! for the Spaniard is unapproachable in the gentle +art of leaving things to others. In the patio, or marble courtyard, +there plays a monotonous little fountain, peacefully plashing away the +sunny hours.</p> +<p>In England el Señor Conde de Lloseta de Mallorca would be +looked upon as a mystery, because he lived in a large house by himself; +because it was not known what his tastes might be; because the interviewer +interviewed him not, and because the Society rags had no opportunity +of describing his drawing-room.</p> +<p>In Spain things are different. If the count chose to live in +his own cellar, his neighbours would shrug their shoulders and throw +the end of their capes well over to the back. That was surely +the business of the count.</p> +<p>Moreover, Cipriani de Lloseta was not the sort of man of whom it +is easy to ask questions. His was the pride of pride, which is +a vice unbreakable. When the Moors went to Majorca in the eighth +century they found Llosetas there, and Llosetas were left behind eight +hundred years later, when the southern conqueror was driven back to +his dark land. Among his friends it is known that Cipriani de +Lloseta lived alone because he was faithful to the memory of one who, +but for the hand of God, would have lived with him until she was an +old woman, filling, perhaps, the great gloomy house in the Calle de +la Paz with the prattle of children’s voices, with the clatter +of childish feet in the marble passages.</p> +<p>The younger women looked at him surreptitiously, and asked each other +what sort of wife this must have been; while their elders shrugged their +ample shoulders with a strange little Catalonian contraction of the +eyes, and said--</p> +<p>“It is not so much the woman herself as that which the man +makes her.”</p> +<p>For they are wise, these stout and elderly ladies. They were +once young, and they learnt the lesson.</p> +<p>This man, Cipriani de Lloseta, leads a somewhat lonely life, inasmuch +as he associates but little with the men of his rank and station. +It is, for instance, known that he walks on the Rambla, but no one of +any importance whatever, no one that is likely to recognise him, is +aware of the fact that another favourite promenade of his is the Muelle +de Ponente, that forsaken pier where the stone works are and where no +one ever promenades. Here Cipriani de Lloseta walks gravely in +the evening--to be more precise, on Tuesday or Friday evening--about +five o’clock, when the boat sails for Majorca.</p> +<p>He stands, a lonely, cloaked figure, at the end of the long stone +pier, and his dark Spanish eyes rest on the steamer as it glides away +into the darkening east and south.</p> +<p>Often, often this man watches the boats depart, but he never goes +himself. Often, often he gazes out in his chastened, impenetrable +silence over the horizon, as if seeking to pierce the distance and look +on the bare heights of the far-off island.</p> +<p>For there, over the glassy smoothness of the horizon, behind those +little grey clouds, is Majorca--and Lloseta.</p> +<p>Lloseta, a bare, brown village, standing on the hillside, as if it +had economically crept up there among the pines, so as to leave available +for cultivation every inch of the wonderful soil of the plain. +Below, the vast fertile plateau, tilled like a garden, lies to the westward, +while to the east the rising undulations terminate in the bare uplands +of Inca. Olive-trees cover the plain like an army, trees that +were planted by the Moors a thousand years ago.</p> +<p>Amid the rugged heights of the mountains, here at their highest, +and in the fastness of a gorge, lies Lloseta itself.</p> +<p>From the heights above a subtle invigorating odour of marjoram, rosemary, +lavender, growing wild like heather, comes down to mingle with the more +languid breath of tropic plant and flower.</p> +<p>Such is Lloseta--a home to live for, to die for, to dream of when +away from it. As a man is dreaming of it now, just across that +hundred miles of smooth sea, on the end of the Muelle de Ponente at +Barcelona.</p> +<p>He is always dreaming of it--in Spain, where he is a Spaniard--in +England, where he might be an Englishman. It is not every one +of us who has a home from whence his name is derived, who signs his +letters with a word that is marked upon the map.</p> +<p>Such is Cipriani of that name, who has now left the Rambla and is +wandering along the deserted pier.</p> +<p>The steamer has loosed its moorings, is slowly picking its way out +of the crowded harbour, and it will pass the pier-head by the time that +Cipriani de Lloseta reaches that point.</p> +<p>The man walks slowly, cloaked to the mouth, for the evening breeze +is chilly. He gravely descends the steps and begins to walk on +the little path around the circular tower at the end of the pier. +He usually stands at the very end, so as to be as near to Majorca as +possible, one might almost think.</p> +<p>He gravely walks on, and quite suddenly he comes upon a youthful +Briton smoking a cigar and dangling a thick stick.</p> +<p>“Ah!” the two men exclaim.</p> +<p>“What are you doing in Barcelona?” asks the Spaniard.</p> +<p>“The devil only knows, my dear man. I don’t.”</p> +<p>“I hope he had nothing to do with your coming here--idle hands, +you know.”</p> +<p>The Englishman sat gravely down on a small granite column and reflected.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered after a pause, “it was not that. +I left England because I wanted to get away from--Well, from an old +woman who wants me to marry her daughter. I went to Monte Carlo, +and, if you don’t mind my saying so, I’m hanged if she didn’t +follow me, bringing the poor girl with her.”</p> +<p>The Spaniard smiled gravely.</p> +<p>“A willing victim!”</p> +<p>“No, Lloseta, you’re wrong there. That’s +the beastly part of it. That girl, sir, was actually shivering +with fright one night when the old woman managed to leave us on the +terrace together. Some one else, you know!”</p> +<p>The dark eyes looking across towards Majorca were not pleasant to +contemplate.</p> +<p>“However,” pursued the ingenuous <i>parti</i>, “I +spoke to her as one might have done to another chap, you know. +I said, ‘You’re frightened of something.’ She +didn’t answer. ‘You’re afraid that I’m +going to ask you to marry me.’ ‘Yes,’ she answered. +‘Well, I’m not. I’m not such a cad.’ +And after that we got on all right. She would have told who it +was if I had let her. Two days later I sloped off here. +Spain choked her off--the old lady, I mean.”</p> +<p>Lloseta laughed, and the young man began to think that he had said +something rude.</p> +<p>“She did not know what a nice place it is,” he added, +with a transparency which did no harm. “Yes, you’re +right. The devil had something to do with my coming here. +Match-making old women are the devil.”</p> +<p>He paused and attended to his cigar. The steamer passed within +a hundred yards of them.</p> +<p>The Englishman nodded towards it.</p> +<p>“Steamer’s going to Majorca,” he said.</p> +<p>Lloseta nodded his head.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered gravely, “I know.”</p> +<p>“I came down to see it off!”</p> +<p>The Spaniard looked at him sharply.</p> +<p>“Why?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I know an old chap on board--going across to fetch an English +girl, a Miss Challoner. Her father’s dead.”</p> +<p>Lloseta said nothing. Presently he turned to go, and as they +walked back together he arranged to send a carriage for the Englishman +and his luggage to bring him to the big house in the Street of the Peace, +which he explained with a shadowy smile was more comfortable than the +hotel.</p> +<p>“So,” he said to himself, as he walked towards his vast +home alone, “so the Caballero Challoner is dead. They are +passing off the stage one by one.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE.</h3> +<p> <i>A home where exiled angels might +forbear<br /> Awhile to moan for paradise.</i></p> +<p>There is a valley far up in the mountains behind the ancient city +of Palma--the Val d’Erraha. Some thousand years ago the +Arabs found this place. After toils and labours, and many battles +by sea and land, a roaming sheikh settled here, calling it El Rahah +- the Repose.</p> +<p>He dug a well--for where the Moor has been there is always sparkling +water--he planted olive trees, and he built a mill. The well +is there to-day; the olive trees, old and huge and gnarled as are no +other olive trees on the earth, yield their yearly crop unceasingly; +the mill grinds the Spaniard’s corn to-day.</p> +<p>In the Val d’Erraha there stands a house--a rambling, ungainly +Farm, as such are called in Majorca. It runs off at strange angles, +presenting a broken face to all points of the compass. From a +distance it rather resembles a village, for the belfry of the little +chapel is visible and the buildings seem to be broken up and divided. +On closer inspection it is found to be self-contained, and a nearer +approach discloses the fact that it presents to the world four solid +walls, and that it is only to be entered by an arched gateway.</p> +<p>In the centre of the open <i>patio</i> stands the Moorish well, surrounded, +overhung by orange trees. This house could resist a siege--indeed, +it was built for that purpose; for the Moorish pirates made raids on +the island almost within the memory of living persons.</p> +<p>Such is the Casa d’Erraha--the House of Repose. It stands +with its back to the pine slopes, looking peacefully down the valley, +over terraces where grow the orange, the almond, the fig, the lemon, +the olive; and far below, where the water trickles, the feathery bamboo.</p> +<p>The city of Palma is but a few miles away, in its strong thirteenth-century +restriction within high ramparts. It has its cathedral, its court-house +- all the orthodox requirements of a city, and, moreover, it is the +capital of the whilom kingdom of Majorca. King Jaime is dead and +gone. Majorca, after many vicissitudes, has settled down into +an obscure possession of Spain; and to the old-world ways of that country +it has taken very kindly.</p> +<p>But with the unwritten history of Majorca we have little to do, and +we have much with the Casa d’Erraha and the owner thereof--a +plain Englishman of the name of Challoner--the last of his line, the +third of his race, to own the Casa d’Erraha.</p> +<p>Edward Challoner lay on his bed in the large room overlooking the +valley and the distant sea. In the House of Repose he lay awaiting +the call to a longer rest than earthly weariness can secure. The +grave old Padre of the neighbouring village of St. Pablo stood near +the bed. Eve Challoner had sent for him, with the instinct that +makes us wish to be seen off on a long journey by a good man, of whatsoever +creed or calling.</p> +<p>At times the old priest gently patted the hand of Eve Challoner as +she stood by his side.</p> +<p>Climate and country and habit have a greater influence over the human +frame than we ever realise. Eve Challoner had been subject to +these subtle influences to a rare extent. Tall and upright, clad +in black, as all Spanish ladies are, she was English and yet Spanish. +Of a clear white, her skin was touched slightly by the sun and the warm +air which blows ever from the sea, blow which way it may across the +little island.</p> +<p>Romance tells of Andalusian beauty, of Catalonian grace--and in +sober British earnest (a solid thing) there are few more beautiful women +than high-born Spanish ladies. Eve Challoner had caught something +- some trick of the head--which belongs to Spain alone. Her eyes +had a certain northern vivacity of glance, a small something which is +noticeable enough in Southern Europe, though we should hardly observe +it in England, for it means education. In the matter of learning, +be it noted in passing, the ladies of the Peninsula are not so very +far above their duskier sisters of the harem farther east.</p> +<p>The girl’s eyes were dull now, with a sort of surprised anguish, +for sorrow had come to her before its time. The man lying on the +bed before her had not reached the limit of his years. Quite suddenly, +twelve hours before, he had complained of a numb feeling in his head, +and the voice he spoke in was thick and strange. In a surprisingly +short time Edward Challoner was no longer himself--no longer the cynical, +polished gentleman of the world--but a hard-breathing, inert deformity, +hardly human. From that time to this he had never spoken, and +Heaven knew there was enough for him to say. Death had caught +him unawares as, after all, he generally does catch us. There +were several things to set in order as usual; for it is only in books +and on the stage that folks make a graceful exit, clearing up the little +mystery, forgiving the wrongs, boasting with feeble voice of the good +they have done--with lowering tone and soft music slowly working together +to the prompter’s bell. It is not in real life that dying +men find much time to prattle about their own souls. They usually +want all their breath for those they leave behind. And who knows! +Perhaps those waiting on the other side think no worse of the man who +dies fearing for others and not for himself.</p> +<p>In Edward Challoner’s paralysed brain there was a great wish +to speak to his daughter, but the words would not come. He looked +at those around him with a dreary indistinctness as from a distance, +almost as if he had begun his long journey and was looking back from +afar.</p> +<p>And so the afternoon wore on to the short southern twilight, and +the goat-bells came tinkling up from the valley--for nature must have +her way though men may die, and milking-time rules through all the changes.</p> +<p>While the light failed over the land two men were riding through +it as fast as horse could lay hoof to the ground. They were on +the small road running from the Soller highway up to the Val d’Erraha, +and he who led the way seemed to know every inch of it. This was +Henry FitzHenry, and his companion, ill at ease in a Spanish saddle, +was the doctor of Her Majesty’s gunboat <i>Kittiwake</i>.</p> +<p>Four months earlier, by one of those chances which seem no chance +when we look back to them, the <i>Kittiwake</i> had broken down on leaving +the anchorage of Port Mahon. Towed back by a consort, she had +been there ever since, awaiting some necessary pieces of machinery to +be made in England and sent out to her. Hearing by chance that +the navigating lieutenant of the <i>Kittiwake</i> was Henry FitzHenry +- usually known as Fitz--Mr. Challoner had written to Minorca from +the larger island, introducing himself as the Honourable Mrs. Harrington’s +cousin, and offering what poor hospitality the Val d’Erraha had +to dispense.</p> +<p>In a little island there is not very much to talk about, and the +gossips of Majorca had soon laid hold of Fitz. They said that +the English señorita up at the Casa d’Erraha had found +a lover, and a fine, handsome one at that; else, they opined, why should +this English sailor thrash his boat through any weather from Cuidadela +in Minorca to Soller in Majorca, riding subsequently from that small +and lovely town over the roughest country in the island to the Valley +of Repose as if the devil were at his heels. That was only their +way of saying it, for they knew as well as any of us that love in front +can make us move more quickly than ever the devil from behind.</p> +<p>At Alcudia they watched his boat labour through the evil seas. +The wind was never too boisterous for him, the waves never too high.</p> +<p>“It is,” they said, “the English mariner from Mahon +going to see the Señorita Challoner. Ah! but he has a firm +hand.”</p> +<p>And they smiled dreamily with their deep eyes, as knowing the malady +themselves.</p> +<p>This time there had been two figures clad in black oilskins in the +stern of the long white boat. Two horses had been ordered by cable +to be ready at Soller instead of one. For Eve Challoner had telegraphed +to her countrymen at Port Mahon when this strange and horrid numbness +seized her father.</p> +<p>The sun was setting behind the distant line of the sea when Fitz +and his companion urged their tired horses up the last slope to the +Casa d’Erraha. Within the gateway Mrs. Baines, the only +English servant in this English house, was awaiting them. She +curtsied in an old-fashioned way to the doctor, who had not seen an +Englishwoman’s face for two years and more, and asked him to follow +her. Fitz did not offer to accompany them--indeed, he made it +quite obvious that he did not want to do so. Two of the vague +attendants who are always to be found in their numbers about the doorway +and stableyard of a Spanish country-house took the horses, and Fitz +wandered round the <i>patio</i> to the southern door which led to the +terrace.</p> +<p>There was not very much change in Henry FitzHenry since we saw him +in Mrs. Harrington’s drawing-room six years earlier. The +promise of the boy had been fulfilled by the man, and here was a quiet +Englishman, chiefly remarkable for a certain directness of purpose which +was his, and seemed to pervade his being. Here was one who had +commanded men--who had directed skilled labour for the six impressionable +years of his life. And he who directs skilled labour is apt to +differ in manner, in thought and habit, from him whose commands are +obeyed mechanically.</p> +<p>The naval officer is a man of detail--he tells others to do that +which they know he can do better himself.</p> +<p>They said on board the <i>Kittiwake</i>, which was a small ship, +that Fitz,--“old” Fitz, they used to call him--was too +big for a seafaring life. In height, he was nearly six feet--six +feet of spare muscle and bone--such a man as one sees on the north-east +coast of England, the east coast of Scotland, or the west coast of Norway +- anywhere, in fact, where the Vikings passed.</p> +<p>The deep blue eyes had acquired a certain quiet which had been absent +in the boyish face--the quiet that comes of a burden on the heart; +of the certain knowledge that the burden can never be removed. +Luke’s life was not the only one that had been spoiled by an examination +paper. Examination papers have spoilt more lives than they have +benefited. A twin brother is something more than a brother, and +Fitz went through life as if one side of him was suffering a dull, aching +pain. The face of this man walking alone on the terrace of the +House of Repose was not happy. Perhaps it was too strong for complete +happiness--some men are so, and others are too wise. This was +the face, not of a very wise or a brilliant man, but of one who was +strong and simple--something in the nature of a granite rock. +Sandstone is more easily shaped into a thing of beauty, but it is also +the sandstone that is worn by weather, while a deep mark cut on granite +stays there till the end.</p> +<p>Fitz had no intention of going upstairs. He was not a man to +take the initiative in social matters. His instinct told him that +if Eve wanted him she would send for him. She had cabled to him +to bring the doctor. He had brought the doctor, and now he went +out on the terrace to “stand by,” as he put it to himself, +for further orders. If, as the gossips averred, he was the Señorita’s +lover, he deemed it wiser to relinquish that position just now.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, however, no word of love had passed between +them.</p> +<p>Fitz was standing by the low wall of the terrace looking down into +the hazy, dim depths of the valley, when the further orders which he +awaited came to him.</p> +<p>Hearing a light step on the pavement behind him, he turned, and faced +Eve, who was running towards him.</p> +<p>“Will you come upstairs?” she said. “I think +he wants to see you.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he answered.</p> +<p>She had hurried out, but they walked back rather slowly. Nevertheless, +they did not seem to have anything to say to each other.</p> +<p>When they entered the room upstairs together, a faint little smile +full of wisdom hovered for a second round the old priest’s clean-shaven +lips.</p> +<p>The dying man had evidently wanted something or some one. The +old priest knew human nature, hence the little shadowy smile called +up by Eve’s transparently partial interpretation of her father’s +desire.</p> +<p>Edward Challoner looked at him, but did not appear to recognise his +face. It seemed that he had left the earth so far behind now that +the faces of those walking on it were no longer distinguishable.</p> +<p>He gave a little half-pettish groan, and a stillness came over the +room.</p> +<p>The old padre and the doctor, who did not know a word of any common +language, exchanged a glance, and in a very business-like way, as of +one whose trade it was, the priest got down upon his knees. Then +the doctor, half-shyly, approached Eve, and taking her by the arm, led +her gently out of the room.</p> +<p>Fitz stayed where he was, standing by the dead man, looking down +at the priest’s bowed head, while the bell of the little chapel +attached to the Casa d’Erraha told the valley that a good man +had gone to his rest.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI. AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE.</h3> +<p> <i>We pass; the path that each man +trod<br /> Is dim, or will be dim, with +weeds.</i></p> +<p>The priest was the first to speak.</p> +<p>“You are his friend, I also; but we are of different nations.”</p> +<p>He paused, drawing the sheet up over the dead man’s face.</p> +<p>“He was not of my Church. You have your ways; will you +make the arrangements?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Fitz simply, “if you like.”</p> +<p>“It is better so, my son”--the padre took a pinch of +snuff--“because--he was not of my Church. You will stay +here, you and your friend. She, the Señorita Eve, cannot +be left alone, with her grief.”</p> +<p>He spoke Spanish, knowing that the Englishman understood it.</p> +<p>They drew down the blinds and passed out on to the terrace, where +they walked slowly backwards and forwards, talking over the future of +Eve and of the Casa d’Erraha.</p> +<p>In Spain, as in other southern lands, they speed the parting guest. +Two days later Edward Challoner was laid beside his father and grandfather +in the little churchyard in the valley below the Casa d’Erraha. +And who are we that we should say that his chance of reaching heaven +was diminished by the fact that part of the Roman Catholic burial service +was read over him by a Spanish priest?</p> +<p>Fitz had telegraphed to Eve’s only living relative, Captain +Bontnor, and Fitz it was who stayed on at the Casa d’Erraha until +that mariner should arrive; for the doctor was compelled to return to +his ship at Port Mahon, and the priest never slept in another but his +own little vicarage house.</p> +<p>And in the Casa d’Erraha was enacted at this time one of those +strange little comedies that will force themselves upon a tragic stage. +Fitz deemed it correct that he should avoid Eve as much as possible, +and Eve, on the other hand, feeling lonely and miserable, wanted the +society of the simple-minded young sailor.</p> +<p>“Why do you always avoid me?” she asked suddenly on the +evening after the funeral. He had gone out on to the terrace, +and thither she followed him in innocent anger, without afterthought. +She stood before him with her slim white hands clasped together, resting +against her black dress, a sombre, slight young figure in the moonlight, +looking at him with reproachful eyes.</p> +<p>He hesitated a second before answering her. She was only nineteen; +she had been born and brought up in the Valley of Repose amidst the +simple islanders. She knew nothing of the world and its ways. +And Fitz, with the burden of the unique situation suddenly thrust upon +him, was, in his chivalrous youthfulness, intensely anxious to avoid +giving her anything to look back to in after years when she should be +a woman. He was tenderly solicitous for the feelings which would +come later, though they were absent now.</p> +<p>“Because,” he answered, “I am not good at saying +things. I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am for +you.”</p> +<p>She turned away and looked across to the hills at the other side +of the valley, a rugged outline against the sky.</p> +<p>“But I know all that,” she said softly, “without +being told.”</p> +<p>A queer smile passed over his sunburnt face, as if she had unintentionally +and innocently made things more difficult for him.</p> +<p>“And,” she continued, “it is--oh, so lonely.”</p> +<p>She made an almost imperceptible little movement towards him. +Like the child that she was, she was yearning for sympathy and comfort.<br />“I +know--I know,” he said.</p> +<p>Outward circumstance was rather against Fitz. A clear, odorous +Spanish night, the young moon rising behind the pines, a thousand dreamy +tropic scents filling the air. And Eve, half tearful, wholly lovable, +standing before him, innocently treading on dangerous ground, guilelessly +asking him to love her.</p> +<p>She, having grown almost to womanhood, pure as the flowers of the +field, ignorant, a child, knew nothing of what she was doing. +She merely gave way to the instinct that was growing within her--the +instinct that made her turn to this man, claiming his strength, his +tenderness, his capability, as given to him for her use and for her +happiness.</p> +<p>“You must not avoid me,” she said. “Why do +you do it? Have I done anything you dislike? I have no one +to speak to, no one who understands, but you. There is the padre, +of course--and nurse; but they do not understand. They are--so +<i>old</i>! Let me stay here with you until it is time to go +to bed, will you?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” he answered quietly. “If you +care to. To-morrow I should think we shall hear from your uncle. +He may come by the boat sailing from Barcelona to-morrow night. +It will be a good thing if he does; you see, I must get back to my ship.”</p> +<p>“You said she would not be ready for sea till next month.”</p> +<p>“No, but there is discipline to be thought of.”</p> +<p>He looked past her, up to the stars, with a scrutinising maritime +eye, recognising them and naming them to himself. He did not meet +her eyes--dangerous, tear-laden.</p> +<p>“There is something the matter with you,” she said. +“You are different. Yes, you want my uncle to come the day +after to-morrow--you want to go away to Mahon as soon as you can. +I-- Oh, Fitz, I don’t want to be a coward!”</p> +<p>She stood in front of him, clenching her little fists, forcing back +the tears that gleamed in the moonlight. He did not dare to cease +his astronomical observations.</p> +<p>“I <i>won’t</i> be a coward--if you will only speak. +If you will tell me what it is.”</p> +<p>Then Fitz told his first deliberate lie.</p> +<p>“I have had bad news,” he said, “about my brother +Luke. I am awfully anxious about him.”</p> +<p>He did it very well; for his motive was good. And we may take +it that such a lie as this is not writ very large in the Book.</p> +<p>The girl paused for a little, and then deliberately wiped the tears +from her eyes.</p> +<p>“How horribly selfish I have been!” she said. “Why +did you not tell me sooner? I have only been thinking of my own +troubles ever since--ever since poor papa-- I am a selfish wretch! +I hate myself! Tell me about your brother.”</p> +<p>And so they walked slowly up and down the moss-grown terrace--alone +in this wonderful tropic night--while he told her the little tragedy +of his life. He told the story simply, with characteristic gaps +in the sequence, which she was left to fill up from her imagination.</p> +<p>“I shall not like Mrs. Harrington,” said Eve, when the +story was told. “I am glad that she cannot come much into +my life. My father wanted me to go and stay with her last summer, +but I would not leave him alone, and for some reason he would not accept +the invitation for himself. Do you know, Fitz, I sometimes think +there is a past--some mysterious past--which contained my father and +Mrs. Harrington and a man--the Count de Lloseta.”</p> +<p>“I have seen him,” put in Fitz, “at Mrs. Harrington’s +often.”</p> +<p>The girl nodded her head with a quaint little assumption of shrewdness +and deep suspicion.</p> +<p>“My father admired him--I do not know why. And pitied +him intensely--I do not know why.”</p> +<p>“He was always very nice to me,” answered Fitz, “but +I never understood him.”</p> +<p>Talking thus they forgot the flight of time. It sometimes happens +thus in youth. And the huge clock in the stable yard striking +ten aroused Eve suddenly to the lateness of the hour.</p> +<p>“I must go,” she said. “I am glad you told +me about--Luke. I feel as if I knew you better and understood +- a little more. Good-night.”</p> +<p>She left him on the terrace, and walked sorrowfully away to the house +which could never be the same again.</p> +<p>Fitz watched her slight young form disappear through an open doorway, +and then he became lost in the contemplation of the distant sea, lying +still and glass-like in the moonlight. He was looking to the north, +and it happened that from that same point of the compass there was coming +towards him the good steamer <i>Bellver</i>, on whose deck stood a little +shock-headed man--Captain Bontnor.</p> +<p>There is a regular service of steamers to and from the Island of +Majorca to the mainland, and, in addition, steamers make voyages when +pressure of traffic may demand. The <i>Bellver</i> was making +one of these supplemental journeys, and her arrival was not looked for +at Palma.</p> +<p>Eve and Fitz were having breakfast alone in the gloomy room overshadowed +by the trailing wings of the Angel of Death, when the servant announced +a gentleman to see the señorita. The señorita requested +that the gentleman might approach, and presently there stood in the +doorway the quaintest little figure imaginable.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor, with a certain sense of the fitness of things, had +put on his best clothes for this occasion, and it happened that the +most superior garment in his wardrobe was a thick pilot-jacket, which +stood out from his square person with solid angularity. He had +brushed his hair very carefully, applying water to compass a smoothness +which had been his life-long and hitherto unattained aim. His +shock hair--red turning to grey--stood up four inches from his honest, +wrinkled face. It was unfortunate that his best garments should +have been purchased for the amenities of a northern climate. His +trousers were as stiff as his jacket, and he wore a decorous black silk +tie as large as a counterpane.</p> +<p>He stood quaintly bowing in the doorway, his bright blue eyes veiled +with shyness and a pathetic dumb self-consciousness.</p> +<p>“Please come in,” said Eve in Spanish, quite at a loss +as to who this might be.</p> +<p>Then Fitz had an inspiration. Something of the sea seemed to +be wafted from the older to the younger sailor.</p> +<p>“Are you Captain Bontnor?” he asked, rising from the +table.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, yes! That’s my name!”</p> +<p>He stood nervously in the doorway, mistrusting the parquet-floor, +mistrusting himself, mistrusting everything.</p> +<p>Fitz went towards him holding out his hand, which the captain took +after a manfully repressed desire to wipe his own broad palm on the +seam of his trousers.</p> +<p>“Then you are my uncle?” said Eve, coming forward.</p> +<p>“Yes, miss, I’m afraid--that is--yes, I’m your +uncle. You see--I’m only a rough sort of fellow.”</p> +<p>He came a little nearer and held his arms apart, looking down at +his own person in humble deprecation.</p> +<p>Eve was holding out her hand. He took it with a vague, deep-rooted +chivalry, and she, stooping, very deliberately kissed him.</p> +<p>This seemed rather to bewilder the captain, for he shook hands again +with Fitz.</p> +<p>“I-- ” he began, nodding into Fitz’s face. +“You are--eh? I didn’t expect--to see--I didn’t +know--”</p> +<p>At that moment Eve saw. It came to her in a flash, as most +things do come to women. She even had time to doubt the story +about Luke.</p> +<p>“This,” she said, with crimson cheeks, “is Mr. +FitzHenry of the <i>Kittiwake</i>. He kindly came to us in our +trouble. You will have to thank him afterwards--uncle.”</p> +<p>“And in the meantime I expect you want breakfast?” put +in Fitz, carefully avoiding Eve.</p> +<p>“Yes,” added the girl, “of course. Sit down. +No, here!”</p> +<p>“Thankye--thankye, miss--my dear, I mean. Oh, anything’ll +do for me. A bit of bread and a cup o’ tea. I had +a bit and a sup on board before she sheered alongside the quay.”</p> +<p>He looked round rather helplessly, wondering where he should put +his hat--a solid, flat-crowned British affair. Eve took it from +him and laid it aside.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor sat very stiffly down. His square form did +not seem to lose any of its height by the change of position, and with +a stiff back he looked admiringly round the room, waiting like a child +at a school treat.</p> +<p>As the meal progressed he grew more at ease, telling them of the +little difficulties of his journey, avoiding with a tact not always +found inside a better coat all mention of the sad event which had caused +him to take this long journey after his travelling days were done.</p> +<p>That which set him at ease more than all else was the fact, at length +fully grasped, that Fitz was, like himself, a sailor. Here at +least was a topic upon which he could converse with any man. General +subjects only were discussed, as if by tacit consent. No mention +was made of the future until this was somewhat rudely brought before +their notice by the announcement that a second visitor desired to see +the señorita.</p> +<p>With a more assured manner than that of his predecessor, a small, +dark man came into the room, throwing off his cloak and handing it to +the servant. He bowed ceremoniously and with true Spanish grace +to Eve, with less ceremony and more dignity to the two men.</p> +<p>“I beg that your excellency will accept the sympathy of my +deepest heart,” he said. “I regret to trouble you +so soon after the great loss sustained by your excellency, indeed, by +the whole island of Majorca. But it is a matter of business. +Such things cannot be delayed. Have I your excellency’s +permission to proceed?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, señor.”</p> +<p>The man’s clean-shaven face was like a mask. The expressions +seemed to come and go as if worked by machinery. Sympathy was +turned off, and in its place Polite-Attention-to-Business appeared. +From under his arm he drew a leather portfolio, which he placed upon +the table.</p> +<p>“The affairs of the late Cavalier Challoner were perhaps known +to your excellency?”</p> +<p>“No; I knew nothing of my father’s affairs.”</p> +<p>Sympathy seemed to be struggling behind “Polite-Attention-to-Business,” +while for a moment a real look of distress flitted over the parchment +face. He paused for an instant, reflecting while he assorted his +papers.</p> +<p>“I am,” he said, “the lawyer of his excellency +the Count de Lloseta.”</p> +<p>Eve and Fitz exchanged a glance, and as silence was kept the lawyer +went on.</p> +<p>“Three generations ago,” he said, “a Count de Lloseta, +the grandfather of this present excellency, made over on ‘rotas’ +the estate and house known as the Val d’Erraha to the grandfather +of the late Cavalier Challoner--a Captain Challoner, one of Admiral +Byng’s men.”</p> +<p>Again he paused, arranging his papers.</p> +<p>“The Majorcan system ‘rotas’ is known to your excellency?”</p> +<p>“No, señor.”</p> +<p>“On this system an estate is made over for one or two or three +generations by the proprietor to the lessee who farms or sublets the +land, and in lieu of rent hands over to the proprietor a certain proportion +of the crops. Does your excellency follow me?”</p> +<p>Eve did not answer at once. Then the lawyer’s meaning +seemed to dawn upon her.</p> +<p>“Then,” she said, “the Casa d’Erraha never +belonged to my father?”</p> +<p>“Never”--with a grave bow.</p> +<p>“And I have nothing--nothing at all! I am penniless?”</p> +<p>The lawyer looked from her to Fitz, who was standing beside her listening +to the conversation, but not offering to take part in it.</p> +<p>“Unless your excellency has private means--in England, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“I do not know--I know nothing. And we must leave the +Casa d’Erraha. When, señor? Tell me when.”</p> +<p>The lawyer avoided her distressed eyes.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said slowly, “the law is rather summary. +I--your excellency understands I only do my duty. I am not the +principal. I have no authority whatever--except the law.”</p> +<p>“You mean that I must go at once?”</p> +<p>The lawyer’s parchment face was generously expressive of grief +now.</p> +<p>“Excellency, the lease terminated at the death of the late +Caballero Challoner.”</p> +<p>Eve stood for a moment, breathing hard. Fate seemed suddenly +to have turned against her at every point. At this moment Captain +Bontnor made bold--one could see him doing it--to take her hand.</p> +<p>“My dear,” he said, “I don’t quite understand +what this foreign gentleman and you are talkin’ about. But +if it’s trouble, dear, if it’s trouble--just let me try.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII. IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE.</h3> +<p> <i>Measure thy life by loss instead +of gain,<br /> Not by the wine drunk, but +the wine poured forth</i>.</p> +<p>“MY DEAR MISS CHALLONER,--I learn that you are in Barcelona, +and at the same time I find with some indignation that my lawyer in +Mallorca, with a deplorable excess of zeal, has been acting without +my orders in respect to the property of the Val d’Erraha. +I hasten to place myself and possessions at your disposition, and take +the liberty of writing to request an interview, instead of calling on +you at your hotel, for reasons which you will readily understand, knowing +as you do the gossiping ways of hotels. As an old friend of your +father’s, and one who moved and lived in neighbourly intercourse +with him before your birth, and before the deplorable death of your +mother, I now waive ceremony, and beg that you and your uncle will come +and take tea with me this afternoon at my humble abode in the ‘Calle +de la Paz.’--Believe me, dear Miss Challoner, yours very sincerely,<br /> “CIPRIANI +DE LLOSETA DE MALLORCA.”</p> +<p>Eve read this letter in her room in the Hotel of the Four Nations +at Barcelona. She had only been on the mainland twenty-four hours +when it was delivered to her by a servant of the Count’s, who +came to her apartment and delivered it into her own hands, as is the +custom of Spanish servants.</p> +<p>Eve Challoner had grown older during the last few days. She +had been brought face to face with life as it really is, and not as +we dream it in the dreams of youth. She was not surprised to receive +this letter, although she had no idea that the Count de Lloseta was +in Spain. But the varying emotions of the last week had, as it +were, undermined the confident hopefulness with which we look forward +when we are young, and sometimes when we are old, to the management +of our own lives here below. She was beginning to understand certain +terms which she had heard applied to human existence, and to which she +had hitherto attached no special meaning as relating to herself. +More especially did she understand at this time that life may be compared +to a stream, for she was vaguely conscious of drifting she knew not +whither.</p> +<p>Fitz had come suddenly into her life; Captain Bontnor had come into +it; and now this man, Cipriani de Lloseta, seemed to be asserting his +right to come into it too. And she did not know quite what to +do with them all. She had never, in the quiet, dreamy days of +her youth, pictured a life with any of these men in it, and the future +was suddenly tremendous, unfathomable. There were vast possibilities +in it of misery, of danger, of difficulty; and behind these a vague, +new feeling of a possible happiness far exceeding the happiness of her +peaceful childhood.</p> +<p>Without consulting her uncle, who had gone out into the street to +walk backwards and forwards before the door, as he had walked backwards +and forwards on his deck for forty years, she sat down and accepted +the Count’s informal invitation. She seemed to do it without +reflection, as if impelled thereto by something stronger than <i>pro</i> +or <i>con</i>, as if acknowledging the Spaniard’s right to come +into her life, bringing to bear upon it an influence which she never +attempted to fathom.</p> +<p>Thus it came about that Eve and Captain Bontnor found themselves +awaiting their host in the massive, gloomy drawing-room of the Palace +in the Calle de la Paz at five o’clock that afternoon.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor had learnt a great deal during the last few days; +among other things he had learnt to love his niece with a simple, dog-like +devotion, which had a vein of pathos in it for those who see such things. +He placed himself well behind Eve, and looked around him with a wondering +awe.</p> +<p>“I think, my dear,” he said, “that it would have +been better if you had come alone. I--you know I am getting too +old to learn manners now--eh--he! he! Yes. Having been +so long at sea, you know.”</p> +<p>“I think the sea teaches men manners, uncle,” said Eve, +with a little smile which he did not understand. “At any +rate,” she went on, touching his rough sleeve affectionately, +“it teaches them something that I like.”</p> +<p>“Does it, now? What, now? Tell me.”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” answered the girl, as if speaking to +herself, and at this moment the door was opened. The man who came +in was of medium height, with a long, narrow face, and singularly patient +eyes.</p> +<p>“I should have known you,” he said, approaching Eve, +and holding out his hand. “You do not remember your mother? +I do, however. You are like her--and she was a good woman. +And this is Captain Bontnor--your uncle.”</p> +<p>He shook hands with the old sailor without the faintest flicker of +surprise at his somewhat incongruous appearance.</p> +<p>“I am glad,” he said suavely, “to make Captain +Bontnor’s acquaintance.”</p> +<p>He turned to draw forward a chair, and the light from the high, barred +window falling full on his head, betrayed the fact that his hair, close +cut as an English soldier’s, was touched and flecked with grey. +His lithe youthfulness of frame rather surprised Eve, who knew him to +be a contemporary of her father’s.</p> +<p>“It is very good of you to come,” he went on in a low +voice. “I took the privilege of the elder generation, you +see! Captain, pray take that chair.”</p> +<p>He did the honours with a British ease of manner, strangely touched +by a Spanish dignity.</p> +<p>“When I heard of your great bereavement,” he said, turning +to Eve with a grave bow, “I ought perhaps to have gone to Mallorca +at once to offer you what poor assistance was in my power. But +circumstances, over which I had no control, prevented my doing so. +My offer of help is tardy, I know, but it is none the less sincere.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” replied Eve, conscious of a feeling of pleasant +reliance in this new-found ally. “But I have good friends +- the Padre Fortis, my uncle, and--a friend of ours, Mr. FitzHenry.”</p> +<p>“Of the <i>Kittiwake</i>--at Mahon?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I have the pleasure of knowing Mr. FitzHenry,” murmured +the Count. “Now,” he said, with a sudden smile which +took her by surprise by reason of the alteration it made in the whole +man, “will you do me a great favour?”</p> +<p>“I should like to,” answered Eve, with some hesitation.</p> +<p>“And you?” said the Count, turning to Captain Bontnor.</p> +<p>“Oh yes,” replied that sailor bluntly, “if it’s +possible.”</p> +<p>“I want you,” continued the Count de Lloseta, “to +forget that this is the first time we meet, and to look upon me as a +friend--one of the most intimate--of your father.”</p> +<p>“My father,” said the girl, “always spoke of you +as such.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I am glad of that. Now, tell me, who have you +in the world besides Captain Bontnor?”</p> +<p>“I have no one. But--”</p> +<p>“We was thinking,” put in the Captain, in ungrammatical +haste, “that Eve would come and live with me. It isn’t +a grand house--just a little cottage. But such as it is, she’ll +have a kindly welcome.”</p> +<p>“And, I have no doubt, a happy home”, added the Count, +with one of his dark smiles. “I was merely wondering whether +Miss Challoner intended to live in the Casa d’Erraha or to let +it?”‘</p> +<p>Eve looked up in surprise, and Captain Bontnor’s blue eyes +wandered from her face to the dark and courteous countenance of Cipriani +de Lloseta.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” continued the Spaniard imperturbably, “you +have not yet made up your mind on the subject.”</p> +<p>“But the Casa d’Erraha does not belong to me,” +said Eve, and Captain Bontnor wagged his head in confirmation. +“Your own lawyer explained to me that my father only held it on +‘rotas.’”</p> +<p>“My own lawyer, my dear young lady, thereby proved himself +an ass.”</p> +<p>“But,” said Eve, somewhat mystified, “the Val d’Erraha +belongs to you, and you must know it. I have no title-deeds--I +have nothing.”</p> +<p>“Except possession, which is nine points of the law. +Will you take tea, and cream? I do not know how many points the +law has, but one would naturally conclude that nine is a large proportion +of the whole.”</p> +<p>While he spoke he was pouring out the tea. He handed a cup +to her with a grave smile, as if the matter under discussion were one +of a small and passing importance.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he added, “you have learnt to love +the Casa d’Erraha. It is a place--a place one might easily +become attached to. Do you know”--he turned his back to +her, busying himself with the silver teapot--“Lloseta?” +he added jerkily.</p> +<p>“Yes. My father and I used to go there very often.”</p> +<p>“Ah--” He waited--handing Captain Bontnor a cup of +tea in silence. But Eve was not thinking of Lloseta; she was thinking +of the Casa d’Erraha.</p> +<p>“My father did not speak to me of his affairs,” she said. +“He was naturally rather reserved, and--and it was very sudden.”</p> +<p>“Yes. So I learnt. That indeed is my excuse for +intruding myself upon your notice at this time. I surmised that +my poor friend’s affairs had been left in some confusion. +He was too thorough a gentleman to be competent in affairs. I +thought that perhaps my small influence and my diminutive knowledge +of Majorcan law--the Roman law, in point of fact--might be of some +use to you.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she answered; “I think we settled +everything before we left the island, although we did not see Señor +Peña, your lawyer. I--the Casa d’Erraha belongs +to you!” she added, suddenly descending to feminine reiteration.</p> +<p>“Prove it,” said the Count quietly.</p> +<p>“I cannot do that.”</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders with a smile.</p> +<p>“Then,” he said, “I am afraid you cannot shift +your responsibility to my shoulders.”</p> +<p>The girl looked at him with puzzled young eyes. He stood before +her, dignified, eminently worthy of the great name he bore--a solitary, +dark-eyed, inscrutable man, whose whole being subtly suggested hopelessness +and an empty life. She shook her head.</p> +<p>“But I cannot accept the Casa d’Erraha on those terms.”</p> +<p>The Count drew forward a chair and sat down.</p> +<p>“Listen,” he said, with an explanatory forefinger upheld. +“Three generations ago two men made a verbal agreement in respect +to the estate of the Val d’Erraha. To-day no one knows what +that agreement was. It may have been the ordinary ‘rotas’ +of Minorca. It may not. In those days the English held Minorca; +my ancestor may therefore have been indebted to your great-grandfather, +for we have some small estates in Minorca. You know what the islands +are to-day. They are two hundred years behind Northern Europe. +What must they have been a hundred and twenty years ago? We have +no means of finding out what passed between your great-grandfather and +my grandfather. We only know that three generations of Challoners +have lived in the Casa d’Erraha, paying to the Counts of Lloseta +a certain proportion of the product of the estate. I do not mind +telling you that the smallness of that proportion does away with the +argument that the agreement was the ordinary ‘rotas’ of +the Baleares. We know nothing--we can prove nothing. If +you claimed the estate I might possibly wrest it from you--not by proof, +but merely because the insular prejudice against a foreigner would militate +against you in a Majorcan court of law. I cannot legally force +you to hold the estate of the Val d’Erraha. I can only ask +you as the daughter of one of my best friends to accept the benefit +of a very small doubt.”</p> +<p>Eve hesitated. What woman would not?</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor set down his cup very gravely on the table.</p> +<p>“I don’t rightly understand,” he said sturdily, +“this ‘rotas’ business. But it seems to me pretty +plain that the estate never belonged to my late brother-in-law. +Now what I say is, if the place belongs by right to Miss Challoner she’ll +take it. If it don’t; well, then it don’t, and she +can’t accept it as a present from anybody. Much obliged +to you all the same.”</p> +<p>The Count laughed pleasantly.</p> +<p>“My dear sir, it is not a present.”</p> +<p>The Captain stuffed his hands very deeply into his pockets.</p> +<p>“Then it’s worse--it’s charity. And she +has no need of that. Thank ye all the same,” he replied.</p> +<p>He stared straight in front of him with a vague and rather painful +suggestion of incapability that sometimes came over him. He was +wondering whether he was doing right in this matter.</p> +<p>“If,” he added, half to himself, as a sort of afterthought +on the crying question of ways and means--“if it comes to that, +I can go to sea again. There’s plenty would be ready to +give me a ship.”</p> +<p>The Count was still smiling.</p> +<p>“There is no question,” he said, “of charity. +What has Miss Challoner done that I should offer her that? I am +in ignorance as to her affairs. I do not know the extent of her +income.”</p> +<p>“As far as we can make out,” said Eve gently, “there +is nothing. But I can work. I thought that my knowledge +of Spanish might enable me to make a living.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Captain Bontnor, “I’m d--- +I mean I should not like you to go governessing, my dear.”</p> +<p>The Count was apparently reflecting.</p> +<p>“I have a compromise to propose,” he said, addressing +himself to Eve. “If we place the property in the hands of +a third person--you know the value of land in Majorca--to farm and +tend; if at the end of each year the profits be divided between us?”</p> +<p>But Eve’s suspicions were aroused, and her woman’s instinct +took her further than did Captain Bontnor’s sturdy sense of right +and wrong.</p> +<p>“I am afraid,” she said, rising from her chair, “that +I must refuse. I--I think I understand why papa always spoke +of you as he did. I am very grateful to you. I know now +that you have been trying to give me D’Erraha. It was a +generous thing to do--a most generous thing. I think people would +hardly believe me if I told them. I can only thank you; for I +have no possible means of proving to you how deeply I feel it. +Somehow”--she paused, with tears and a sad little smile in her +eyes--“somehow it is not the gift that I appreciate so much as +- as your way of trying to give it.”</p> +<p>The Spaniard spread out his two hands in deprecation.</p> +<p>“My child,” he murmured gently, “I have not another +word to say.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII. THE DEAL.</h3> +<p> <i>Oh, the little more, and how much +it is!<br /> And the little less, and what +worlds away!</i></p> +<p>A howling gale of wind from the south-east, and driving snow and +darkness. The light of Cap Grisnez struggling out over the blackness +of the Channel, and the two Foreland lights twinkling feebly from their +snow-clad heights. A night to turn in one’s bed with a sleepy +word of thanksgiving that one has a bed to turn in, and no pressing +need to turn out of it.</p> +<p>The smaller fry of Channel shipping have crept into Dungeness or +the Downs. Some of them have gone to the bottom. Two of +them are breaking up on the Goodwins.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> Indian liner is pounding into it all, with white +decks and whistling shrouds. The passengers are below in their +berths. Some of them--and not only the ladies--are sending up +little shamefaced supplications to One who watches over the traveller +in all places and at all times.</p> +<p>And on the bridge of the <i>Croonah</i> a man all eyes and stern +resolve and maritime instinct. A man clad in his thickest clothes, +and over all of them his black oilskins. A man with three hundred +lives depending upon his keen eyes, his knowledge, and his judgment. +A man whose name is Luke FitzHenry.</p> +<p>The captain has gone below for a few minutes to thaw, leaving the +ship to FitzHenry. He does it with an easy conscience--as easy, +that is, as the maritime conscience can well be in a gale of wind, with +the Foreland lights ahead and infinite possibilities all around. +The captain drinks his whisky and hot water with a certain slow appreciation +of the merits of that reprehensible solution, and glances at the aneroid +barometer on the bulkhead of his cabin.</p> +<p>Overhead, on the spidery bridge, far up in the howling night, Luke +FitzHenry, returning from the enervating tropics, stares sternly into +the night, heedless of the elemental warfare. For Luke FitzHenry +has a grudge against the world, and people who have that take a certain +pleasure in evil weather.</p> +<p>“The finest sailor that ever stepped,” reflects the captain +of his second officer--and he no mean mariner himself.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> had groped her way up Channel through a snowstorm +of three days’ duration, and the brunt of it had fallen by right +of seniority on the captain and his second officer. Luke FitzHenry +was indefatigable, and, better still, he was without enthusiasm. +Here was the steady, unflinching combativeness which alone can master +the elements. Here was the true genius of the sea.</p> +<p>With his craft at his fingers’ ends, Luke had that instinct +of navigation by which some men seem to find their way upon the trackless +waters. There are sailors who are no navigators just as there +are hunting men who cannot ride. There are navigators who will +steer you from London to Petersburg without taking a sight, from the +Thames to the Suez Canal without looking at their sextant. Such +a sailor as this was Luke FitzHenry. Perfectly trained, he assimilated +each item of experience with an insatiable greed for knowledge--and +it was all maritime knowledge. He was a sailor and nothing else. +But it is already something--as they say in France--to be a good sailor.</p> +<p>Luke FitzHenry was a man of middle height, sturdy, with broad shoulders +and a slow step. His clean-shaven face was a long oval, with pessimistic, +brooding eyes--eyes that saw everything except the small modicum of +good which is in all human things, and to this they were persistently +blind. Taking into consideration the small, set mouth, it was +eminently a pugnacious face--a face that might easily degenerate to +the coarseness of passion in the trough of a losing fight. But, +fortunately, Luke’s lines were cast upon the great waters, and +he who fights the sea must learn to conquer, not by passionate effort, +but by consistent, cool resolve. Those who worked with him feared +him, and in so doing learnt the habit of his ways. The steersman, +with one eye on the binnacle, knew always where to find him with the +other; for Luke hardly moved during his entire watch on deck. +He took his station at the starboard end of the narrow bridge when he +came on duty, and from that spot he rarely moved. These little +things betray a man, if one only has the patience to piece them together.</p> +<p>Those who go down to the sea in ships, and even those who take their +pleasure on the great water, know the relative merits of the man who +goes to his post and stays there, and of him who is all over the ship +and restless.</p> +<p>Luke was standing now like a statue--black and gleaming amid the +universal grey of the winter night, and his deep eyes, cat-like, pierced +the surrounding gloom.</p> +<p>Here was a man militant. A man who must needs be fighting something, +and Fate, with unusual foresight, had placed him in a position to fight +Nature. Luke FitzHenry rather revelled in a night such as this +- the gloom, the horror, and the patent danger of it suited his morose, +combative nature. He loved danger and difficulty with the subtle +form of love which a fighting man experiences for a relentless foe.</p> +<p>From light to light he pushed his intrepid way through the darkness +and the bewildering intricacies of the Downs, and in due time, in the +full sunlight of the next day, the <i>Croonah</i> sidled alongside the +quay in the Tilbury Dock. The passengers, with their new lives +before them, stumbled ashore, already forgetting the men who, smoke-begrimed +and weary, had carried these lives within their hands during the last +month or more. They crowded down the gangway and left Luke to +go to his cabin.</p> +<p>There were two letters lying on the little table. One from +Fitz at Mahon, the other in a handwriting which Luke had almost forgotten. +He turned it over with the subtle smile of a man who has a grudge against +women. But he opened it before the other.</p> +<p>“DEAR LUKE,--I am glad to hear from Fitz that you are making +your way in the Merchant Service. He tells me that your steamer, +the <i>Croonah</i>, has quite a reputation on the Indian route, and +your fellow-officers are all gentlemen. I shall be pleased to +see you to dinner the first evening you have at your disposal. +I dine at seven-thirty.--Believe me, yours very truly, MARIAN HARRINGTON.</p> +<p>“<i>P.S</i>.--I shall deem it a favour if you will come in +dress clothes, as I have visitors.”</p> +<p>And, strange to say, it was the feminine stab in the postscript that +settled the matter. Luke sat down and wrote out a telegram at +once, accepting Mrs. Harrington’s invitation for the same evening.</p> +<p>When he rang the bell of the great house in Grosvenor Gardens at +precisely half-past seven that evening, he was conscious of a certain +sense of elation. He was quite sure of himself.</p> +<p>He thought that the large drawing-room was empty when the butler +ushered him into it, and some seconds elapsed before he discerned the +form of a young lady in a deep chair near the fire.</p> +<p>The girl turned her head and rose from the chair with a smile and +a certain grace of manner which seemed in some indefinite way to have +been put on with her evening dress. For a moment Luke gazed at +her, taken aback. Then he bowed gravely, and she burst into a +merry laugh.</p> +<p>“How funny!” she cried. “You do not know +me?”</p> +<p>“No-o-o,” he answered, searching his mind. For +he was a passenger sailor, and many men and women crossed his path during +the year.</p> +<p>She came forward with a coquettish little laugh and placed herself +beneath the gas, inviting his inspection, sure of herself, confident +in her dressmaker.</p> +<p>She was small and very upright, with a peculiarly confident carriage +of the head, which might indicate determination or, possibly, a mere +resolution to get her money’s worth. Her hair, perfectly +dressed, was of the colour of a slow-worm. She called it fair. +Her enemies said it reminded them of snakes. Her eyes were of +a darker shade of ashen grey, verging on hazel. Her mouth was +mobile, with thin lips and an expressive corner--the left-hand corner +- and at this moment it suggested pert inquiry. Some people thought +she had an expressive face, but then some people are singularly superficial +in their mode of observation. There was really no power of expressing +any feeling in the small, delicately cut face. It all lay in the +mouth, in the left-hand corner thereof.</p> +<p>“Well?” she said, and Luke’s wonder gradually faded +into admiration.</p> +<p>“I give it up,” he answered.</p> +<p>She shrugged her shoulders in pretended disgust.</p> +<p>“You are not polite,” she said, with a glance at his +stalwart person which might have indicated that there were atoning merits. +“I must say you are not polite, Luke. I do not think I will +tell you. It would be still more humiliating to learn that you +have forgotten my existence.”</p> +<p>“You cannot be Agatha!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Can I not? It happens that I <i>am</i> Agatha Ingham-Baker +- at your service!”</p> +<p>She swept him a low curtsey and sailed away to the mantelpiece, thereby +giving him the benefit of the exquisite fit of her dress. She +stood with one arm on the mantel-shelf, looking back at him over her +shoulder, summing him up with a little introspective nod.</p> +<p>“I should like to know why I cannot be Agatha,” she asked, +with that keen feminine scent for a personality which leads to the uttering +of so much nonsense, and the brewing of so much mischief.</p> +<p>“I never thought--” he began.</p> +<p>“Yes?”</p> +<p>He laughed and refused to go any farther, although she certainly +made the way easy for him.</p> +<p>“In fact,” she said mockingly, “you are disappointed. +You never expected me to turn out such a horrid--”</p> +<p>“You know it isn’t that,” he interrupted, with +a flash of his gloomy eyes.</p> +<p>“Not now,” she said quietly, glancing towards the door. +“I hear Mrs. Harrington coming downstairs. You can tell +me afterwards.”</p> +<p>Luke turned on his heel and greeted Mrs. Harrington with quite a +pleasant smile, which did not belong to her by rights, but to the girl +behind him.</p> +<p>Fitz had been away for two years. Mrs. Harrington in making +overtures of peace to Luke had been prompted by the one consistent motive +of her life, self-gratification. She was tired of the obsequious +society of persons like the Ingham-Bakers, whom she mentally set down +as parasites. There is a weariness of the flesh that comes to +rich women uncontrolled. They weary of their own power. +Tyranny palls. Mrs. Harrington was longing to be thwarted by some +one stronger than herself. The FitzHenrys even in their boyhood +had, by their sturdy independence, their simple, seamanlike self-assertion, +touched some chord in this lone woman’s heart which would not +vibrate to cringing fingers.</p> +<p>She had sent for Luke because Fitz was away. She wanted to +be thwarted. She would have liked to be bullied. And also +there was that subtle longing for the voice, the free gesture, the hearty +manliness of one whose home is on the sea.</p> +<p>As Luke turned to greet her with the rare smile on his face he was +marvellously like Fitz. He was well dressed. There was not +the slightest doubt that this was a gentleman. Nay, more, he looked +distinguished. And above all, he carried himself like a sailor. +So the reconciliation was sudden and therefore complete. A reconciliation +to be complete must be sudden. It is too delicate a thing to bear +handling.</p> +<p>Luke had come intending to curse. He began to feel like staying +to bless. He was quite genial and pleasant, greeting Mrs. Ingham-Baker +as an old friend, and thereby distinctly upsetting that lady’s +mental equilibrium. She had endeavoured to prevent this meeting, +because she thought it was not fair to Fitz. She noted the approval +with which Mrs. Harrington’s keen eyes rested on the young sailor, +and endeavoured somewhat obviously to draw Agatha’s attention +to it by frowns and heavily significant nods, which her dutiful daughter +ignored.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington glanced impatiently at the clock.</p> +<p>“That stupid Count is late,” she said.</p> +<p>“Is the Count de Lloseta coming?” asked Mrs. Ingham-Baker +eagerly.</p> +<p>From the strictly impartial standpoint of a mother she felt sure +that the Count admired Agatha.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Harrington, with a cynical smile.</p> +<p>And Mrs. Ingham-Baker, heedless of the sarcasm, was already engaged +in an exhaustive examination of Agatha’s dress. She crossed +the room and delicately rectified some microscopic disorder of the snake-like +hair. With a final glance up and down, she crossed her arms at +her waist and looked complacently towards the door.</p> +<p>The Count came in, and failed to realise the hope that apparently +buoyed Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s maternal heart. He did not strike +an attitude or cover his dazzled eyes when they rested on Agatha. +He merely came forward with his gravest smile and uttered the pleasant +fictions appropriate to the occasion. Mrs. Ingham-Baker was marked +in her gracious reception of the Spaniard, and the hostess watched her +effusions with a queer little smile.</p> +<p>At dinner Mrs. Ingham-Baker was opposite to the Count, who seemed +preoccupied and somewhat absent-minded. Her attention was divided +between an anticipatory appreciation of Mrs. Harrington’s cook +and an evident admiration for her own daughter.</p> +<p>“Agatha was just saying,” observed the stout lady between +the candle shades, “that we had not seen the Count de Lloseta +for quite a long time. Only yesterday, was it not, dear?”</p> +<p>Agatha acquiesced.</p> +<p>“The loss,” answered the Count, “is mine. +But it is more than made good by the news that my small absence was +noted. I have been abroad.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington at the end of the table looked up sharply, and a +few drops of soup fell from her upraised spoon with a splash.</p> +<p>“In Spain?” she asked.</p> +<p>“In Spain.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IX. CUT FOR PARTNERS.</h3> +<p> <i>Beware equally of a sudden friend +and a slow enemy.</i></p> +<p>A wise man had said of Cipriani de Lloseta that had he not been a +Count he would have been a great musician. He had that singular +facility with any instrument which is sometimes given to musical persons +in recompense for voicelessness. The Count spoke like one who +could sing, but his throat was delicate, and so the world lost a great +singer. Of most instruments he spoke with a half-concealed contempt. +But of the violin he said nothing. He was not a man to turn the +conversational overflow upon self-evident facts.</p> +<p>He invariably brought his violin to Grosvenor Gardens when Mrs. Harrington +invited him, in her commanding way, to dine. It amused Mrs. Harrington +to accompany his instrument on the piano. Her music was of the +accompanying order. It was heartless and correct. Some of +us, by the way, have friends of this same order, and, like Mrs. Harrington’s +music, they are not in themselves either interesting or pleasant.</p> +<p>The piano stood in the inner drawing-room, and thither the Count +and Mrs. Harrington repaired when the gentlemen had joined the ladies. +In the larger drawing-room Luke was fortunate enough to secure a seat +near to Agatha--quite near, and a long way from Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +digestively asleep in an armchair.</p> +<p>He did not exactly know how this arrangement was accomplished--it +seemed to come. Possibly Agatha knew.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington struck a keynote and began playing the prelude of +a piece well known to them both.</p> +<p>“Why did you not tell me that you were going to Spain?” +she asked somewhat tersely, under cover of her own chords.</p> +<p>“Had I known that it would interest you--” murmured +De Lloseta, tightening his bow. There was a singular gleam in +his eye. The gleam that one sees in the eye of a dog which has +been thrashed, telling the wise that one day the dog will turn.</p> +<p>“I am always interested,” said the grey lady slowly, +“in Spain--and even in Mallorca.”</p> +<p>She used the Spanish name of the island with the soft roll in the +throat that English people rarely acquire. He was prepared for +it, standing with raised bow, looking past her iron-grey head to the +music. She glanced back over her shoulder into his face with the +cruel cat-like love of torture that some people possess. Far away +in the distant wisdom of Providence it had been decreed that this woman +should have no child less clever than herself to tease into hopelessness.</p> +<p>The Spaniard laid his magic bow to the strings, leaving her to follow. +He tucked the violin against his collar with a little caressing motion +of his chin, and in a few moments he seemed to forget all else than +the voice of the instrument. There are a few musicians who can +give to a violin the power of speech. They can make the instrument +tell some story--not a cheery tale, but rather like the story that +dogs tell us sometimes--a story which seems to have a sequence of its +own, and to be quite intelligible to its teller; but to us it is only +comprehensible in part, like a tale that is told dramatically in a tongue +unknown.</p> +<p>The Count stood up and played with no fine frenzy, no rolling eyes, +no swaying form; for such are the signs of a hopeless effort, hung out +by the man who has heard the story and tries in vain to tell it himself.</p> +<p>Even Agatha was outdone, for Luke drifted off into absent-mindedness, +and after a little effort she left him to return at his own time. +She listened to the music herself, but it did not seem to touch her. +For sound ascends, and this was already above Agatha Ingham-Baker’s +head. The piece over, Mrs. Harrington selected another.</p> +<p>“You did not go across to Mallorca?” she inquired, in +a voice that did not reach the other room. “No,” he +answered, “I did not go across to Mallorca.”</p> +<p>He stepped back a pace to move a chair which was too near to him, +and the movement made it impossible for her to continue the conversation +without raising her voice. She countered at once by rising and +laying the music aside.</p> +<p>“I am too tired for more,” she said. “You +must ask Agatha to accompany you. She plays beautifully. +I have it from her mother!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington stood for a moment looking into the other room. +Luke and Agatha were talking together with some animation.</p> +<p>“I have been very busy lately,” she said conversationally. +“Perhaps you have failed to notice that I have had this room redecorated?”</p> +<p>He looked round the apartments with a smile, which somehow conveyed +a colossal contempt. “Very charming,” he said.</p> +<p>“It was done by a good man and cost a round sum.” +She paused, looking at him with a mocking glance. “In fact, +I am rather in need of money. My balance at the bank is not so +large as I could wish.”</p> +<p>The Count’s dark eyes rested on her face with the small gleam +in their depths which has already been noted.</p> +<p>“I am not good at money matters,” he said. “But, +so far as I recollect, you have already exceeded our--”</p> +<p>“Possibly.”</p> +<p>“And, unless my memory plays me false, there was a distinct +promise that this should not occur again. Perhaps a lady’s +promise--”</p> +<p>“Possibly.”</p> +<p>The Count contented himself with a derisive laugh beneath his breath, +and waited for her to speak again. This she did as she moved towards +the other room.</p> +<p>“I think five hundred pounds would suffice--at present. +Agatha,” she continued, raising her voice, “come and play +the Count’s accompaniment. He finds fault with me to-night.”</p> +<p>“No. I only suggested a little <i>più lento</i>! +You take it too fast.”</p> +<p>“Ah! Well, I want to talk to Luke. Come, Agatha.”</p> +<p>“I tremble at the thought of my own temerity,” said Miss +Ingham-Baker, as she seated herself on a music-stool with a great rustle +of silks and considerable play of her white arms.</p> +<p>“Are you bold?” inquired the Count, with impenetrable +suavity.</p> +<p>“I am--to attempt your accompaniments. I expect to be +found fault with.”</p> +<p>“It will at all events be a novelty,” he answered, setting +the music in order.</p> +<p>The Spaniard opened the music-book and indicated the page. +Agatha dashed at it with characteristic confidence, and the voice of +the violin came singing softly into the melody. It was a better +performance than the last. Agatha’s playing was much less +correct, but as she went on she forgot herself, and she put something +into the accompaniment which Mrs. Harrington had left out. It +was not time, neither was it a stricter attention to the composer’s +instructions. It was only a possibility, after all.</p> +<p>In the other room Mrs. Ingham-Baker slumbered still. Mrs. Harrington, +unmoved in her grey silk dress, was talking with her usual incisiveness, +and Luke was listening gravely. When the piece was done, Mrs. +Harrington said over her shoulder--</p> +<p>“Go on. You get on splendidly together.”</p> +<p>And she returned to her conversation with Luke.</p> +<p>The Count looked through his music.</p> +<p>“How devoted she is to her nephews!” said Agatha, tapping +the ivory keyboard with a dainty finger.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And apparently to both alike.”</p> +<p>There was a little flicker beneath the Count’s lowered eyelids.</p> +<p>“Apparently so,” he answered, with assumed hesitation.</p> +<p>Agatha continued playfully, tapping the ivory notes with her middle +finger--the others being gracefully curled.</p> +<p>“You speak as if you doubted the impartiality.”</p> +<p>“I am happy to say I always doubt a woman’s impartiality.”</p> +<p>She laughed and drew the stool nearer to the piano. It would +have been easier to drift away into the conversational channel of vague +generality which he opened up. He waited with some curiosity.</p> +<p>“Do you think there is a preference?” she said, falling +into his small trap.</p> +<p>“Ah! There you ask me something that is beyond my poor +powers of discrimination. Mrs. Harrington does not wear her feelings +on her sleeve. She is difficult.”</p> +<p>“Very,” admitted Agatha, with a little sigh.</p> +<p>“I am naturally interested in the FitzHenrys,” she went +on after a little pause, with baffling frankness. “You see, +we were children together.”</p> +<p>“So I understand. I too am interested in them--merely +because I like them.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid,” continued Agatha, tentatively turning +the pages of the music which he had set before her, speaking as if she +was only half thinking of what she was saying--“I am afraid that +Mrs. Harrington is the sort of person to do an injustice. She +almost told my mother that she intended to leave all her money to one +of them.”</p> +<p>Again that little flicker of the Count’s patient eyelids.</p> +<p>“Indeed!” he said. “To which one?”</p> +<p>Agatha shrugged her shoulders and began playing. “That +is not so much the question. It is the principle--the injustice +- that one objects to.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” murmured De Lloseta, with a little nod. +“Of course.”</p> +<p>They went on playing, and in the other room Mrs. Harrington talked +to Luke. Mrs. Ingham-Baker appeared to slumber, but her friend +and hostess suspected her of listening. She therefore raised her +voice at intervals, knowing the exquisite torture of unsatisfied curiosity, +and Mrs. Ingham-Baker heard the word “Fitz,” and the magic +syllables “money,” more than once, but no connecting phrase +to soothe her aching mental palate.</p> +<p>“And is your life a hard one?” Mrs. Harrington was asking. +She had been leading up to this question for some time--inviting his +confidence, seeking the extent of her own power. A woman is not +content with possessing power; she wishes to see the evidence of it +in the lives of others.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Luke, unconsciously disappointing her; +“I cannot say that it is.”</p> +<p>He was strictly, sternly on his guard. There was not the faintest +possibility of his ever forgiving this woman.</p> +<p>“And you are getting on in your career?”</p> +<p>“Yes, thank you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s grey eyes rested on his face searchingly.</p> +<p>“Perhaps I could help you,” she said, “with my +small influence, or--or by other means.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he said again without anger, serene in his +complete independence.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington frowned. A dream passed through her mind--a +great desire. What if she could crush this man’s pride? +For his six years’ silence had never ceased to gall her. +What if she could humble him so completely that he would come asking +the help she so carelessly offered?</p> +<p>With a woman’s instinct she hit upon the only possible means +of attaining this end. She did not pause to argue that a nature +such as Luke’s would never ask anything for itself--that it is +precisely such as he who have no pride when they ask for another, sacrificing +even that for that other’s sake.</p> +<p>Following her own thoughts, Mrs. Harrington looked pensively into +the room where Agatha was sitting. The girl was playing, with +a little frown of concentration. The wonderful music close to +her ear was busy arousing that small possibility. Agatha did not +know that any one was looking at her. The two pink shades of the +piano candles cast a becoming light upon her face and form.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s eyes came surreptitiously round. Luke +also was looking at Agatha. And a queer little smile hovered across +Mrs. Harrington’s lips. The dream was assuming more tangible +proportions. Mrs. Harrington began to see her way; already her +inordinate love of power was at work. She could not admit even +to herself that Luke FitzHenry had escaped her. Women never know +when they have had enough.</p> +<p>“How long are you to be in London?” she asked, with a +sudden kindness.</p> +<p>“Only a fortnight.”</p> +<p>“Well, you must often come and see me. I shall have the +Ingham-Bakers staying with me a few weeks longer. It is dull for +poor Agatha with only two old women in the house. Come to lunch +to-morrow, and we can do something in the afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Thank you very much,” said Luke.</p> +<p>“You will come?”</p> +<p>“I should like nothing better.”</p> +<p>And so the music went on--and the game. Some played a losing +game from the beginning, and others played without quite knowing the +stake. Some held to certain rules, while others made the rules +as they went along--as children do--ignorant of the tears that must +inevitably follow. But Fate placed all the best cards in Mrs. +Harrington’s hand.</p> +<p>Luke and the Count Cipriani de Lloseta went out of the house together. +They walked side by side for some yards while a watchful hansom followed.</p> +<p>“Can I give you a lift?” said De Lloseta at length. +“I am going down to the Peregrinator’s.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, no. I shall go straight to my rooms. I +have not had my clothes off for three nights.”</p> +<p>“Ah, you sailors! I am going down to have my half-hour +over a book to compose my mind.”</p> +<p>“Do you read much?”</p> +<p>De Lloseta called the cab with a jerk of his head. Before stepping +into it he looked keenly into his companion’s face.</p> +<p>“Yes, a good deal. I read somewhere, lately, that it +is never wise to accept favours from a woman; she will always have more +than her money’s worth. Good-night.”</p> +<p>And he drove away.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER X. THE GAME OPENS.</h3> +<p><i> Ce qu’on dit à l’être +à qui on dit tout n’est pas la moitié de ce qu’on +lui cache.</i></p> +<p>Agatha sent her maid to bed and sat down before her bedroom fire +to brush her hair.</p> +<p>Miss Ingham-Baker had, only four years earlier, left a fashionable +South Coast boarding-school fully educated for the battle of life. +There seem to be two classes of young ladies’ boarding-schools. +In the one they are educated with a view of faring well in this world, +in the other the teaching mostly bears upon matters connected with the +next. In the last-mentioned class of establishment the young people +get up early and have very little material food to eat. So Mrs. +Ingham-Baker wisely sent her daughter to the worldly school. This +astute lady knew that girls who get up very early to attend public worship +in the dim hours, and have poor meals during the day, do not as a rule +make good matches. They have no time to do their hair properly, +and are not urged so much thereto as to punctuality at compline, or +whatever the service may be. And it is thus that the little habits +are acquired, and the little habits make the woman, therefore the little +habits make the match. <i>Quod erat demonstrandum.</i></p> +<p>So Agatha was sent to a worldly school, where they promenaded in +the King’s Road, and were taught at an early age to recognise +the glance of admiration when they saw it. They were brought up +to desire nice clothes, and to wear the same stylishly. On Sunday +they wore bonnets, and promenaded with additional enthusiasm. +Their youthful backs were straightened out by some process which the +writer, not having been educated at a girls’ school, cannot be +expected to detail. They were given excellent meals at healthy +hours, and the reprehensible habits of the lark were treated with contumely. +They were given to understand that it was good to be smart always, and +even smarter at church. Religious fervour, if it ran to limpness +of dress, or form, or mind, was punishable according to law. A +wholesome spirit of competition was encouraged, not in the taking of +many prizes, the attending of many services, or the acquirement of much +Euclid, but in dress, smartness, and the accomplishments.</p> +<p>“My girls always marry!” Miss Jones was wont to say with +a complacent smile, and mothers advertised it.</p> +<p>Agatha had been an apt pupil. She came away from Miss Jones +a finished article. Miss Jones had indeed looked in vain for Agatha’s +name in that right-hand column of the <i>Morning Post</i> where fashionable +arrangements are noted, and in the first column of the <i>Times</i>, +where further social events have precedence. But that was entirely +Agatha’s fault. She came, and she saw, but she had not hitherto +seen anything worth conquering. So many of her school friends +had married on the impulse of the moment for mere sentimental reasons, +remaining as awful and harassed warnings in suburban retreats where +rents are moderate and the census on the flow. If there was one +thing Miss Jones despised more than love in a cottage, it was that intangible +commodity in a suburban villa.</p> +<p>Agatha, in a word, meant to do well for herself, and she was dimly +grateful to her mother for having foreseen this situation and provided +for it by a suitable education.</p> +<p>She was probably thinking over the matter while she brushed her hair, +for she was deeply absorbed. There was a knock at the door--a +timid, deprecatory knock.</p> +<p>“Oh, come in!” cried Agatha.</p> +<p>The door opened and disclosed Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, +in a ludicrous purple dressing-gown.</p> +<p>“May I come and warm myself at your fire, dear?” she +inquired humbly; “my own is so low.”</p> +<p>“That,” said Agatha, “is because you are afraid +of the servants.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker closed the door and came towards the fire with +surreptitious steps. It would not be truthful to say that she +came on tiptoe, her build not warranting that mode of progression. +Agatha watched her without surprise. Mrs. Ingham-Baker always +moved like that in her dressing-gown. Like many ladies, she put +on stealth with that garment.</p> +<p>“How beautifully the Count plays!” said the mother.</p> +<p>“Beautifully!” answered Agatha.</p> +<p>And neither was thinking of Cipriani de Lloseta.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker gave a little sigh, and contemplated her wool-work +bedroom slippers with an affection which their appearance certainly +did not warrant. There was a suggestion of bygone defeats in sigh +and attitude--defeats borne with the resignation that followeth on +habit.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe,” she said, “that he will +ever marry again.”</p> +<p>The girl tossed her pretty head.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t think any one would have him!”</p> +<p>She was not of the campaigners who admit defeat. Mrs. Ingham-Baker +sighed again, and put out the other slipper.</p> +<p>“He must be very rich!--a palace in Barcelona--a <i>palace</i>!”</p> +<p>“Other people have castles in Spain,” replied Agatha, +without any of that filial respect which our grandmothers were pleased +to affect. There was nothing old-fashioned or effete about Agatha +- she was, on the contrary, essentially modern.</p> +<p>The elder lady did not catch the allusion, and dived deep into thought. +She supposed that Agatha had met and danced with other rich Spaniards, +and could have any one of them by the mere raising of her little finger. +Her attitude towards her daughter was that of an old campaigner who, +having done well in a bygone time, has the good sense to recognise the +deeper science of a modern warfare, being quite content with a small +command in the rear.</p> +<p>To carry out the simile, she now gathered from this conversational +reconnaissance that the younger and abler general at the front was about +to alter the object of attack. She had, in fact, come in not to +warm, but to inform herself.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Harrington seemed to take to Luke,” said Agatha, +behind her hair.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, proceeding carefully, +for she was well in hand--“wonderfully so! Poor Fitz seems +to stand a very good chance of being cut out.”</p> +<p>“Fitz will have to look after himself,” opined the young +lady. “Did she say anything to you after I came to bed? +I came away on purpose.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced towards the door, and drew her dressing-gown +more closely round her.</p> +<p>“<i>Well</i>,” she began volubly, “of course I +said what a nice fellow Luke was, so manly and simple, and all that. +And she quite agreed with me. I said that perhaps he would get +on after all and not bring disgrace upon all her kindness.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by <i>that</i>?” inquired Agatha.</p> +<p>“I don’t know, my dear, but I said it. And she +said she hoped so. Then I asked her if she knew what his wages +or salary, or whatever they are called, amounted to, and what his prospects +are. She said she knew nothing about his salary, but that his +prospects were quite a different matter. I pretended I did not +know what she meant. So she gave a little sigh and said that one +could not expect to live for ever. I said that I was sure I wished +some people could, and she smiled in a funny way.”</p> +<p>“You do not seem to have done it very well,” the younger +and more scientific campaigner observed coldly.</p> +<p>“Oh, but it was all right, Agatha dear. I understand +her so well. And I said I was sure that Luke would deserve anything +he got; that of course it was different for Fitz, because his life is +all set out straight before him. And she said I was quite right.”</p> +<p>The report was finished, and Agatha sat for some moments with the +brush on her lap looking into the fire with the deep thoughtfulness +of a cool tactician.</p> +<p>“I am <i>sure</i> he was struck with you,” said the mother +fervently.</p> +<p>After all she was only fit for a very small command very far in the +rear. She never saw the singular light in Agatha’s eyes.</p> +<p>“Do you think so?” said the girl, half dreamily.</p> +<p>“I am sure of it.”</p> +<p>Agatha began brushing her hair again.</p> +<p>“What makes you think so?” she inquired through the snaky +canopy.</p> +<p>“He never took his eyes off you when you were playing the Count’s +accompaniment.”</p> +<p>The girl suddenly rose and went to the dressing-table. The +candles there were lighted, one on each side of the mirror. Agatha +saw that her mother was still admiring her bedroom slippers. Then +she looked at the reflection of her own face with the smooth hair hanging +straight down over either shoulder. She gazed long and curiously +as if seeking something in the pleasant reflection.</p> +<p>“Did she say anything more about Fitz?” she asked suddenly, +with an obvious change of the subject which Mrs. Ingham-Baker did not +attempt to understand. She was not a subtle woman.</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>Agatha came back and sat down.</p> +<p>“And you are quite sure she said exactly what you have told +me, about not expecting to live for ever.”</p> +<p>“Quite.”</p> +<p>Then followed a long silence. A belated cab rattled past beneath +the windows. There was apparently a cowl on the chimney connected +with Agatha’s room, for at intervals a faint groaning sound came, +apparently from the fireplace.</p> +<p>Agatha leant forward with her chin on her two hands, her elbows on +her knees. Her hair hung almost to the ground. She was looking +into the coals with thoughtful eyes. The elder tactician waited +in respectful silence.</p> +<p>“Suppose-- ” said the girl suddenly, and stopped.</p> +<p>“Yes, my darling.”</p> +<p>“Suppose we accept the Danefords’ invitation?”</p> +<p>“To go to Malta?”</p> +<p>“Yes, to go to Malta.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell into a puzzled, harassed reverie. This +modern warfare was so complicated. The younger, keener tactician +did not seem to demand an answer to her supposition. She proceeded +to follow out the train of her own thoughts in as complete an absorption +as if she had been alone in the room.</p> +<p>“The voyage,” she said, “would be a pleasant change +if we selected a good boat.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker reflected for a moment.</p> +<p>“We might go in the <i>Croonah</i> with Luke,” she then +observed timidly.</p> +<p>“Ye-es.”</p> +<p>And after a little while Mrs. Ingham-Baker rose and bade her daughter +good-night.</p> +<p>Agatha remained before the fire in the low chair with her face resting +on her two hands, and who can tell all that she was thinking? +For the thoughts of youth are very quick. They are different from +the thoughts of maturity, inasmuch as they rise higher into happiness +and descend deeper into misery. Agatha Ingham-Baker knew that +she had her own life to shape, with only such blundering, well-meant +assistance as her mother could give her. She had found out that +the world cannot pause to help the stricken, or to give a hand to the +fallen, but that it always has leisure to cringe and make way for the +successful.</p> +<p>Other girls had been successful. Why should not she? +And if--and if--</p> +<p>The next morning at breakfast Mrs. Ingham-Baker took an opportunity +of asking Mrs. Harrington if she knew Malta.</p> +<p>“Malta,” answered the grey lady, “is a sort of +Nursery India. I have known girls marry at Malta, but I have known +more who were obliged to go to India.”</p> +<p>“That,” answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, “is exactly +what I am afraid of.”</p> +<p>“Having to go on to India?” inquired Mrs. Harrington, +looking over her letters.</p> +<p>“No. I am afraid that Malta is not quite the place one +would like to take one’s daughter to.”</p> +<p>“That depends, I should imagine, upon the views one may have +respecting one’s daughter,” answered the lady of the house +carelessly.</p> +<p>At this moment Agatha came in looking fresh and smart in a tweed +dress. There was something about her that made people turn in +the streets to look at her again. For years she had noted this +with much satisfaction. But she was beginning to get a little +tired of the homage of the pavement. Those who turned to glance +a second time never came back to offer her a heart and a fortune. +She was perhaps beginning faintly to suspect that which many of us know +- namely, that she who has the admiration of many rarely has the love +of one; and if by chance she gets this, she never knows its value and +rarely keeps it.</p> +<p>“I was just asking Mrs. Harrington about Malta, dear,” +exclaimed Mrs. Ingham-Baker. “It is a nice place, is it +not, Marian?”</p> +<p>“I believe it is.”</p> +<p>“And somehow I quite want to go there. I can’t +think why,” said Mrs. Ingham-Baker volubly. “It would +be so nice to get a little sunshine after these grey skies, would it +not, dear?”</p> +<p>Agatha gave a little shiver as she sat down.</p> +<p>“It would be very nice to feel really warm,” she said. +“But there is the horrid sea voyage.”</p> +<p>“I dare say you would enjoy that very much after the first +two days,” put in Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>“Especially if we select a nice large boat--one of those with +two funnels?” put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker. “Now I wonder +what boat we could go by?”</p> +<p>“Luke’s,” suggested Mrs. Harrington, with cynical +curtness. There was a subtle suggestion of finality in her tone, +a tiniest note of weariness which almost said--</p> +<p>“Now we have reached our goal.”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said Mrs. Ingham-Baker doubtfully, “that +it is really a fine vessel?”</p> +<p>“So I am told.”</p> +<p>“I really expect,” put in Agatha carelessly, “that +one steamer is as good as another.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington turned on her like suave lightning.</p> +<p>“But one boat is not so well officered as another, my dear!” +she said.</p> +<p>Agatha--not to be brow-beaten, keen as the older fencer--looked +Mrs. Harrington straight in the face.</p> +<p>“You mean Luke,” she said. “Of course I dare +say he is a good officer. But one always feels doubtful about +trusting one’s friends--does one not?”</p> +<p>“One does,” answered Mrs. Harrington, turning to her +letters.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA.</h3> +<p> <i>All such things touch secret strings<br /> For +heavy hearts to bear</i>.</p> +<p>“And you don’t seem to care.”</p> +<p>Agatha smiled a little inward smile of triumph.</p> +<p>“Don’t I?” she answered, with a sidelong glance +beneath her lashes.</p> +<p>Luke stared straight in front of him with set lips. He looked +a dangerous man to trifle with, and what woman can keep her hands out +of such danger as this?</p> +<p>They were walking backwards and forwards on the broad promenade deck +of the <i>Croonah</i>, and the <i>Croonah</i> was gliding through the +grey waters of the Atlantic. To their left lay the coast of Portugal +smiling in the sunshine. To their right the orb of day himself, +lowering cloudless to the horizon. Ahead, bleak and lonely, lay +the dread Burlings. The maligned Bay of Biscay lay behind, and +already a large number of the passengers had plucked up spirit to leave +the cabin stairs, crawling on deck to lie supine in long chairs and +talk hopefully of calmer days to come.</p> +<p>Agatha had proved herself to be a good sailor. She walked beside +Luke FitzHenry with her usual dainty firmness of step and confidence +of carriage. Luke himself--in uniform--looked sternly in earnest.</p> +<p>They had been talking of Gibraltar, where the <i>Croonah</i> was +to touch the next morning, and Luke had just told Agatha that he could +not go ashore with her and Mrs. Ingham-Baker.</p> +<p>“Don’t I?” the girl reiterated with a little sigh.</p> +<p>“Well, it does not sound like it.”</p> +<p>“The truth is,” said Agatha, “that I have an inward +conviction that it would only be more trouble than it is worth.”</p> +<p>“What would be more trouble than it is worth?”</p> +<p>“Going ashore.”</p> +<p>“Then you will not go?” he asked eagerly.</p> +<p>“I think not,” she answered, with demure downcast eyes.</p> +<p>And Luke FitzHenry was the happiest man on board the <i>Croonah</i>. +There was no mistaking her meaning. Luke, who knew himself to +be a pessimist--a man who persistently looked for ill-fortune--felt +that her meaning could not well be other than that she preferred remaining +on board because he could not go ashore.</p> +<p>The dinner bell rang out over the quiet decks, and, with a familiar +little nod, Agatha turned away from her companion.</p> +<p>The next morning saw the <i>Croonah</i> speeding past Trafalgar’s +heights. There was a whistling breeze from the west; and over +the mountains of Tarifa and the far gloomy fastness of Ceuta hung clouds +and squalls. The sea, lashed to white flecks, raced through the +straits, and every now and then a sharp shower darkened the face of +the waters. There was something forbidding and mysterious in the +scene, something dark and foreboding over the coast-line of Africa. +All eyes were fixed on the Rock, now slowly appearing from behind the +hills that hide Algeciras.</p> +<p>Luke was on duty on the bridge, motionless at his post. It +was a simple matter to these mariners to make for the anchorage of Gibraltar, +and Luke was thinking of Agatha. He was recalling a thousand little +incidents which came back with a sudden warm thrill into his heart, +the chilled, stern heart of a disappointed man. He was recollecting +words that she had said, silences which she had kept, glances which +she had given him. And all told him the same thing. All +went to the core of his passionate, self-consuming heart.</p> +<p>The bay now lay before him, dotted here and there by close-reefed +sails. A few steamers lay at anchor, and, beyond the old Mole, +black coal hulks peacefully stripped of rigging. Suddenly Luke +lifted the lid of the small box affixed to the rail in front of him +and sought his glasses. For some seconds he looked through the +binoculars fixedly in the direction of the Mole. Then he moved +towards the captain.</p> +<p>“That is the <i>Kittiwake</i>,” he said.</p> +<p>“Thought it looked like her!” replied the captain, intent +on his own affairs.</p> +<p>Luke went back to his post. The <i>Kittiwake</i>! And +he was not glad. It was that that puzzled him. He was not +glad. He was going to see Fitz after many years, and twins are +different from other brothers. They usually see more of each other +all through life. They are necessary to each other. Fitz +and Luke had always corresponded as regularly as their roaming lives +allowed. But for three years they had never met.</p> +<p>Luke stood with beating heart, his eyes fixed on the trim rakish-looking +little gunboat lying at anchor immediately off the Mole. He was +suddenly breathless. His light oil-skins oppressed him. +There was a vague feeling within him that he had only begun to live +within the last two weeks--all before that had been merely existence. +And now he was living too quickly, without time to define his feelings. +But the sensations were real enough. It does not take long to +acquire a feeling.</p> +<p>After all he was not glad. His attention was required for a +few moments to carry out an order, and he returned to his thought. +He did not, however, think it out. He only knew that if Agatha +had not been on board the <i>Croonah</i> he would have been breathlessly +impatient to see his brother. Therefore he did not want Agatha +and Fitz to meet. And yet Fitz was quite different from other +men. There was no harm in Fitz, and surely he could be trusted +to see Agatha for a few hours without falling in love with her, without +making Agatha love him.</p> +<p>Yet--Fitz had always succeeded where he, Luke, had failed. +Fitz had always the good things of life. It was all luck. +It had been luck from the very beginning. Another order required +the second officer’s full mind and attention. There were +a thousand matters to be attended to, for the <i>Croonah</i> was enormous, +unwieldy.</p> +<p>In the execution of his duties Luke began presently to forget himself. +He did not attempt to define his thoughts. He did not even reflect +that he knew so little of his brother that this meeting could not possibly +cause him this sudden uneasiness, this foreboding care, from <i>that</i> +side of the question. He did not fear for Fitz to meet Agatha, +he really dreaded Agatha seeing Fitz.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> moved into her anchorage with that gentle strength +which in a large steamer seems to indicate that she is thinking about +it and doing it all herself. For in these days there is no shouting, +no call of boatswain’s whistle; and the ordinary observer hardly +notices the quiet <i>deus ex machinâ</i>, the man on the bridge.</p> +<p>Hardly had the anchor splashed home with a rattle of cable that vibrated +through the ship, when a small white boat shot out from behind the smart +<i>Kittiwake</i>, impelled by the short and regular beat of ten oars. +There was a man seated in the stern enveloped in a large black boat +cloak--for Gibraltar harbour is choppy when the westerly breezes blow +- a man who looked the <i>Croonah</i> up and down with a curious searching +eye. The boat shot alongside the vast steamer--the bowman neatly +catching a rope that was thrown to him--and the officer clambered up +the swaying gangway.</p> +<p>He pushed his way gently through the passengers, the cloak flying +partially open as he did so and displaying Her Majesty’s uniform. +He treated all these people with that patient tolerance which belongs +to the mariner when dealing with landsmen. They were so many sheep +penned up in a conveyance. Well-dressed sheep, he admitted tacitly +by the withdrawal of his dripping cloak from their contact, but he treated +them in the bulk, failing to notice one more than another. He +utterly failed to observe Agatha Ingham-Baker, dainty and fresh in blue +serge and a pert sailor hat. She knew him at once, and his want +of observation was set down in her mind against him. She did not +want him to recognise her. Not at all. She merely wanted +him to look at her, and then to look again--to throw a passing crumb +of admiration to her greedy vanity, which lived on such daily food.</p> +<p>Fitz, intent on his errand, pushed his way towards the steps leading +up through the awning to the bridge. He seemed to know by some +sailor instinct where to find it. He paused at the foot of the +iron steps to give an order to the man who followed at his heel, and +the attitude was Luke’s. The onlookers saw at a glance who +this must be. The resemblance was startling. There was merely +Luke FitzHenry over again, somewhat fairer, a little taller, but the +same man.</p> +<p>The captain gave a sudden bluff laugh when Fitz emerged on the little +spidery bridge far above the deck.</p> +<p>“No doubt who you are, sir,” he said, holding out his +hand.</p> +<p>Then he stepped aside, and the two brothers met. They said +nothing, merely shaking hands, and Luke’s eyes involuntarily went +to the smart, simple uniform half hidden by the cloak. Fitz saw +the glance and drew his cloak hastily round him. It was unfortunate.</p> +<p>And this was their meeting after three years.</p> +<p>“By George!” exclaimed Fitz, after a momentary pause, +“she <i>is</i> a fine ship!”</p> +<p>Luke rested his hands on the white painted rail--almost a caress +to the great steamer--and followed the direction of his brother’s +glance,</p> +<p>“Yes,” he admitted slowly, “yes, she is a good +boat.”</p> +<p>And then his deep eyes wandered involuntarily towards the tiny <i>Kittiwake</i> +- smart, man-of-war-like at her anchorage--and a sudden sharp sigh +broke from his lips. He had not got over it yet. He never +would.</p> +<p>“So you have got away,” he went on, “from Mahon +at last?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Fitz.</p> +<p>“I should think you have had enough of Minorca to last you +the rest of your life,” said Luke, looking abruptly down at the +quarrelling boatmen and the tangle of tossing craft beneath them.</p> +<p>“It is not such a bad place as all that,” replied Fitz. +“I--I rather like it.”</p> +<p>There was a little pause, and quite suddenly Luke said--</p> +<p>“The Ingham-Bakers are on board.”</p> +<p>It would almost seem that these twin minds followed each other into +the same train of thought. Fitz frowned with an air of reflectiveness.</p> +<p>“The Ingham-Bakers,” he said. “Who are they?”</p> +<p>Luke gave a little laugh which almost expressed a sudden relief.</p> +<p>“Don’t you remember?” he said. “She +is a friend of Mrs. Harrington’s, and--and there is Agatha, her +daughter.”</p> +<p>“I remember--stout. Not the daughter, the old woman, +I mean. Oh--yes. Where are they going?”</p> +<p>“To Malta.”</p> +<p>It was perfectly obvious, even to Luke, that the Ingham-Bakers’ +immediate or projective destination was a matter of the utmost indifference +to Fitz, who was more interested in the <i>Croonah</i> than in her passengers.</p> +<p>They were both conscious of an indefinite feeling of disappointment. +This meeting after years of absence was not as it should be. Something +seemed to stand between them--a shadow, a myth, a tiny distinction. +Luke, with characteristic pessimism, saw it first--felt its chill, +intangible presence before his less subtle-minded brother. Then +Fitz saw it, and, as was his habit, he went at it unhesitatingly</p> +<p>“Gad!” he explained, “I am glad to see you, old +chap. Long time, isn’t it, since we saw each other? +You must come back with me, and have lunch or something. The men +will be awfully glad to make your acquaintance. You can look over +the ship, though she is not much to look at, you know! Not up +to this. She is a fine ship, Luke! What can she steam?”</p> +<p>“She can do her twenty,” answered the second officer +of the <i>Croonah</i>, indifferently.</p> +<p>“Yes, she looks it. Well, can you get away now?”</p> +<p>Luke shook his head.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered almost ungraciously, “I can’t +leave the ship.”</p> +<p>“What! Not to come and look over the <i>Kittiwake</i>?” +Fitz’s face fell visibly. He did not seem to be able to +realise that any one should be equal to relinquishing without a murmur +the opportunity of looking over the <i>Kittiwake</i>.</p> +<p>“No, I am afraid not. We have our discipline too, you +know. Besides, we are rather like railway guards. We must +keep up to time. We shall be under way by two o’clock.”</p> +<p>Fitz pressed the point no further. He had been brought up to +discipline since childhood--moreover, he was rather clever in a simple +way, and he had found out that it would be no pleasure but a pain to +Luke to board a ship flying the white ensign.</p> +<p>“Can I stay on board to lunch with you?” he asked easily. +“Goodness only knows when we shall run against each other again. +It was the merest chance. We only got in last night. I was +just going ashore to report when we saw the old <i>Croonah</i> come +pounding in. That”--he paused and drew his cloak closer +- “is why I am in my war-paint! We are going straight home.”</p> +<p>“Stay by all means,” said Luke.</p> +<p>Fitz nodded.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he added as an afterthought, “that +I ought to pay my respects to Mrs. Ingham-Baker?”</p> +<p>Luke’s face cleared suddenly. Fitz had evidently forgotten +about Agatha.</p> +<p>“I will ask them to lunch with us in my cabin,” he said.</p> +<p>And presently they left the bridge.</p> +<p>In due course Fitz was presented to the Ingham-Bakers, and Agatha +was very gracious. Fitz looked at her a good deal. Simply +because she made him. She directed all her conversation and eke +her bright eyes in his direction. He listened, and when necessary +he laughed a jolly resounding laugh. How could she tell that he +was drawing comparisons all the while? It is the simple-minded +men who puzzle women most. Whenever Luke’s face clouded +she swept away the gathering gloom with some small familiar attention +- some reference to him in her conversation with Fitz which somehow +brought him nearer and set Fitz further off.</p> +<p>Suddenly, on hearing that Fitz hoped to be in England within a week, +Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell heavily into conversation.</p> +<p>“I am afraid,” she said, “that you will find our +dear Mrs. Harrington more difficult to get on with than ever. +In fact--he, he!--I almost feel inclined to advise you not to try. +But I suppose you will not be much in London?”</p> +<p>Fitz looked at her with clear, keen blue eyes.</p> +<p>“I expect to be there some time,” he answered. +“I hope to stay with Mrs. Harrington.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced at Agatha, and returned somewhat hastily +to her galantine of veal.</p> +<p>Agatha was drumming on the table with her fingers.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XII. A SHUFFLE.</h3> +<p> <i>To love is good, no doubt, but you +love best<br /> A calm safe life, with +wealth and ease and rest</i>.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> ran round Europa Point into fine weather, and +the wise old captain--who felt the pulse of the saloon with unerring +touch--deemed it expedient to pin upon the board the notice of a ball +to be given on the following night. There was considerable worldly +knowledge in this proceeding. The passengers still had the air +of Europe in their lungs, the energy of Europe in their limbs. +Nothing pulls a ship full of people together so effectually as a ball. +Nothing gives such absorbing employment to the female mind which would +otherwise get into hopeless mischief. Besides they had been at +sea five days, and the captain knew that more than one ingenuous maiden, +sitting in thoughtful idleness about the decks, was lost in vague forebodings +as to the creases in her dresses ruthlessly packed away in the hold.</p> +<p>The passengers were, in fact, finding their sea-legs, which, from +the captain’s point of view, meant that the inner men and the +outer women would now require and receive a daily increasing attention. +So he said a word to the head cook, and to the fourth officer he muttered +-</p> +<p>“Let the women have their trunks!”</p> +<p>When, on the evening of the ball, Agatha appeared at the door of +her mother’s cabin, that good lady’s face fell.</p> +<p>“What, dear? Your old black!”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear, my old black,” replied the dutiful daughter. +She was arranging a small bouquet of violets in the front of her dress +- a bouquet she had found in her cabin when she went to dress. +Luke had, no doubt, sent ashore for them at Gibraltar--and there was +something of the unknown, the vaguely possible, in his manner of placing +them on her tiny dressing-table, without a word of explanation, which +appealed to her jaded imagination.</p> +<p>There was some suggestion of recklessness about Agatha, which her +mother almost detected--something which had never been suggested in +the subtler element of London drawing-room. The girl spoke in +a short, sharp way which was new to the much-snubbed rear-commander. +Agatha still had this when Luke asked her for a dance.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered curtly, handing him the card and +avoiding his eyes.</p> +<p>He stepped back to take advantage of the light of a swinging hurricane +lamp, and leant against the awning which had been closed in all round.</p> +<p>“How many may I have?” he asked.</p> +<p>She continued to look anywhere except in his direction. Then +quite suddenly she gave a little laugh.</p> +<p>“All.”</p> +<p>“What?” he added, with a catch in his breath.</p> +<p>“You may have them all.”</p> +<p>There was a pause; then Agatha turned with a half-mocking smile, +and looked at him. For the first time in her life she was really +frightened. She had never seen passion in a man’s face before. +It was the one thing she had never encountered in the daily round of +social effort in London. Not an evil passion, but the strong passion +of love, which is as rare in human beings as is genius. He was +standing in a conventional attitude, holding her programme--and that +which took the girl’s breath away lay in his eyes alone.</p> +<p>She could not meet his look, for she felt suddenly quite puny and +small and powerless. She realised in that flash of thought that +there was a whole side of life of which she had never suspected the +existence. After all, she was learning the lesson that millions +of women have to learn before they quite realise what life is.</p> +<p>She smiled nervously, and looked hard at the little card in his strong, +still hands--wondering what she had done. She saw him write his +name opposite five or six dances. Then he handed her the card, +and left her with a grave bow--left her without a word of explanation, +to take his silence and explain it if she could. That sense of +the unknown in him, which appealed so strongly to her, seemed to rise +and envelop her in a maze of thought and imagination which was bewildering +in its intensity--thrilling with a new life.</p> +<p>When he came back later to claim his first dance, he was quietly +polite, and nothing else. They danced until the music stopped, +and Agatha knew that she had met her match in this as in other matters.</p> +<p>The dancers trooped out to the dimly-lighted deck, while the quartermaster +raised the awning to allow the fresh air to circulate. Luke and +Agatha went with the rest, her hand resting unsteadily on his sleeve. +She had never felt unsteady like this before. She was conscious, +probably for the first time in her life, of a strange, creeping fear. +She was distinctly afraid of the first words that her partner would +say when they were alone. Spread out over the broad deck the many +passengers seemed but a few. It was almost solitude--and Agatha +was afraid of solitude with Luke. Yet she had selected a dress +which she knew would appeal to him. She had dressed for him--which +means something from a woman’s point of view. She +had welcomed this ball with a certain reckless throb of excitement, +not for its own sake, but for Luke’s. The unerring instinct +of her vanity had not played her false. She had succeeded, and +now she was afraid of her success. There is a subtle fear in all +success, and an indefinite responsibility.</p> +<p>Luke knew the ship. He led the way to a deserted corner of +the deck, with a deliberation which set Agatha’s heart beating.</p> +<p>“What did you mean when you said I could have all the dances?” +asked Luke slowly. His eyes gleamed deeply as he looked down at +her. And Agatha had no answer ready.</p> +<p>She stood before him with downcast eyes--like a chidden child who +has been meddling with danger.</p> +<p>And suddenly his arms were round her. She gave a little gasp, +but made no attempt to escape from him. This was all so different, +so new to her. There was something in the strong salt air blowing +over them which seemed to purify the world and raise them above the +sordid cares thereof. There was something simple and strong and +primitive in this man--at home on his own element, all filled with +the strength of the ocean--mastering her, claiming her as if by force.</p> +<p>“What did you mean?” he asked again.</p> +<p>She pushed him away, and turning stood beside him with her two hands +resting on the rail, her back turned towards him.</p> +<p>“Oh, Luke,” she whispered at length, “I can’t +be poor--I <i>can’t</i>--I can’t. You do not know +what it is. It has always been such a struggle--there is no rest +in it.”</p> +<p>It is said that women can raise men above the world. How often +do they bring them down to it when they are raising themselves!</p> +<p>And Luke’s love was large enough to accept her as she was.</p> +<p>“And if I were not poor?” he asked, without any of the +sullen pride that was his.</p> +<p>She answered nothing, and he read her silence aright.</p> +<p>“I will become rich,” he said, “somehow. +I do not care how. I will, I will--Agatha!”</p> +<p>She did not dare to meet his eyes.</p> +<p>“Come,” she said. “Come--let us go back.”</p> +<p>They danced together again, but Agatha refused to sit anywhere but +beneath the awning. While they were dancing they did not speak. +He never took his eyes off her, and she never looked at him.</p> +<p>Then, just as he was, with a pilot jacket exchanged for his dress +coat, Luke had to go on duty on the bridge. While he stood there, +far above the lighted decks, alone at his post in the dark, keen and +watchful, still as a statue, the sound of the dance music rose up and +enveloped him like the echo of a happy dream.</p> +<p>Presently the music ceased, and the weary dancers went below, leaving +Luke FitzHenry to his own thoughts.</p> +<p>All the world seemed to be asleep except these two men--one motionless +on the bridge, the other alert in the dimly lighted wheelhouse. +The <i>Croonah</i> herself seemed to slumber with the regular beating +of a great restless heart far down in her iron being.</p> +<p>The dawn was now creeping up into the eastern sky, touching the face +of the waters with a soft, pearly light. A few straight streaks +of cloud became faintly outlined. The moon looked yellow and deathlike.</p> +<p>Luke stood watching the rise of a new day, and with it there seemed +to be rising within him a new life.</p> +<p>Beneath his feet, in her dainty cabin, Agatha Ingham-Baker saw that +dawn also. She was standing with her arms folded on the upper +berth breast high. She had been standing there an hour. +She was alone in the cabin, for Luke had secured separate rooms for +the two ladies.</p> +<p>Agatha had not moved since she came down from the ball. She +did not seem to be thinking of going to bed. The large square +port-hole was open, and the cool breeze fluttered the lace of her dress, +stirring the dead violets at her breast.</p> +<p>Her finely cut features were set with a look of strong determination. +“I can’t--I can’t be poor,” she was repeating +to herself with a mechanical monotony.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII. A CHOICE.</h3> +<p> ’<i>Tis better far to love and +be poor</i>,<br /><i> Than be rich with +an empty heart.</i></p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington was sitting in the great drawing-room in Grosvenor +Gardens, alone. The butler was fuming and cleaning plate in his +pantry. The maid was weeping in the workroom. Mrs. Harrington +had had a busy afternoon.</p> +<p>“’Tis always thus when she’s alone in the house,” +the cook had said, with a grandiosity of style borrowed from the <i>Family +Herald</i>. It is easy for the cook to be grandiose when the butler +and the lady’s-maid are in trouble. Thus philosophy walketh +in at the back door.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s sharp grey face twitched at times with a +certain restlessness which was hers when she had no one at hand to bully. +She could not concentrate her attention on the newspaper she held in +her hands, and at intervals her eyes wandered over the room in search +of something to find fault with. She made the mistake common to +persons under such circumstances--she forgot to look in the mirror. +Mrs. Harrington was tired of herself. She wished someone would +call. At the same time she felt a cordial dislike to all her friends.</p> +<p>It was a hopelessly grey afternoon early in December, and every one +was out of London. Mrs. Harrington had a certain circle of friends +- middle-aged or elderly women, rich like herself, lonely like herself +- whom she despised. They all rather disliked each other, these +women, but they visited nevertheless. They dined together seriously; +keeping in mind the cook, and watchful over the wine. But the +majority of these ladies had gone away for the winter. The Riviera +was created for such.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington, however, never went abroad in the winter. +She said that she had travelled too much when she was younger--in the +lifetime of her husband--to care about it now. The Honourable +George Henry Harrington had, in fact, lived abroad for financial reasons, +and the name was not of sweet savour in the nostrils of hotel-keepers. +The married life referred to occasionally in cold tones by the Honourable +Mrs. Harrington had been of that order which is curtly called “cat +and dog,” and likewise “hand to mouth.”</p> +<p>Therefore Mrs. Harrington avoided the Continent. She could +easily, of her affluence, have paid certain large debts which she knew +to be outstanding, but she held a theory that dead men owe nothing. +And with this theory she lubricated an easy-going conscience.</p> +<p>The mistress of the large house in Grosvenor Gardens was wondering +discontentedly what she was going to do with herself until tea-time, +when she heard the sound of a bell ringing far down in the basement. +Despite the grand drawing-room, despite the rich rustle of her grey +silk dress, this great lady peeped from behind the curtain, and saw +a hansom cab.</p> +<p>A few minutes later the door was thrown open by the angry butler.</p> +<p>“Miss Challoner--Captain Bontnor.”</p> +<p>Eve came in, and at her heels Captain Bontnor, who sheered off as +it were from the butler, and gave him a wide berth.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington could be gracious when she liked. She liked +now, and she would have kissed her visitor had that young lady shown +any desire for such an honour. But there was a faint reflex of +Spanish ceremony in Eve Challoner, of which she was probably unaware. +A few years ago it would not have been noticeable, but to-day we are +hail-fellow-well-met even with ladies--which is a mistake, on the part +of the ladies.</p> +<p>“So you received my letter, my dear,” said Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Eve. “This is my uncle--Captain +Bontnor.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had the bad taste to raise her eyebrows infinitesimally, +and Captain Bontnor saw it.</p> +<p>“How do you do?” said Mrs. Harrington, with a stiff bow.</p> +<p>“I am quite well, thank you, marm,” replied the sailor, +with more <i>aplomb</i> than Eve had yet seen him display.</p> +<p>Without waiting to hear this satisfactory intelligence, Mrs. Harrington +turned to Eve again. She evidently intended to ignore Captain +Bontnor systematically and completely.</p> +<p>“You know,” she said, “I am related to your father +- ”</p> +<p>“By marriage,” put in Captain Bontnor, with simple bluntness. +He was brushing his hat with a large pocket-handkerchief.</p> +<p>“And I have pleasant recollections of his kindness in past +years. I stayed with him at the Casa d’Erraha more than +once. I was staying there when--well, some years ago. I +think you had better come and live with me until your poor father’s +affairs have been put in order.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor raised his head and ceased his operations on the +dusty hat. His keen old eyes, full of opposition, were fixed on +Eve’s face. He was quite ready to be rude again, but women +know how to avoid these shallow places better than men, with a policy +which is not always expedient perhaps.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” replied Eve. “Thank you very +much, but my uncle has kindly offered me a home.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s grey face suggested a scorn which she apparently +did not think it worth while to conceal from a person who wiped the +inside of his hat with his pocket-handkerchief in a lady’s presence.</p> +<p>“But,” she said coldly, “I should think that your +uncle cannot fail to see the superior advantages of the offer I am now +making you, from a social point of view, if from no other.”</p> +<p>“I do see them advantages, marm,” said the captain bluntly. +He looked at Eve with something dog-like peering from beneath his shaggy +eyebrows.</p> +<p>“Of course,” continued Mrs. Harrington, ignoring the +confession, “you have been brought up as a lady, and are accustomed +to refinement, and in some degree to luxury.”</p> +<p>“You needn’t make it any plainer, marm,” blurted +out Captain Bontnor. “I don’t need you to tell me +that my niece is above me. I don’t set up for bein’ +anything nor what I am. There’s not much of the gentleman +about me. But--”</p> +<p>He paused, and half turned towards Eve.</p> +<p>“But, ’cording to my lights, I’m seeking to do +my duty towards the orphan child of my sister Amelia Ann.”</p> +<p>“Not overlooking the fact, I suppose, that the orphan child +of your sister Amelia Ann has a very fair income of her own.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor smiled blandly, and smoothed his hat with his sleeve.</p> +<p>“Not overlooking that fact, marm,” he said, “if +you choose to take it so.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington turned to Eve again with a faint reflex of her overbearing +manner towards the Ingham-Bakers and other persons who found it expedient +to submit.</p> +<p>“You will see at a glance,” she said, “that it +is impossible for you to live with Captain Bontnor.”</p> +<p>“I have already accepted his kind offer,” returned the +girl. “Thank you, nevertheless.”</p> +<p>“But,” said Mrs. Harrington, “that was before you +knew that I was ready to make a home for you.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor had turned away. He blew his nose so loudly +that Mrs. Harrington frowned. There was something trumpet-like +and defiant in the sound. Opposition had ever a strange effect +on this spoilt woman. She liked it, as serving to enhance the +value of the wish which she rarely failed to gratify in the end.</p> +<p>“You must remember your position,” she continued. +“These are very democratic days, when silly people think that +all men are equal. A lady is nevertheless still a lady, and a +gentleman a gentleman, though one does not often meet them. I +wish you to come and live with me.”</p> +<p>Eve’s dark eyes flashed suddenly. She glanced at her +uncle, and said nothing.</p> +<p>“A girl with money is a ready dupe to designing persons,” +added Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>“I am saved that danger, for I have no money,” replied +Eve.</p> +<p>“Nonsense, child! I know the value of land in Mallorca. +I see already that you are being deceived.”</p> +<p>She glanced significantly towards the captain, who was again smiling +blandly.</p> +<p>“The matter has been fully gone into,” explained Eve, +“by competent persons. The Val d’Erraha does not belong +to me. It was held by my father only on ‘rotas’--the +Minorcan form of lease--and it has now been returned to the proprietor.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s keen face dropped. She prided herself +upon being a woman of business, and as such had always taken a deep +interest in the affairs of other people. It is to be presumed +that women have a larger mental grasp than men. They crave for +more business when they are business-like, and thus by easy steps descend +to mere officiousness.</p> +<p>Eve’s story was so very simple and, to the ears of one who +had known her father, so extremely likely, that Mrs. Harrington had +for the moment nothing to say. She knew the working of the singular +system on which land is to this day held in tenure in Majorca and Minorca, +and there was no reason to suppose that there was any mistake or deception +respecting the estate of the Val d’Erraha.</p> +<p>A dramatist of considerable talent, who is not sufficiently studied +in these modern times, has said that a man in his time plays many parts. +He left it to be understood that a woman plays only one. The business +woman is the business woman all through her life--she is never the +charitable lady, even for a moment.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had wished to have the bringing out of a beautiful +heiress. She had no desire to support a penniless orphan. +The matter had, in her mind, taken the usual form of a contract in black +and white. Mrs. Harrington would supply position and a suitable +home--Eve was to have paid for her own dresses--chosen by the elder +contractor--and to have filled gracefully the gratifying, if hollow, +position of a young person of means looking for a husband.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s business habits had, in fact, kept her fully +alive to the advantages likely to accrue to herself; and the small fact +that Eve was penniless reduced these advantages to a mythical reward +in the hereafter. And business people have not time to think of +the hereafter.</p> +<p>It is possible that simple old Captain Bontnor in part divined these +thoughts in the set grey eyes, the grey wrinkled face.</p> +<p>“You’ll understand, marm,” he said, “that +my niece will not be in a position to live the sort o’ life” +- he paused, and looked round the vast room, quite without admiration +- “the sort o’ life you’re livin’ here. +She couldn’t keep up the position.”</p> +<p>“It would not be for long,” said Mrs. Harrington, already +weighing an alternative plan. She looked critically at Eve, noting, +with the appraising eye of a middle-aged woman of the world, the grace +of her straight young form, the unusual beauty of her face. “If +you could manage to allow her sufficient to dress suitably for one season, +I dare say she would make a suitable marriage.”</p> +<p>Eve turned on her with a flash of bright dark eyes. “Thank +you; I do not want to make a suitable marriage.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor laid his hand on her arm.</p> +<p>“My dear,” he said, “don’t take any heed +of her. She doesn’t know any better. I have heard +tell of such women, but”--he looked round the room--“I +did not look to meet with one in a house like this. I did not +know they called themselves ladies.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington gasped. She lived in a world where people think +such things as these, but do not say them. Captain Bontnor, on +the other hand, had not yet encountered a person of whom he was so much +afraid as to conceal a hostile opinion, should he harbour such.</p> +<p>He was patting Eve’s gloved hand as if she had been physically +hurt, and Eve smiled down into his sympathetic old face. It is +a singular fact that utter worldliness in a woman seems to hurt women +less than it does men.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington, with frigid dignity, ignored Captain Bontnor, and +addressed herself exclusively to Eve.</p> +<p>“You must be good enough to remember,” she said, “that +I can scarcely have other motives than those of kindness.”</p> +<p>A woman is so conscious of the weak links in her chain of argument, +that she usually examines them publicly.</p> +<p>“I do remember that,” replied Eve, rather softened by +the grey loneliness of this woman’s life--a loneliness which +seemed to be sitting on all the empty chairs--“and I am very +grateful to you. I think, perhaps, my uncle misunderstood you. +But--”</p> +<p>“Yes--but--”</p> +<p>“Under the circumstances, I think it will be wiser for me to +accept his kind offer, and make my home with him. I hope to be +able to find some work which will enable me to--to help somewhat towards +the household expenses.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington shrugged her shoulders.</p> +<p>“As you like,” she said. “After a few months +of a governess’s life perhaps you may reconsider your decision. +I know--”</p> +<p>She was going to say that she knew what it was, but she recollected +herself in time.</p> +<p>“I know,” she said instead, “girls who have lived +such lives.”</p> +<p>With the air of Spain Eve Challoner seemed to have inhaled some of +the Spanish pride, which is as a stone wall against which charity and +pity may alike beat in vain. From her superior height the girl +looked down on the keen-faced little woman.</p> +<p>“I am not in a position to choose,” she said. “I +am prepared for some small hardships.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington turned to ring the bell. With the sudden caprice +which her money had enabled her to cultivate, she had taken a liking +to Eve.</p> +<p>“You will have some tea?” she said.</p> +<p>Eve turned to thank her, and suddenly her heart leaped to her throat. +She caught her breath, and did not answer for a moment.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she said; and her eyes stole back to the +mantelpiece, where a large photograph of Fitz seemed to watch her with +a quiet, thoughtful smile.</p> +<p>The whole room appeared to be different after that. Mrs. Harrington +seemed to be a different woman--the world seemed suddenly to be a smaller +place and less lonely.</p> +<p>During the remainder of the short visit they talked of indifferent +topics, while Captain Bontnor remained silent. Mrs. Harrington’s +caprice grew stronger, and before tea was over she said--</p> +<p>“My dear, if you will not come and live with me, at all events +make use of me. Your uncle will, no doubt, have to make some small +changes in his household. I propose that you stay with me a week +or ten days, until he is ready for you.”</p> +<p>This with a slight conciliatory bow towards Captain Bontnor, who +stared remorselessly at the clock.</p> +<p>“Thank you; I should very much like to,” said Eve, mindful +of the mantelpiece.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV. A QUATRE.</h3> +<p> <i>There is so much that no one knows,<br /> So +much unreached that none suppose</i>.</p> +<p>“I want you to put on a nice dress to-night. I have two +friends coming to dine.”</p> +<p>Eve looked up from the book she was reading, and Mrs. Harrington +tempered her curt manner of expressing her wishes with a rare smile. +She often did this for Eve’s benefit, almost unconsciously. +In some indefinite way she was rather afraid of this girl.</p> +<p>“I will do my best,” answered Eve, her mind only half +weaned from the pages.</p> +<p>She had been ten days in the house, and the somewhat luxurious comfort +of it appealed to a faintly developed love of peace and ease which had +been filtered into her soul with the air of a Southern land. She +had found it easier to get on with Mrs. Harrington than she at first +anticipated. Her nature, which was essentially womanly, had in +reality long craved for the intimate sympathy and intercourse which +only another woman could supply. There was something indolent +and restful in the very atmosphere of the house that supplied a distinct +want in the motherless girl’s life. There were a number +of vague possibilities of trouble in the world, half perceived, half +divined by Eve; which possibilities Mrs. Harrington seemed capable of +meeting and fending off.</p> +<p>It was all indefinite and misty, but Eve felt at rest, and, as it +were, under protection, in the house of this hard, cold woman of the +world.</p> +<p>“It can only be a black one,” the girl answered.</p> +<p>“Yes; but people don’t know what a black dress is until +they have seen one that has been made in Spain.”</p> +<p>Eve did not return at once to her book. She was, in fact, thinking +about her dress--being in no way superior to such matters.</p> +<p>When she came down into the drawing-room, an hour later, she found +awaiting her there the two men about whom she thought most.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta and Fitz were standing on the hearthrug together. +Mrs. Harrington had not yet come down. They came forward together, +the Count taking her hand first, with his courteous bow. Fitz +followed, shaking hands in silence, with that simplicity which she had +learned to look for and to like in him.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” said Eve, “why Mrs. Harrington did +not tell me that you were the two friends she expected to dinner?”</p> +<p>The Count smiled darkly.</p> +<p>“Perhaps our hostess does not know that we have met before +- ” he began; and stopped suddenly when the door opened, and the +rustle of Mrs. Harrington’s silk dress heralded her coming.</p> +<p>Her quick eyes flashed over them with a comprehensive appreciation +of the situation.</p> +<p>“You all seem to know each other,” she said sharply. +“I knew that Fitz had been of some service to you at D’Erraha; +but I was not aware that you knew the Count de Lloseta.”</p> +<p>“The Count de Lloseta was very kind to me at Barcelona--on +a matter of business,” explained Eve innocently.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington turned upon the Spaniard quickly, but nevertheless +too late to catch the warning frown which he had directed towards Eve. +Mrs. Harrington looked keenly into his face, which was blandly imperturbable.</p> +<p>“Then you are the owner of D’Erraha?”</p> +<p>“I am.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington gave a strange little laugh.</p> +<p>“What a rich man you are!” she said. “Come! +Let us go to dinner.”</p> +<p>She took the Count’s arm, and led the way to the dining-room. +She was visibly absent-minded at first, as if pondering over something +which had come as a surprise to her. Then she woke from her reverie, +and, turning to Fitz, said--</p> +<p>“And what do you think of the Baleares?”</p> +<p>“I like them,” returned Fitz curtly.</p> +<p>He thought it was bad taste thus to turn the conversation upon a +subject which could only be painful to Eve. He only thought of +Eve, and therefore did not notice the patient endurance of the Count’s +face.</p> +<p>De Lloseta was taking his soup with a slow concentration of his attention +upon its flavour, as if trying not to hear the conversation. Mrs. +Harrington looked sharply at him, and in doing so failed to intercept +a glance, exchanged by Fitz and Eve across the table.</p> +<p>“Why are you here?” Fitz seemed to be asking.</p> +<p>And Eve reassured him by a little smile.</p> +<p>“There is one advantage in your long exile at Mahon,” +pursued the hostess inexorably. “It must have been economical. +You could not have wanted money there.”</p> +<p>Fitz laughed.</p> +<p>“Hardly so Arcadian as that,” he said.</p> +<p>The Count looked up.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said, “that the port where one +does not want money is yet to be discovered?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington, sipping her sherry, glanced at the speaker.</p> +<p>“Surely,” she said lightly, “you are talking of +what you know absolutely nothing.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me”--without looking up.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington laughed.</p> +<p>“Ah,” she said, “we three know too much about you +to believe that. Now, what can a lone man like you want with money?”</p> +<p>“A lone man may happen to be saddled with a name of--well, +of some repute--an expensive luxury.”</p> +<p>“And you think that a great name is worth spending a fortune +upon, like a garden, merely to keep it up?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“You think it worth all that?”</p> +<p>The dark, inscrutable eyes were raised deliberately to her face.</p> +<p>“Assuredly you must know that I do,” he said.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington laughed, and changed the subject. She knew +this man’s face well, and her knowledge told her that he was at +the end of his patience.</p> +<p>“So you saw Luke at Gibraltar?” she said, turning to +Fitz.</p> +<p>“Yes, for a short time. I had never seen the <i>Croonah</i> +before. She is a fine ship.”</p> +<p>“So I understand. So fine, indeed, that two friends of +mine, the Ingham-Bakers, were induced to go to Malta in her. There +is no limit now to feminine enterprise. Mothers are wonderful, +and their daughters no less so. <i>N’est-ce pas, Señor</i>?”</p> +<p>“All ladies are wonderful!” said the Count, with a grave +bow. “They are as the good God made them.”</p> +<p>“I don’t agree with you there,” snapped Mrs. Harrington. +“So you saw the Ingham-Bakers also, Fitz?”</p> +<p>“Yes; they lunched with us.”</p> +<p>“And Agatha was very pleasant, no doubt?”</p> +<p>“Very.”</p> +<p>“She always is--to men. The Count admires her greatly. +She makes him do so.”</p> +<p>“She has an easy task,” put in De Lloseta quietly. +It almost seemed that there was some feeling about Agatha between these +two people.</p> +<p>“You know,” Mrs. Harrington went on, addressing herself +to Fitz, “that Luke and I have made it up. We are friends +now.”</p> +<p>Fitz did not answer at once. His face clouded over. Seen +thus in anger, it was almost a hard face, older and somewhat worn. +He raised his eyes, and they as suddenly softened, for Eve’s eyes +had met them, and she seemed to understand.</p> +<p>“I am not inclined to discuss Luke,” he said quietly.</p> +<p>“My dear, I did not propose doing so,” answered Mrs. +Harrington, and her voice was so humble and conciliatory that De Lloseta +looked up from his plate, from one face to the other.</p> +<p>That Mrs. Harrington should accept this reproof thus humbly seemed +to come as a surprise to them all, except Fitz, who went on eating his +dinner with a singular composure.</p> +<p>It would appear that Mrs. Harrington had been put out of temper by +some small incident at the beginning of the dinner, and, like a spoilt +child, proceeded to vent her displeasure on all and sundry. In +the same way she would no doubt have continued, unless spoken sharply +to, as Fitz had spoken.</p> +<p>For now her manner quite changed, and the rest of the meal passed +pleasantly enough. Mrs. Harrington now devoted herself to her +guests, and as carefully avoided dangerous subjects as she had hitherto +appeared to seek them.</p> +<p>After dinner she asked the Count to tune his violin, while she herself +prepared to play his accompaniment.</p> +<p>Fitz lighted the candles and set the music ready with a certain neatness +of hand rarely acquired by landsmen, and then returned to the smaller +drawing-room, where Eve was seated by the fire, needlework in hand.</p> +<p>He stood for a moment leaning against the mantelpiece. Perhaps +he was waiting for her to speak. Perhaps he did not realise how +much there was in his long, silent gaze.</p> +<p>“How long have you been here?” he asked, when the music +began.</p> +<p>“Ten days,” she answered, without looking up.</p> +<p>“But you are not going to live here?”--with some misgiving.</p> +<p>“Oh no. I am going to live with my uncle in Suffolk.”</p> +<p>He moved away a few steps to pick up a fallen newspaper. Presently +he came back to her, resuming his former position at the corner of the +mantelpiece.</p> +<p>It was Eve who spoke next--smoothing out her silken trifle of needlework +and looking at it critically.</p> +<p>“I never thanked you,” she said, “for all your +kindness to me at D’Erraha. You were a friend in need.”</p> +<p>It was quite different from what it had been at D’Erraha. +Possibly it was as different as were the atmospheres of the two places. +Eve seemed to have something of London in the reserve of her manner +- the easy insincerity of her speech. She was no longer a girl +untainted by worldliness--sincere, frank, and open.</p> +<p>Fitz was rather taken aback.</p> +<p>“Oh,” he answered, “I could not do much. +There was really nothing that I could do except to stand by in case +I might be wanted.”</p> +<p>Eve took up her needle again.</p> +<p>“But,” she said, “that is already something. +It is often a great comfort, especially to women, to know that there +is some one ‘standing by,’ as you call it, in case they +are wanted.”</p> +<p>She gave a little laugh, and then suddenly became quite grave. +The recollection of a conversation they had had at D’Erraha had +flashed across her memory, as recollections do--at the wrong time. +The conversation she remembered was recorded at the time--it was almost +word for word with this, but quite different.</p> +<p>Fitz was looking at her with his impenetrable simplicity.</p> +<p>“Will you oblige me,” he said, “by continuing to +look upon me in that light?”</p> +<p>She had bent her head rather far over her work as he spoke, and as +he said the last five words her breath seemed to come with a little +catch, as if she had pricked her finger.</p> +<p>The musicians were just finishing a brilliant performance, and before +answering Fitz she looked round into the other room, nodded, smiled, +and thanked them. Then she turned to him, still speaking in the +light and rather indifferent tone which was so new to him, and said +-</p> +<p>“Thank you very much, but of course I have my uncle. +How--how long will you be--staying on shore? You deserve a long +leave, do you not?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose I do,” said Fitz absently. He had +evidently listened more to the voice than the words. He forgot +to answer the question. But she repeated it.</p> +<p>“How long do you get?” she asked, hopelessly conversational.</p> +<p>“About three weeks.”</p> +<p>“Is that all? Ah! here is tea. I wonder whether +I ought to offer to pour it out!”</p> +<p>But Mrs. Harrington left the piano, and said that her sight was failing +her. She had had enough music.</p> +<p>During the rest of the evening Fitz took one or two opportunities +of looking at Eve to discover, if he could, what the difference was +that he found in her. He had left a girl in Majorca--he found +a woman in London. That was the whole difference; but he did not +succeed in reducing it to so many words. He had passed most of +his life at sea among men. He had not, therefore, had much opportunity +of acquiring that doubtful knowledge--the knowledge of women--the +only item, by the way, which men will never include among the sciences +of existence. Already they know more about the stars than they +do about women. Even if Fitz had possessed this knowledge he would +not have turned it to account. The wisest fail to do that. +We only make use of our knowledge of women in the study of those women +with whom other men have to do.</p> +<p>“Fitz has grown rather dull and stupid,” said Mrs. Harrington, +when the two guests had taken their leave.</p> +<p>Eve was folding up her work, and did not answer.</p> +<p>“Was he like that in Mallorca?” continued the grey lady.</p> +<p>“Oh--I think so. He was very quiet always.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XV. DON QUIXOTE.</h3> +<p> <i>They also serve who only stand and +wait</i>.</p> +<p>“Come down to my club and have a cigar!”</p> +<p>The Count stood under a yellow lamp enveloped in his fur-lined coat, +looking with heavy, deep-browed eyes at his young companion.</p> +<p>Fitz paused. The Count had been kind to Eve. Fitz had +noticed his manner towards the girl. He liked Cipriani de Lloseta +- as many did--without knowing why.</p> +<p>“Thanks,” he said, “I should like to.”</p> +<p>The Count’s club was a small and a very select one. It +was a club with a literary tendency. The porter who took charge +of their coats had the air of a person who read the heavier monthly +reviews. He looked upon Fitz, as a man of outdoor tastes, with +some misgiving.</p> +<p>The Count led the way up to the luxurious silent smoking-room, where +a few foreign novels and a host of newspapers littered the tables.</p> +<p>As they entered the room a man looked up from his paper with some +interest. He was a peculiar-looking man, with a keen face, streaked +by suffering--a face that was always ready to wince. This man +was a humorist, but he looked as if his own life had been a tragedy. +He continued to look at De Lloseta and Fitz with a quiet scrutiny which +was somewhat remarkable. It suggested the scrutiny of a woman +who is taking notes of another’s dress.</p> +<p>More particularly perhaps he watched the Count, and the keen eyes +had a reflective look, as if they were handing that which they saw, +back to the brain behind them for purpose of storage.</p> +<p>The Count met his eyes and nodded gravely. With a little nod +and a sudden pleasant smile the other returned to the perusal of his +evening paper.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta drew forward a deep chair, and with a courteous +gesture invited Fitz to be seated. He took a similar chair himself, +and then leant forward, cigar-case in hand.</p> +<p>“You know Mallorca,” he said.</p> +<p>Fitz took a cigar.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, turning and looking into the Count’s +face with a certain honest interest. He was thinking of what Eve +had said about this man. “Yes--I know Mallorca.”</p> +<p>The Count struck a match and lighted his cigar with the air of a +connoisseur.</p> +<p>“I am always glad,” he said conversationally, “to +meet any one who knows Mallorca. It--was my home. Perhaps +you knew?”</p> +<p>And through the blue smoke the quick dark eyes flashed a glance.</p> +<p>“I saw your name--on the map,” returned Fitz.</p> +<p>The Count gave a little Spanish deprecatory nod and wave of the hand, +indicating that it was no fault of his that an historical name should +have attached itself to him.</p> +<p>“Do you take whisky--and soda?” inquired the Count.</p> +<p>“Thanks.”</p> +<p>De Lloseta called the waiter and gave the order with a slight touch +of imperiousness which was one of the few attributes that stamped him +as a Spaniard. The feudal taint was still running in his veins.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” he went on, turning to Fitz again, “what +you know of the island--what parts of it--and what you did there.”</p> +<p>In some ways Fitz was rather a simple person.</p> +<p>“Oh!” he answered unconsciously. “I went +to D’Erraha mostly. I used to sail across from Ciudadela +to Soller--along the coast, you know.”</p> +<p>“And from Soller?”</p> +<p>“From Soller I rode by the Valdemosa road, and then across +the mountain and through that narrow valley up to the Val d’Erraha.”</p> +<p>The Count was smoking thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“And you were happy there?” he said.</p> +<p>Fitz looked pensively into his long tumbler.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I also,” said the Count. Then he seemed to remember +his duties as host. “Is that cigar all right?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“I think it is the best I have ever smoked,” replied +Fitz quietly; and the Count smiled.</p> +<p>The two men sat there in a long silence--each thinking his own thoughts. +They were just the sort of men to do it. No other but Cipriani +de Lloseta would have sat with that perfect composure, wrapt in an impenetrable +Spanish silence, providing with grave dignity such a very poor evening’s +entertainment. And Fitz seemed quite content. He leant back, +gravely smoking the good cigar. There seemed to be some point +of complete sympathy between them--possibly the little sunlit island +of the Mediterranean where they had both been happy.</p> +<p>The poem of a man’s life is very deeply hidden, and civilisation +is the covert. The immediate outcome of civilisation is reserve +and--<i>nous voilà</i>. Are we not increasing our educational +facilities with a blind insistence day by day? One wonders what +three generations of cheap education will do for the world. Already +a middle-aged man can note the slackening of the human tie. Railway +directors, and other persons whose pockets benefit by the advance of +civilisation, talk a vast deal of rubbish about bringing together the +peoples of the world. You can connect them, but you cannot bring +them together. Moreover, a connection is sometimes a point of +divergence. In human affairs it is more often so than otherwise.</p> +<p>True, a generation lay between these two men, but it was not that +that tied their tongues. It was partially the fact that Cipriani +de Lloseta had moved with the times--had learnt, perhaps, too well, +to acquire that reserve which is daily becoming more noticeable among +men.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, it was he who spoke first.</p> +<p>“I asked you to come and smoke a cigar with me for a purpose,” +he said.</p> +<p>Fitz nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered; “I thought so.”</p> +<p>A shadowy smile acknowledged this simple statement of a simple fact. +The Count leant forward on his seat, resting his somewhat hollow cheek +on his hand and his elbow on the arm of his chair.</p> +<p>“Some years ago,” he said, “before you were born, +I passed through a--well, a bad time. One of those times, I take +it, when a man finds out the difference between a friend and an acquaintance. +The circumstances would not interest you. They are essentially +personal. Some men, and many women--I am not cynical, that is +the last resource of one who has himself to blame, I am merely stating +a fact--many women turned their backs upon me. There was, however, +one man--an Englishman--who held to me with that unflinching courage +of his own opinion which makes an Englishman what he is. I accepted +nothing from him at the time. In fact, he could do nothing for +me. I think he understood. An Englishman and a Spaniard +have much in common. He is dead now. It was Challoner.”</p> +<p>Fitz nodded. The Count changed his position slightly.</p> +<p>“I want you to use what influence you have with Miss Challoner. +She is proud.”</p> +<p>Fitz made no attempt to disclaim the implied influence.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said; “I know.”</p> +<p>And he looked at the end of his cigar with a deep interest. +The man who loves a proud woman loves her pride. He is also a +happy man, because her pride will kill her vanity, and it is a woman’s +vanity that spoils a husband’s love.</p> +<p>“It would be a great satisfaction to me,” the Count went +on, “to pay off in some small degree the debt of gratitude which +I never even acknowledged to Challoner. Eve”--he paused, +and repeated the name with a certain sense of enjoyment--“Eve +is not fully equipped with worldly wisdom. Thank God, for I hate +a worldly-wise woman. She is hardly old enough or--plain enough +to fight her own battles.”</p> +<p>Fitz gave a sudden, sharp sigh, which made the Count pause for a +moment.</p> +<p>“You also have received kindness from Challoner,” went +on the elder man, after a short silence.</p> +<p>Fitz nodded comprehensively.</p> +<p>“And, like myself,” the Count continued, rather quickly, +“you are naturally interested in his daughter, and sorry for her +in her great change of circumstances. Now, it has occurred to +me that together we might do something towards helping her. You +know her better than I do. I only know that she is proud.”</p> +<p>“Very much to her credit,” put in Fitz, looking fixedly +at his own boots.</p> +<p>“Entirely so. And I respect her for it. Unfortunately, +assistance could hardly come from you--a young man. Whereas, +I might be her grandfather.”</p> +<p>He looked up with a smile--keen, black-haired, lithe of frame--a +young man in appearance.</p> +<p>“We might help each other,” he added, “you and +I, quite alone. Captain Bontnor is a very worthy old fellow, but +- ” and he shrugged his shoulders. “We cannot leave +her to the wayward charity of a capricious woman!” he added, with +sudden bluntness.</p> +<p>He looked rather wonderingly at Fitz, who did not respond to this +suggestion, as he had expected him to do. The coalition seemed +so natural and so eminently practical, and yet the sailor sat coldly +listening to each proposition as it fell from his companion’s +lips, weighing it, sifting it with a judicial, indifferent apathy.</p> +<p>The Count de Lloseta threw himself back in his chair, and awaited, +with all the gravity of his race, the pleasure of his companion. +At length Fitz spoke, rather deliberately.</p> +<p>“I think,” he said, “you mistake the footing upon +which I stand with respect to Miss Challoner. I shall be most +happy to do all in my power; but I tell you frankly that it does not +amount to much. I am indebted to her indirectly for some very +pleasant visits to D’Erraha; her father was very kind to me. +Hardly sufficient to warrant anything that would look like interference +on my part.”</p> +<p>The Count was too discreet a man to press the point any further.</p> +<p>“All this unfortunate difficulty would have been easily averted +had I been less stupid. I shall never cease to regret it.”</p> +<p>He spoke conversationally, flicking the end of his cigar neatly into +the fire, and without looking at Fitz.</p> +<p>“I never foresaw the natural tendency of lawyers to complicate +the affairs of life. My man in Palma was unfortunately zealous.”</p> +<p>Fitz nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “I was there.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta glanced at him sharply.</p> +<p>“I am glad of that,” he said. “It was very +stupid of me. I ought to have telegraphed to him to hold his tongue.”</p> +<p>“But Miss Challoner could not have accepted the Val d’Erraha +as a present?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, she could, if she had not known. These little +things are only a matter of sentiment.”</p> +<p>Fitz leant forward, looking into the Count’s face without attempting +to conceal his surprise.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say you would have given it to her?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“No; I should have paid it to her in settlement of a debt which +I owed to her father.”</p> +<p>The Count moved rather uneasily in his chair. His eyes fell +before his companion’s steady gaze.</p> +<p>“Another matter of sentiment,” suggested Fitz.</p> +<p>De Lloseta shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“If you will.”</p> +<p>They lapsed into silence again. The Count was puzzled by Fitz, +as Fitz in his turn had been puzzled earlier in the evening by Eve. +It was merely the old story of woman the incomprehensible, and man the +superior--the lord of the universe--puzzled, completely mystified, +made supremely miserable or quite happy by her caprice of a moment.</p> +<p>It was a small thing that stood between these two men, preventing +them from frankly co-operating in the scheme which both had at heart. +It was nothing but the tone of a girl’s voice, the studied silence +of a girl’s eyes, which had once been eloquent.</p> +<p>It was getting late. A discreet clock on the mantelpiece declared +the hour of midnight in deliberate cathedral chime. Fitz looked +up, but he did not move. He liked Cipriani de Lloseta. He +had been prepared to do so, and now he had gone further than he had +intended. He wanted him to go on talking about Eve, for he thirsted +in his dumbly enduring way for more details of her life. But he +would not revert to the subject. Rather than that he would go +on enduring.</p> +<p>While they were sitting thus in silence, the only other occupant +of the room--the man with the pain-drawn face--rose from his seat, +helping his legs with unsteady hands upon either arm of the chair. +He threw the paper down carelessly on the table, and came across the +room towards the Count de Lloseta. He was a surprisingly tall +man when he stood up; for in his chair he seemed to sink into himself. +His hair was grey--rather long and straggly--his eyes hazel, looking +through spectacles wildly. His cheeks were very hollow, his chin +square and bony. Here was a man of keen nerves and quick to suffer.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said to Lloseta, “I haven’t seen +you for some time.”</p> +<p>“I’ve been away.”</p> +<p>The tall man looked down at him with the singular scrutiny already +mentioned.</p> +<p>“Spain?”</p> +<p>“Spain.”</p> +<p>He turned away with a little nod, but stopped before he had gone +many paces.</p> +<p>“And when are you going to write those sketches of Spanish +life?” he asked, with a cheery society laugh, which sounded rather +incongruous. “Never, I suppose. Well, the loss is +mine. Good-night, Lloseta.”</p> +<p>He went away without looking back.</p> +<p>“Do you know who that is?” the Count asked Fitz when +the door was closed.</p> +<p>Fitz had risen, with his eye on the clock.</p> +<p>“No. But I seem to know his face.”</p> +<p>The Count looked up with a smile.</p> +<p>“You ought to. That was John Craik.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI. BROKEN.</h3> +<p><i> The +Powers<br /> Behind the world that make +our griefs our gains.</i></p> +<p>The small town of Somarsh, in Suffolk, consists of one street running +up from the so-called harbour. At one end is the railway-station; +at the other the harbour and the sea, and that is Somarsh. There +are records that in days gone by--in the days of east coast prosperity +- there was a Mayor of Somarsh, or Southmarsh, as it was then written. +But Ichabod!</p> +<p>All Somarsh was in the street one morning after Fitz had gone to +sea again, and those of the women who were not talking loudly were weeping +softly. The boats were not in yet, but the weather was fine, and +the still, saffron sea was dotted with brown sails. There was +nothing wrong with the boats.</p> +<p>No; the trouble was on shore, as it mostly is. It came not +from the sea, but from men. It was pinned upon the door of Merton’s +Bank in the High Street. Its form was unintelligible, for the +wording of the notice was mostly outside the Suffolk vocabulary. +There was something written in a clerkly hand about the withdrawal of +“financial facilities necessitating a stoppage of payment pending +reconstruction.”</p> +<p>But the people in the street were saying that Merton’s was +“broke.” The constable said so, and he was a recognised +authority on matters pertaining to dry land and the law. The door +was locked on the inside, the shutters were up, the blinds down, as +if mourning the death of a good East county credit.</p> +<p>“And them a drivin’ behind their two horses,” said +one old weather-beaten fisherman, who was suspected of voting on the +wrong side at electioneering time.</p> +<p>Some shook their heads, but the word went no farther, for the man +who does his business on the great waters has a vast respect for ancient +institutions. And Merton’s had been a good bank for many +generations.</p> +<p>“P’raps,” said an old woman who had nothing to +lose--for the sea had even kept her corpses from her--“p’raps +what they say ’bout reconstruction may be all right. But +here comes the capt’n.”</p> +<p>The crowd turned like one man and watched the advent of Captain Bontnor.</p> +<p>The old man was dressed in his best pilot cloth suit. He had +worn it quite recklessly for the last month, ever since Eve had come +to live with him. He had been interrupted in his morning walk +- his quarter-deck tramp--forty times the length of his own railing +in front of Malabar Cottage. The postman bringing letters for +Eve, had told him that there was trouble down in the town, and that +he would likely be wanted.</p> +<p>When he saw where the crowd was stationed he caught his breath.</p> +<p>“No,” he said aloud to himself, “no, it can’t +be Merton’s.”</p> +<p>And when he joined the townspeople they saw that his sunburnt, rugged +face was grey as ashes.</p> +<p>“Mates,” he said, “what is it?”</p> +<p>“Merton’s is broke--Merton’s is broke!” +they answered, clearing a way for him to read the notice for himself. +In Somarsh Captain Bontnor was considered quite a scholar. As +such he might, perhaps, have deciphered the clerkly handwriting in a +shorter time than he now required, but on the east coast a reputation +is not easily shaken.</p> +<p>They waited for the verdict in silence. After five minutes +he turned round and his face gave some of them a shock. His kindly +blue eyes had a painfully puzzled, incompetent look, which had often +come across them in Barcelona and in London. But in Somarsh only +Eve was familiar with it.</p> +<p>“Yes, mates,” he said, falling back into his old seafaring +vernacular, forgetful of his best suit, “yes, shipmates, as far +as I rightly understand it, the bank’s broken. And--and +there’s some of us that’s ruined men.”</p> +<p>He stood for a moment looking straight in front of him--looking +very old and not quite fit for life’s battle. Then he moved +away.</p> +<p>“I’ll just go and tell my niece,” he said.</p> +<p>They watched him stump away--sturdy, unbroken, upright--still a +man.</p> +<p>“It’s a hard end to a hard life,” said the old +woman who had suggested hope; and being only human, they fell to discussing +the event from the point at which it affected their own lives.</p> +<p>Malabar Cottage stood at the top end of the High Street--almost +by itself--looking out over the little green plot of common land, where +the coastguard flagpost stands towards the sea. It was a low-roofed, +solidly built cottage--once a coastguard station, but superseded in +the heyday of east coast smuggling by a larger station further up the +hill. There was a little garden in front, which the captain kept +himself, growing such old-fashioned flowers as were content with his +ignorant handling. The white jasmine ran riot over the portico.</p> +<p>Eve had apparently received a letter of some importance, for she +was standing at the gate waiting for him. She ran out hatless +to see him on his quarter-deck, and to her surprise found him not. +She soon saw him coming, however, and to beguile the time fell to reading +her letter a second time, with a little frown, as if the caligraphy +gave her trouble.</p> +<p>She did not look up until he was quite close.</p> +<p>“Uncle,” she cried, “what is the matter?”</p> +<p>He gave a smile, which was painfully out of place on his bluff features +- it was wan and twisted.</p> +<p>“Nothing, my dearie; nothing.”</p> +<p>He fumbled at the gate, and she had to find the latch for him.</p> +<p>“Just come below--I mean indoors, my dear. I’ve +had some news. I dare say it will be all right--but just at first, +you understand, it is a little--keen.”</p> +<p>He bustled through the porch, and Eve followed him. She watched +him hang up his old straw hat, standing on tiptoe with a grunt, as was +his wont.</p> +<p>“I must unship that peg and put it a bit lower,” he said, +as he had said a hundred times before.</p> +<p>Then he went into the little dining-room and sat somewhat heavily +down, with his two hands resting on his knees. He looked puzzled.</p> +<p>“Truth is, my dear,” he said breathlessly, “I don’t +seem to take to this long-shore life. I--I rather think of going +back to sea. There’s plenty will give me a ship. And +I want you to keep this cottage nice for me, dearie, against my coming +home.”</p> +<p>He paused, looking round the room with a poor simulation of interest +at the quaint ornaments and curiosities which he had brought home from +different parts of the world. He looked at the ceiling and the +carpet--anywhere, in fact, except at Eve. Then he pushed his +fingers through his thick grey hair, making it stand on end in a ludicrous +manner.</p> +<p>“I’ve got all my bits of things collected here--just +bits of things--oh, dear!--oh, dear--Eve, my child, I wonder why +the Almighty’s gone and done this?”</p> +<p>Eve was already sitting on the arm of his chair, stroking back his +hair with her tender fingers.</p> +<p>“What is it, uncle?” she asked. “Tell me.”</p> +<p>“Merton’s,” he answered. “Merton’s, +and them so safe!”</p> +<p>“Is it only money?” cried Eve. “Is that all?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered rather wearily, “that’s +all. But it’s money that’s took me fifty-five years +to make.”</p> +<p>“And had you it all in Merton’s Bank?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dearie, all.”</p> +<p>“But are you sure they have failed--that there is no mistake?”</p> +<p>“Quite sure. I’ve read it myself pinned on the +door, and the shutters up, like a thing you read of in the newspapers. +No, it’s right. There’s not often a mistake about +bad news.”</p> +<p>Eve bent over him very tenderly and kissed him. He was holding +her hand between his, patting it gently with his rough, weather-beaten +fingers. He was looking straight in front of him with that painful +look of helplessness which had earned him the friendship of Lord Seahampton +in Barcelona.</p> +<p>“But,” said the girl at length, “you cannot go +to sea again.”</p> +<p>She knew that he would never get a ship, for his seamanship, like +all other things that were his, was hopelessly superannuated. +He was not fit to be trusted with a ship--no owner would dream of it, +no crew would sail under him.</p> +<p>“There’s men,” said the captain humbly, “who +learnt their seamanship from me--who sailed under me--p’raps +one of them would give me a berth as first mate or even second mate +under him--for a shipmate they would do it.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor had fallen behind the times even in his sentiments. +He did not know that in these days of short voyages, of Seamen’s +Unions, and Firemen’s Friendlies and Stokers’ Guilds, a +shipmate is no longer a special friend--the tie is broken, as are many +other ties, by the advance of education.</p> +<p>Then the old man pulled himself together, and smiled bravely at his +niece.</p> +<p>“It is not for myself that I’m worrying,” he said, +“but for you. I don’t quite see my way clear yet. +It’s sort of sharp and sudden. I cannot get the poor Mertons +out of my head--people that have been accustomed to their carriages +and all. It’s hard for them! You see, what they say +is that their financial facilities have been withdrawn, and I dare say +nobody is to blame. It is just what they call the hand of God, +in a bill of lading--just the hand of God.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear,” answered Eve. “And now I am +going to serve out a glass of sherry; you want it after your quick walk. +That is what you did at sea, you served it out, did you not?”</p> +<p>“He, he! yes, dearie; that is it.”</p> +<p>His rugged hand shook as he drank the wine.</p> +<p>“Only,” he went on, after wiping his moustache vigorously +with a red pocket-handkerchief--“only it was rum, dearie--rum, +you know, for heavy weather. It puts heart into the men.”</p> +<p>His face suddenly clouded over again.</p> +<p>“And we’ve run into heavy weather, haven’t we? +Just the hand of God.”</p> +<p>“Finish the glass,” said Eve, and she stood over him +while he drank the wine.</p> +<p>“And now,” she went on, “listen to me. I +have had a very important letter, which could hardly have come at a +more opportune moment. In fact, I think we may call it also . +. . what they say in a bill of lading.”</p> +<p>She opened the letter, as if about to read it aloud, and on glancing +through she seemed to change her mind.</p> +<p>“It is from Mrs. Harrington,” she said. “It +is a very kind letter.”</p> +<p>She looked at her uncle, whose face had suddenly hardened. +He seemed to be schooling himself to hear something unpleasant.</p> +<p>“Ay!” he muttered, “ay! I suppose she’ll +get her way now. I suppose I can’t hope to keep you now. +She’ll get you--she’ll get you.”</p> +<p>“Then I think you are a very mean old man!” exclaimed +Eve. “I don’t believe you are a sailor at all. +You are what you call a land-lubber, if you think that I am the sort +of person to accept your kindness when you are prosperous, and then +- and then when heavy weather comes to go away and leave you.”</p> +<p>The old man smiled rather wanly, and fumbled with the red pocket-handkerchief.</p> +<p>“As it happens, Mrs. Harrington does not ask me to go and stay +with her--she asks me--” She paused and laid her hand +on his shoulder gently. “She asks me--to accept money.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor sat upright.</p> +<p>“Ay-y-y,” he said, “charity.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Eve quietly, “charity; and I’m +going to accept it.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor scratched his head. His manners were not, as +has already been stated, remarkable for artificiality or superficial +refinement. He screwed up his features as if he were swallowing +something nasty.</p> +<p>“Read me the letter,” he said.</p> +<p>Eve opened the missive again, and looked at it.</p> +<p>“She puts it very nicely,” she said. “She +asks if you will permit me to accept a dress allowance from a rich woman +who does not always spend her money discreetly.”</p> +<p>It must be admitted that Mrs. Harrington’s nice way of putting +it lost nothing by its transmission through Eve’s lips.</p> +<p>Thus poor Charity creeps in wherever she can shelter. She is +not proud. She does not ask to be accepted for her own sake; though +Heaven knows she frequently is. She masquerades in any costume +- she accepts the humiliation of any disguise. She is ready to +be cast down before swine, or raised high before the eyes of fools. +She is used as a tool or a stepping-stone--the humble handmaid of the +tuft-hunter and the toady. She is dragged through the mire of +the slums to the dwellings of the wealthy and idle. She is hounded +up and down the world--the plaything of Fashion, the trap of the unwary, +the washerwoman of the unclean who wish to try the paths of virtue--for +a change. And she is still Charity, and she lives strong and +pure in herself. It has been decreed that we shall ever have the +poor beside us, and so long shall we also possess those who live on +them.</p> +<p>Charity begetteth charity, and it was for Charity’s sake that +Eve Challoner took the bitter bread to herself, and accepted Mrs. Harrington’s +offer.</p> +<p>Her own pride lay between her and this woman whom she knew to be +capricious, uncertain, lacking the quality of justice. Her duty +towards Captain Bontnor lay between her and high Heaven.</p> +<p>So Eve Challoner learnt her first lesson in that school where we +all are called to study sooner or later--the school of Adversity; where +some of us pass creditably, whilst others are ploughed, and a few--a +very few--take honours.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>BOOK THE SECOND.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I. BITS OF LIFE.</h3> +<p> <i>Some +far-off touch<br /> Of greatness, to know +well I am not great</i>.</p> +<p>The local house-agent anticipated no difficulty in letting Malabar +Cottage, furnished, at a good weekly rental; and in due course a dreamy +clergyman, with a wife who was anything but dreamy, came and saw and +hired. The wide-awake wife was so interested in Eve that she forgot +to settle several details which came to her mind afterwards. Her +curiosity was so aroused that the special cupidity belonging to the +wife of the dreamy clergyman was for the moment allayed, and she forgot +to drive a hard bargain.</p> +<p>Moreover, Eve’s manner was not exactly encouraging to the would-be +bargainer. A stupendous ignorance of the tricks of furnished house-letting, +combined with a certain lofty contempt for details, acquired in Spain, +where such contempt is thoroughly understood, completely baffled the +clergyman’s wife. She concluded that Eve was a very stupid +and ignorant girl, a poor housekeeper, and an incompetent woman of the +world; and yet she was afraid of her, simply because she did not understand +her. Jews, poor men’s wives, and other persons who live +by haggling, have a subtle fear of those who will not haggle.</p> +<p>So Malabar Cottage was let; and in due time the sad day arrived when +Captain Bontnor had to bid farewell to his “bits of things.” +These “bits of things” were in reality bits of his life +- and a human life is not so long nor so interesting an affair that +we can afford lightly to break off any portion, to throw it away, or +even to let it out on hire.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor wandered rather disconsolately round the rooms after +breakfast, and as Eve was with him he gave her a short inventory of +these pieces of his life.</p> +<p>“That there harpoon,” he said, pointing to a rusty relic +on the wall above the mantelpiece, “was given to me by the finest +whaling captain that ever found his way into the North water. +When I first went to sea I thought I’d like to be a whaler; but +two voyages settled that fancy. I’m told they shoot their +harpoons out of a gun nowadays--poor sport that! And there’s +no sport like whalin’. Two thousand pounds at one end of +a line and your own life at the other--that’s finer sport than +these Cockney partridge-shooters know of.</p> +<p>“And that’s my seal-pick--many a seal have I killed +with that. That there’s the portrait of the <i>True Love</i>, +three-masted schooner, built at Littlehampton by Harvey. Sailed +second mate, first mate, and master in her, I did. Then she was +sold; and a lubber went and--and threw her on the Kentish Knock in +a south-easterly gale. She was a pretty ship! I felt the +loss as if she’d been my sweetheart--the pretty little <i>True +Love</i>!</p> +<p>“That string of shells was given to me by a shipmate--old +Charlie Sams--to bring home for his wife. He picked ’em +up on the beach above James Town. Took yellow Jack, he did, and +died in my arms--and he only had the shells to send to his young wife +and a bit of a baby he was always botherin’ and talkin’ +about. I did two cross voyages, and one of them round the Horn, +before I got home, and I couldn’t find the woman, she having moved. +So when I left the sea, I just hung them up in case she happened to +come along by chance and see them with his portrait underneath. +That’s Charlie Sams--a bit brown and faded. She won’t +come along now, I suppose. It is a matter of fifty-five years +since Charlie died.”</p> +<p>As he wandered round the house, so he wandered on in his reminiscences, +until Eve led him out of the front door. He took his hat from +the peg which he had been intending to unship and refix at a lower level +for the last fifteen years, and followed her meekly into the garden. +He paused to pick up some yellow jasmine leaves which had withered in +the warmth of the May sun and fallen on the doorstep. Then he +looked back longingly.</p> +<p>“You see,” said Eve cheerfully, “it is only for +a few months. We can always let it in the summer like this, and +live luxuriously on our rent in the winter.”</p> +<p>He threw back his shoulders and smiled bravely, trying to banish +the thought of his “bits of things.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dearie, it’s only for a few months--only for a +few months.”</p> +<p>And they both knew that they could not hope to live in Malabar Cottage +again--not, at all events, on the rent paid by the clergyman’s +wife.</p> +<p>They had taken lodgings in a small house near the harbour, which, +as Eve pointed out, was much more convenient for the shops; and, besides, +they could now buy their fish out of the boats. This last theory +she propounded with a grave assumption of housekeeping knowledge which +did not fail to impress Captain Bontnor.</p> +<p>The whole town knew of the captain’s misfortune, and half the +citizens of Somarsh shared in it. Only those who had saved nothing +lost nothing, for Merton’s was the only bank on the coast; and +more than one old fisherman--bent with rheumatism, crippled by the +hardships of a life spent half in the water, half on it--saw his savings +- the fruit of long toilsome years--go to pay the London tradesmen +a part of what young Merton owed them. It was the old, oft-repeated +tale of over-education. A country banker’s son sent to public +school and university to be educated out of country banking and into +nothing else.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor was quite penniless. During his long life he +had saved nearly four thousand pounds, and this sum he had placed on +deposit with the Somarsh bankers, living very comfortably on the interest. +The whole of this was absorbed--a mere drop in the financial ocean.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had asked Eve to accept a dress allowance of forty +pounds a year, and Eve accepted--for her uncle. Besides this +she had a little ready money--the result of the sale of the contents +of the Casa d’Erraha. A person who looked like a butler +or a major-domo had gone over from Barcelona to Palma to attend this +sale; and the local buyers laughed immoderately at him in their sleeves. +He was, they opined, a mule--he did not know the value of things, and +paid double for all he bought.</p> +<p>But the proceeds of the sale did not amount to much. Eve knew +that something must be done. The money would soon be exhausted, +and they could not live on the dress allowance. Since the failure +of the bank, Captain Bontnor’s mental grasp had seemed less reliable +than ever, and Eve had kept these things to herself.</p> +<p>The captain’s one servant--an aged female--who ruined his +digestion and neglected her dusting, was prevailed upon to return to +her people, and Eve and her uncle settled down to their restricted life +in the lodgings which were so conveniently near the fishing harbour.</p> +<p>The captain was too old to break off his habits of life, so he walked +his quarter-deck tramp, backwards and forwards beneath the window on +the clean pavement of the High Street, which broadened out to the harbour. +He went down to meet the boats, where he was ever a welcome onlooker, +and he never came back without fish for which no payment had been taken.</p> +<p>He usually met the postman when he was keeping his watch on deck +- beneath the little bay-window--and if there was a letter for Eve, +he would pause in front of the house, and hand it through the open sash.</p> +<p>He did this one morning after they had been in the lodgings a month, +and he had not added two turns to the regulation forty before Eve called +to him. He bustled in at the door, hung his old straw hat on a +peg, which was likewise too high, and went into the little parlour. +As he was smoking, he stood in the doorway, for he had not yet got over +his immense respect for the niece who was above him.</p> +<p>“Yes, dearie?” he said. “What to do now?”</p> +<p>Eve was standing near the window, holding a letter in her hand.</p> +<p>“Listen!” she said, and spreading out her elbows she +read grandly--</p> +<p>“‘MADAM,--I like your Spanish Notes and Sketches; but +I cannot put in number one until I see number two. Send me more, +or, better still, if convenient, when you are next in town, do me the +honour of calling here.--Yours very truly--’</p> +<p>“Now listen, uncle.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear!”</p> +<p> “‘Yours +very truly,<br /> “‘JOHN +CRAIK.’“</p> +<p>“Lor!” ejaculated Captain Bontnor, “the gentleman +that writes.”</p> +<p>Eve handed him the letter, which he held, awestruck, with the tip +of his thumb and finger.</p> +<p>“He doesn’t write very well--he, he!” he added, +with a chuckle. “I’m afraid it’s no good my +trying to read it without my glasses.”</p> +<p>He blinked at the crabbed spidery caligraphy, and handed the letter +back.</p> +<p>“It is signed John Craik, but Providence held the pen,” +said Eve. “If this letter had not come I should have had +to leave you, uncle. I should have had to go and be a governess. +And I do not want to leave you.”</p> +<p>The old man’s eyes filled suddenly, as old eyes sometimes will. +He stuffed his pipe into his pocket and took her two hands in his, patting +them tenderly.</p> +<p>He did not speak for some time, but stood blinking back the tears.</p> +<p>“Then God bless John Craik!” he said. “God +bless him.”</p> +<p>They sat down to talk this thing over, forgetful of the captain’s +pipe, which burnt a hole in the lining of his coat. There was +so much to be discussed. Eve had written a certain number of short +essays--painfully conscious all the while of their simplicity and faultiness. +She did not know that so long as a person has his subject at his finger-ends, +simplicity is rather to be commended than otherwise. It is the +half-informed who are verbose. She had written simply of the simple +life which she knew so well. She had depicted Spanish daily life +from the keenly instinctive standpoint of a woman’s observation; +and only a week before she had sent a single essay--marked number one +- to the editor of the <i>Commentator</i>, John Craik.</p> +<p>She had written for money, and made no disguise of her motive. +Here was no literary lady with all the recognised adjuncts except the +literature. She did not write in order that she might talk of +having written. She did not talk in such flowing periods and with +such overbearing wisdom that insincere friends in sheer weariness were +called upon to suggest that she should and could write.</p> +<p>In sending her first small attempt to John Craik she had not forwarded +therewith a long explanatory letter, which reticence had made him read +the manuscript.</p> +<p>Eve read the great man’s letter a second time, while the captain +scratched his head and watched her.</p> +<p>“And,” he said meekly, “what do you think of doing?”</p> +<p>Eve looked up with a happy smile.</p> +<p>“What he tells me,” she answered. “Oh, I +am so glad, uncle; I cannot tell you how glad I am.”</p> +<p>The captain shuffled awkwardly on his feet.</p> +<p>“I’m more than glad,” he said. “I’m +sorter proud.”</p> +<p>He pulled down his coat and walked to the window.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, looking out into the street. “That’s +it. I’m proud. It’s a great gift--writin’. +A great gift.”</p> +<p>Eve laughed.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she answered. “I’m afraid that +I have no gift. It is a very, very minute talent. That is +all. I always liked books, but I have not the gift for writing +them.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor never thought Eve was a great authoress. In +his simple way this man had a vast deal of discrimination, as simple +people often have. It is the oversubtle man who makes the most +egregious mistakes, because most of us have not time to be subtle. +He never suspected Eve of being a great authoress, and he never attributed +to her any desire to attain that doubtful pinnacle of fame. But +he saw very plainly the immense advantage to be gathered in this time +from her talent. In his simplicity he hoped that something would +turn up for him to do, in a world which has no pity nor charity for +that which is old, effete, and out of fashion.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, after deep thought, “we must do +what he tells us. There’s no harm in that.”</p> +<p>Eve laughed.</p> +<p>“I thought,” she said, “that we understood pride +in Spain and Mallorca; but I have never met such a proud caballero as +you.”</p> +<p>She was standing behind him where he stood, looking grimly out of +the window, her two hands resting on his broad shoulders.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” she went on, “that you have once or +twice humbled your pride so much as to accept a ship when it was offered +you. You said that there are plenty who would give you a command +now. John Craik is giving me a ship, that is all.”</p> +<p>The captain nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “that’s it, that’s +it. You’ve got your first ship.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II. A COMPACT.</h3> +<p> <i>Prends moy tel que je suy.</i></p> +<p>The tendency of the age is to peep behind the scenes. The world +is growing old, and human nature is nearly worn through; we are beginning +to see the bare bones of it. But a strange survival of youthfulness +is that remarkable fascination of the unseen--the desire to get behind +the scenes and see the powder for ourselves. If a man makes his +livelihood by lifting horses and other heavy objects from the earth, +we immediately wish to know details of his private life, and an obliging +journalist interviews him. If another write a book, we immediately +wish to know how he does it, where, when, and why. We also like +to see his portrait on the fly-leaf--or <i>he</i> likes to see it there.</p> +<p>Eve Challoner was lamentably behind the spirit of the age in that +she did not know how she wrote a series of articles destined to attain +renown. But as she never went out to meet the interviewer, he +never came to her. She fell into a habit of going out for long +walks by herself, and in the course of these peregrinations she naturally +acquired the custom of thinking about her writing.</p> +<p>During these long walks Captain Bontnor remained at home alone, or +joined a knot of fellow-mariners on the green in front of the reading-room. +When Eve came home with her mind full of matter to be set down on paper +he discreetly went to keep his watch on deck--backwards and forwards +on the pavement in front of the window. At each turn the old sailor +paused to cast his eyes over the whole horizon, after the manner of +mariners, as if he were steering Somarsh across the North Sea.</p> +<p>Thus uncle and niece glided imperceptibly into that mode of life +which is called humdrum, and which some wise people consider the best +mode of getting through existence. Sketch number two was written, +rewritten, liked, hated, and finally sent to John Craik, with a letter +explaining that the writer lived in Suffolk, and could not for the moment +make it convenient to go to London. John Craik was a busy man. +He made no answer, and in a few days the proof of sketch number one +arrived, with a little printed notice of instructions as to correcting +and returning. Of all fleeting glamours that of the proof-sheet +is assuredly lightest on the wing, and Eve duly hated her own works +in print, as we all do hate our first triumphs. Afterwards we +get resigned--much as we grow resigned to the face we see in the looking-glass.</p> +<p>At this time Captain Bontnor conceived the idea that it was incumbent +upon him to take up seriously, though late in life, the higher walks +of literature.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said to Eve one evening, when the first proof +had been almost wept over, “now, dearie, what author would you +recommend to a man who has a natural likin’ for reading, but owing +to the circumstances of his life has had no opportunity of cultivatin’ +his taste?”</p> +<p>“Well, uncle, a good deal would depend upon his inclination +- whether he liked poetry or fiction, or serious reading.”</p> +<p>“Of course, of course,” acceded Captain Bontnor, pressing +the tobacco into his pipe with his thumb; “I am taking that into +consideration. There’s all sorts to be had now, ain’t +there--poetry and fiction and novels? I am not sure that the +style would matter much, so long--so long as the print was nice and +clear.”</p> +<p>Eve duly gave her opinion without pressing the question too closely, +and while she was out on her long walks Captain Bontnor laboriously +cultivated his neglected taste. He sat in the window-seat with +much gravity, and more than made up in application for the youthful +quickness which he lacked. He resolutely refused to look up from +his book when he heard the alternate thud and stump which announced +the passage down to the harbour of his particular crony, Mark Standon, +whose other leg had been buried at sea. He kept the dictionary +beside him, and when the writer used a word of sonorous ring and obscure +meaning he gravely looked it out.</p> +<p>The first time that Mr. Standon saw his friend thus engaged he stood +on the pavement and expressed his surprise with more force than elegance; +whereupon Captain Bontnor went out and explained to him exactly how +it stood. So marked was the old sailor’s influence on the +social affairs at Somarsh that there was a notable revival of literary +taste and discussion at the corner of the Lifeboat House, where the +local intellect assembled.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor was engaged one day in the study of an author called +Dickens, to whose works he had not yet found time to devote his full +attention, when a strange footstep on the pavement made him look up. +It certainly was not Standon’s halting gait, and a lack of iron +nail certified to the fact that it was no Somarsh man. The captain +looked over his spectacles and saw Cipriani de Lloseta studying the +numbers on the doors as he came down the quiet little street.</p> +<p>The sight gave the old sailor rather a shock. He abandoned +the study of Mr. Dickens and took off his spectacles. Then he +scratched his head--always an ominous sign. His first instinct +was to go and open the door; then he remembered that the new-comer was +a nobleman who lived in a palace, and that he himself was indirectly +a gentleman, inasmuch as he lived in the same house as a lady--his +niece. So he sat still and allowed the landlady to open the door.</p> +<p>When Cipriani de Lloseta was ushered into the tiny room he found +the captain half-bowing on the hearthrug.</p> +<p>“Captain Bontnor,” he said, with all the charm of manner +which was his, “this is a pleasure.”</p> +<p>The captain shook hands, and with the rough hospitality of the cabin +drew forward his own armchair, which the Count took at once.</p> +<p>“When last we met,” he said, “I had the privilege +of receiving you at my house in Barcelona--a poor dark place in a narrow +street. Now here you have a sea-view.”</p> +<p>“But this is not my house,” said Captain Bontnor, feeling +unaccountably at ease with this nobleman. “Malabar Cottage +is farther up the hill. I’ve got all my bits of things up +there.”</p> +<p>“Indeed. It would have given me pleasure to see them. +I learnt from a mutual--friend, Mrs. Harrington, of your change of +address.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor looked at him keenly; and who shall say that the +rough old man did not appreciate the refined tact of his visitor?</p> +<p>“I’ve had losses,” he said.</p> +<p>The Count nodded shortly. He was drawing off his gloves.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” he said conversationally, “if +it has been your experience, but for myself I have found that reverses +of fortune are not without some small consolation. They prove +the friendship of one’s friends.”</p> +<p>The captain reflected.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “you’re right, Mr.--I mean +Count--and--and brings the good out of women.”</p> +<p>“Women!” the Count repeated gravely. “You +refer to Miss Challoner--I see signs of her presence in this room. +Is she out?”</p> +<p>“Yes--I am afraid she is.” He glanced nervously +at the clock. “She is not likely to be in for an hour and +more yet.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry,” said the Count; “but also I am rather +glad. I shall thus have an opportunity of asking your opinion +upon one or two matters--between men of the world, you know.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid my opinion is not of much value, sir, except it’s +about schooners--I always sailed in schooners.”</p> +<p>The Count nodded gravely.</p> +<p>“In my country,” he said, “we usually go in for +brigs; they find them easier to handle. But you know Mallorca +- you have seen for yourself.”</p> +<p>The captain was not listening; he was looking at the modest lodging-house +sideboard.</p> +<p>“I was wondering,” he explained, with a transparent simplicity +which was perhaps as good as that which is called good breeding, “whether +you would take a glass of sherry wine.”</p> +<p>“I should like nothing better,” said the Count. +“It will give me pleasure to take a glass of wine with you.”</p> +<p>Quietly, imperceptibly, De Lloseta set Captain Bontnor at his ease, +and at the same time he mastered him. They spoke of indifferent +topics--topics which, however, were well within the captain’s +knowledge of the world. Then suddenly the Count laid aside the +social mask which he wore with such consummate ease.</p> +<p>“I came down to Somarsh,” he said, “because I am +deeply distressed at your reverse of fortune. I came to see you, +captain, because when I had the pleasure of meeting you at Barcelona +I saw you to be a just man, and one to whom one could speak openly. +I am a rich man--you understand. Need I say more?”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor blinked uncertainly.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered, “I’m thinkin’ it +isn’t necessary.”</p> +<p>“Not between men of the world,” urged Cipriani de Lloseta. +“It is not for your sake. I would not insult you in such +a way. It is for Eve. For a woman’s sake a man may +easily sacrifice his pride.”</p> +<p>The captain nodded and glanced at the clock. He had not fully +realised until that moment how dependent he was upon his niece.</p> +<p>“You know,” continued the Count, following up his advantage, +“all the somewhat peculiar circumstances of the case. Do +you think there is any chance of Eve’s reconsidering her decision?”</p> +<p>The captain shook his head.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered bluntly, “I don’t. +Since she came back from London--” he paused.</p> +<p>“Yes, since she came back from London?” suggested the +Count.</p> +<p>“She seems more determined than ever.”</p> +<p>The Count was looking at him keenly.</p> +<p>“Then,” he said, “you also have noticed a change.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor shuffled in his seat and likewise in his speech.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said, “that she has grown into +a woman. Adversity’s done it.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Count, “your observations seem +to me to be correct. I had the pleasure of seeing her once or +twice when she was staying at Mrs. Harrington’s; but I did not +refer to the question raised at my house in Barcelona, because I noticed +the change to which you allude. Instead, I attempted to gain the +co-operation and assistance of a mutual friend, Henry FitzHenry.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta paused and looked at his companion, who in turn +gazed stolidly at the fire.</p> +<p>“And I received a rebuff,” added the Count. He +waited for some little time, but Captain Bontnor had no comment to offer, +so De Lloseta went on: “Challoner was one of my best friends. +I do not feel disposed to let the matter drop, more especially now that +you have been compelled to leave Malabar Cottage. I propose entreating +Miss Challoner to reconsider her decision. Will you help me?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Captain Bontnor, “I will.”</p> +<p>“Then tell me if Eve has accepted assistance from Mrs. Harrington?”</p> +<p>“Yes, she has.”</p> +<p>The Count swore softly in Spanish.</p> +<p>“I am sorry for that,” he said aloud. “I +am superstitious. I have a theory that Mrs. Harrington’s +money is apt to be a curse to those upon whom it is bestowed.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Harrington’s no friend of mine,” said Captain +Bontnor; and De Lloseta, who was looking out of the window, smiled somewhat +grimly.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” he said after a little pause, “perhaps +you will allow me to claim the privilege which you deny to her?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Captain Bontnor awkwardly; “yes, +if you care to.”</p> +<p>“Thanks. I see Miss Challoner--Eve--coming. I +count on your assistance.”</p> +<p>Eve paused on the threshold in astonishment at the sight of the Count +de Lloseta and her uncle in grave discourse over a glass of sherry.</p> +<p>“You!” she said. “You here!”</p> +<p>And he wondered why she suddenly lost colour.</p> +<p>“I,” he answered, “I--here to pay my respects.”</p> +<p>Eve gave a little gasp of relief. For a moment she was off +her guard--with a dangerous man watching her.</p> +<p>“I thought you had bad news,” she said.</p> +<p>And Cipriani de Lloseta knew that this was a woman whose heart was +at sea.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered; “I merely came to quarrel.”</p> +<p>He drew forward a chair, and Eve sat down.</p> +<p>“We shall always quarrel,” he went on, “unless +you are kind. Let us begin at once and get it over, because I +want to stay to lunch. Will you reconsider your decision with +respect to the Val d’Erraha?”</p> +<p>Eve shook her head and looked at her uncle.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered; “I cannot do that. Not +now.”</p> +<p>“Some day?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Not now,” repeated the girl; and, looking up, her face +suddenly became grave, as if reflecting the expression in the dark Spanish +eyes bent upon her.</p> +<p>“You are cruel!” he said.</p> +<p>“I am young--”</p> +<p>“Is it not the same thing?”</p> +<p>“And I can work,” added Eve.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said. “But in my old-fashioned +way I am prejudiced against a lady working. In the days of women’s +rights ladies are apt to forget the charm of white hands.”</p> +<p>Eve made no answer.</p> +<p>“Then it is not peace?”</p> +<p>“No,” she answered, with a smile; “not yet.”</p> +<p>She was standing beside Captain Bontnor, with her hand on his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Uncle and I,” she added, “are not beaten yet.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta smiled darkly.</p> +<p>“Will you promise me one thing,” he said; “that +when you are beaten you will come to me before you go to any one else?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Eve, “I think we can promise that.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III. BAFFLED.</h3> +<p> <i>He conquers who awaits the end.</i></p> +<p>Fortune fixed her wayward fancy on the first sketch that Eve contributed +to the <i>Commentator</i>. Wayward, indeed, for Eve herself knew +that it was not good, and in the lettered quiet of the editorial sanctum +John Craik smiled querulously to himself. John Craik had a supreme +contempt for the public taste, but he knew exactly what it wanted. +He was like a <i>chef</i> smiling over his made dishes. He did +not care for the flavour himself, but his palate was subtle enough to +detect the sweet or bitter that tickled his master’s tongue. +He served the public faithfully, with a twisted, cynic smile behind +his spectacles--for John Craik had a family to feed. He knew +that Eve’s work was only partially good--true woman’s work +that might cease to flow at any moment. But he detected the undeniable +originality of it, and the public palate likes a novel flavour.</p> +<p>So deeply versed was he in worldly knowledge, so thoroughly had he +gauged the critic, the journalist, and the public, that before he unfolded +a newspaper he could usually foresee the length, the nature, and the +literary merit of the criticism. He knew that the tendency of +the age is to acquire as much knowledge as possible in a short time. +He looked upon the world as a huge kindergarten, and the <i>Commentator</i> +as its school-book. It was good that the world’s knowledge +of its own geography should be extended, but the world must not be allowed +to detect the authority of the usher’s voice. There are +a lot of people who, like women at a remnant sale, go about the paths +of literature picking up scraps which do not match, and never can be +of the slightest use. It was John Craik’s business to set +out his remnant counter to catch these wandering gleaners, and Eve sent +him her wares by a lucky chance at the moment when he wanted them.</p> +<p>The editor of the <i>Commentator</i> was sitting in his deep chair +before the fire one morning about eleven o’clock, when the clerk, +whose business it was to tell glib lies about his chief, brought him +a card.</p> +<p>“Lloseta,” said Craik aloud to himself. “Ask +him to come up.”</p> +<p>“The man who ought to have written the Spanish sketches,” +he commented, when the clerk had left.</p> +<p>The Count came into the room with a certain ease of manner subtly +indicative of the fact that it was not the first time that he had visited +it. He shook hands and waited until the clerk had closed the door.</p> +<p>There was a copy of the month’s <i>Commentator</i> on the table. +De Lloseta took it up and opened it at the first page.</p> +<p>“Who wrote that?” he asked, holding out the magazine.</p> +<p>Craik laughed--a sudden boyish laugh--but he held his sides the +while.</p> +<p>“You not only beard the lion in his den, but you ask him to +tell you the tricks of his trade,” he said. “Sit down, +all the same. You don’t mind my pipe, do you?”</p> +<p>The Spaniard sat down and sought a cigarette-case in his waistcoat +pocket with a deliberation that made his companion fidget in his chair.</p> +<p>“You asked me to write those sketches,” said the Count +pleasantly. “I delayed and you gave the order to some one +else. Assuredly I have a certain right to ask who my supplanter +is.”</p> +<p>“None whatever, my dear Lloseta. I did not give the order +for those sketches--they came.”</p> +<p>“From whom?”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>“You will not tell me?”</p> +<p>“My dear man, I cannot. The smell of printing ink is +not good for a man’s morals. Leave me my unsullied honour.”</p> +<p>The Count had lighted his cigarette. He looked keenly at his +companion’s deeply-lined face, and the blue smoke floated between +them.</p> +<p>“There are not many people who could have written that article,” +he said. “For the few English who know Spain like that are +known to the natives. And no Spaniard would have dared to write +it.”</p> +<p>John Craik laughed, and while he was laughing his eyes were grave +and full of keen observation.</p> +<p>“Then you admit that it is true,” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the Count; “it is true--all of +it. The writer knows my country as few Englishmen--or <i>women</i> +know it.”</p> +<p>John Craik was leaning back in his deep chair an emaciated, pain-stricken +form. His calm grey eyes met the quick glance, and did not fall +nor waver.</p> +<p>“Then you will not tell me?”</p> +<p>“No. But why are you so anxious to know?”</p> +<p>The Count smoked for a few seconds in silence.</p> +<p>“I will tell you,” he said suddenly, “in confidence.”</p> +<p>Craik nodded, and settled himself again in his chair. He was +a very fidgety man.</p> +<p>“It is not the first article that I care about,” explained +De Lloseta. “It is that which is behind it. This” +- he laid his hand on the page--“is my own country, the north +and east of Spain, the wildest part of the Peninsula, the home of the +Catalonians, who have always been the leaders in strife and warfare. +It is the country from whence my family has its source. All that +is written about Catalonia or the Baleares must necessarily refer in +part to me and mine. This writer may know too much.”</p> +<p>“I think,” said John Craik, “that I can guarantee +that if the writer does know too much, the <i>Commentator</i> shall +not be the channel through which the knowledge will reach the public.”</p> +<p>“Thanks; but--can you guarantee it? Can you guarantee +that the public interest, being aroused by these articles, may not ask +for further details, which details might easily be given elsewhere, +in something less--respectable--than the <i>Commentator</i>?”</p> +<p>“My dear sir, one would think you had a crime on your conscience.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta smiled--such a smile as John Craik had never +seen before.</p> +<p>“I have many,” he answered. “Who has not?”</p> +<p>“Yes; they accumulate as life goes on, do they not?”</p> +<p>“What I fear,” went on De Lloseta, “is the idle +gossip which obtains in England under the pleasant title of ‘Society +Notes,’ ‘Boudoir Chat,’ and other new-fangled vulgarities. +In Spain we have not that.”</p> +<p>“Then Spain is the Promised Land.”</p> +<p>“Your Society journalists may talk of the English nobility, +though the aristocracy that fills the ‘Society Notes’ is +almost invariably the aristocracy of yesterday. But I want to +keep the Spanish families out of it if possible--the names that were +there before printing was invented.”</p> +<p>“Printing and education are too cheap nowadays,” said +John Craik. “They are both dangerous instruments in the +hands of fools, and it is the fool who goes to the cheap market. +But you need not be afraid of the Society papers. It is only those +who wish to be advertised who find themselves there.”</p> +<p>De Lloseta’s thoughts had gone back to the <i>Commentator</i>. +He picked up the magazine and was looking over the pages of the Spanish +article.</p> +<p>“It is clever,” he said. “It is very clever.”</p> +<p>Craik nodded, after the manner of one who had formed his own opinion +and intended to abide by it. He was a gentle-mannered man in the +ordinary intercourse of life, but on the battlefield of letters he was +a veritable Cœur-de-Lion. He quailed before no man.</p> +<p>“You know,” said the Count, “there are only two +persons who could have written this--and they are women. If it +is the one, I fear nothing; if the other, I fear everything.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said John Craik, shuffling in his chair, “fear +nothing.”</p> +<p>De Lloseta looked at him sharply.</p> +<p>“I could force you to tell a lie by mentioning the name of +the woman who wrote this,” he said.</p> +<p>“Then don’t!” said John Craik. “I lie +beautifully!”</p> +<p>“No, I will not. But I will ask you to do something for +me instead: let me read the proofs of these as they are printed.”</p> +<p>For exactly two seconds John Craik pondered.</p> +<p>“I shall be happy to do that,” he said. “I +will let you know when the proof is ready. You must come here +and read it in this room.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta rose from his seat.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he said, holding out his hand. “I +will not keep you from your work. You are doing a better action +than you are aware of.”</p> +<p>He took the frail fingers in his grasp for a second and turned to +go. Before the door closed behind him John Craik was at work again.</p> +<p>So Eve Challoner’s work passed through Cipriani de Lloseta’s +hand, and that nobleman came into her life from another point. +It would seem that in whichsoever direction she turned, the Mallorcan +was waiting for her with his grave persistence, his kindly determination +to watch over her, to exercise that manly control over her life which +is really the chief factor of feminine happiness on earth--if women +only knew it. For all through Nature there are qualities given +to the male for the sole advantage of the female, and the beasts of +the forest rise up in silent protest against the nonsense that is talked +to-day of woman’s place in the world. We may consider the +beasts of the field to advantage, for through all the chances and changes +of education, of female emancipation, and the subjection of the weaker +sort of man, there will continue to run to the end of time the one grand +principle that the male is there to protect the female and the female +to care for her young.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta thus late in life seemed to have found an object. +Eve Challoner, while bringing back the past with a flood of recollections +- for she seemed to carry the air of Mallorca with her--had so far +brought him to the present that for the first time since thirty years +and more he began to be interested in the life that was around him.</p> +<p>He suspected--nay, he almost knew--that Eve had written the article +in the <i>Commentator</i> which had attracted so much attention. +John Craik had to a certain extent baffled him. He had called +on the editor of the great periodical in the hope of gleaning some detail +- some little scrap of information which would confirm his suspicion +- but he had come away with nothing of value excepting the promise that +the printed matter should pass through his hands before it reached the +public.</p> +<p>Even if he was mistaken, and this proved after all to be the work +of Mrs. Harrington, the fact of the proof being offered to his scrutiny +was in itself an important safeguard. This, however, was only +a secondary possibility. He knew that Eve had written this thing, +and he wished to have the opportunity of correcting one or two small +mistakes which he anticipated, and which he felt that he himself alone +could rectify.</p> +<p>In the meantime John Craik was scribbling a letter to Eve in his +minute caligraphy.</p> +<p>“DEAR MADAM” (he wrote), “Your first article is, +I am glad to say, attracting considerable attention. It is absolutely +necessary that I should see you, with a view of laying down plans for +further contributions. Please let me know how this can be arranged. +Yours truly,<br /> “JOHN +CRAIK.”</p> +<p>And at the same time another man, to whom all these things were of +paramount importance--to whom all that touched Eve’s life was +as if it touched his own--was reading the <i>Commentator</i>. +Fitz, on his way home from the Mediterranean, to fill the post of navigating-lieutenant +to a new ironclad at that time fitting out at Chatham, bought the <i>Commentator</i> +from an enterprising newsagent given to maritime venture in Plymouth +harbour. The big steamer only stayed long enough to discharge +her mails, and Fitz being a sailor did not go ashore. Instead, +he sat on a long chair on deck and read the <i>Commentator</i>. +He naturally concluded that at last Cipriani de Lloseta had acceded +to John Craik’s wish.</p> +<p>The Ingham-Bakers had come home from Malta and were at this time +staying with Mrs. Harrington in London. Agatha had of late taken +to reading the newspapers somewhat exhaustively. She read such +columns as are usually passed over by the majority of womankind--such +as naval intelligence and those uninteresting details of maritime affairs +printed in small type, and stated to emanate from Lloyd’s, wherever +that vague source may be.</p> +<p>From these neglected corners of the <i>Morning Post</i> Agatha Ingham-Baker +had duly learnt that Henry FitzHenry had been appointed navigating-lieutenant +to the <i>Terrific</i>, lying at Chatham, which would necessitate his +leaving the <i>Kittiwake</i> at Gibraltar and returning to England at +once. She also read that the Indian liner <i>Croonah</i> had sailed +from Malta for Gibraltar and London, with two hundred and five passengers +and twenty-six thousand pounds in specie.</p> +<p>And John Craik had written to Eve to come to London, where she had +a permanent invitation to stay with Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>From over the wide world these people seemed to be drifting together +like leaves upon a pond--borne hither and thither by some unseen current, +swirled suddenly by a passing breath--at the mercy of wind and weather +and chance, each occupied in his or her small daily life, looking no +further ahead than the next day or the next week. And yet they +were drifting surely and steadily towards each other, driven by the +undercurrent of Fate, against which the strongest will may beat itself +in vain.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV. FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER.</h3> +<p> <i>Let thine eyes look right on</i>.</p> +<p>“How handsome Fitz looks in his uniform!” Mrs. Ingham-Baker +said, with that touch of nervous apprehension which usually affected +all original remarks addressed by her to Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker had been to Malta and back, but the wonders of +the deep had failed to make a wiser woman of her. If one wishes +to gain anything by seeing the world, it is best to go and look at it +early in life.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Harrington, with a glance in the +direction of Agatha, the only other occupant of the drawing-room--“yes; +he is a good-looking young fellow.”</p> +<p>Agatha was reading the <i>Globe</i>, sitting upright and stiff, for +she was wearing a new ball-dress.</p> +<p>“I think,” went on Mrs. Ingham-Baker volubly, “that +I have never seen a naval uniform before--in a room close at hand, +you know. Of course, on board the <i>Croonah</i> the officers +wore a sort of uniform, but they had not a sword.”</p> +<p>Agatha turned over her newspaper impatiently. Mrs. Harrington +was listening with an air of the keenest interest, which might have +been sarcastic.</p> +<p>“Poor Luke had not quite so much gold braid--”</p> +<p>Agatha looked up, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker collapsed.</p> +<p>“I should think,” she added, after some nervous shufflings +in her seat, “that a sword is a great nuisance. Should you +not think so, Marion dear?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” replied Mrs. Harrington; “I never +wore one.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker laughed eagerly at herself, after the manner of +persons who cannot afford to keep up a decent self-respect.</p> +<p>“But I always rather think,” she went on, with an apprehensive +glance towards her daughter, “that a sword is out of place in +a drawing-room, or--or anywhere where there are carpets, you know.”</p> +<p>“I thought you had never seen one before,” put in Agatha, +without looking up from her newspaper. “In a room--close +at hand, you know.”</p> +<p>“No--no, of course not; but I knew, dear, that they were worn. +Of course, in warfare it is different.”</p> +<p>“In warfare,” said Mrs. Harrington patiently, “they +are usually supposed to come in rather handy.”</p> +<p>“Yes--he-he!” acquiesced Mrs. Ingham-Baker, adjusting +a bracelet on her arm with something approaching complacency. +She thought she began to see daylight through the conversational maze +in which--with the best intentions--she had involved herself. +“But I was only thinking that for a lady’s drawing-room +I think I like Luke’s quiet black clothes just as much.”</p> +<p>“I am glad of that,” said Mrs. Harrington; “because +I expect you will see several other men in the same dress this evening.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had got up a party to go to the great naval ball +of the season--a charity ball. Her party consisted of the Ingham-Bakers +and the FitzHenrys, and for the first time for eight years the twin +brothers met in the house in Grosvenor Gardens. They were at this +moment in the dining-room together, where they had been left by their +hostess with a kindly injunction to finish the port wine, duly tempered +- as was all Mrs. Harrington’s kindness--by instructions not +to smoke.</p> +<p>Agatha’s feelings were rather mixed, so, like a wise young +woman of the world, she read the evening paper with great assiduity +and refused to think.</p> +<p>The evening had been one of comparisons. Fitz and Luke had +come together, for they were sharing rooms in Jermyn Street. Fitz, +smart, upright, essentially a naval officer and an unquestionable gentleman. +Luke, a trifle browner, more weather-beaten, with a faint, subtle suggestion +of a rougher life. Fitz, easy, good-natured, calmly sure of himself +- utterly without self-consciousness. Luke, conscious of inferior +grade, not quite at ease, jealously on the alert for the comparison.</p> +<p>And Agatha had known from the first moment that in the eyes of the +world--and Mrs. Harrington looked through those eyes--there was no +comparison. Fitz carried all before him. All except Agatha. +The girl was puzzled. Luke could not be compared with Fitz, and +the whole world did not compare with Luke. She was fully awake +to the contradiction, and she could not reconcile her facts. She +had been very properly brought up at the Brighton Boarding School, receiving +a good, practical, modern, nineteenth-century education--a curriculum +of solid facts culled from the latest school books, from which Love +had very properly been omitted.</p> +<p>And now, as she pretended to read the <i>Globe</i> Agatha was puzzling +vaguely and numbly over the contradictions that come into human existence +with the small adjunct called love. She was wondering how it was +that she saw Luke’s faults and the thousand ways in which he was +inferior to his brother, and yet that with all these to stay him up +Fitz did not compare with Luke. After all, there must have been +some small defect in the education which she had received, for instead +of thinking these futile things she ought to have been attempting to +discover--as was her mother at that moment--which of the two brothers +seemed more likely to inherit Mrs. Harrington’s money.</p> +<p>Agatha’s thoughts went back to the moment on the deck of the +<i>Croonah</i>, when the sea breeze swept over her and Luke, and the +strength of it, the simple, open force, seemed to be part and parcel +of him--of the strong arms around her in which she was content to lie +quiescent. She wondered for a moment whether it had all been true.</p> +<p>For Agatha Ingham-Baker was essentially human and womanly, in that +she was, and ever would be, a creature of possibilities. She took +up her long gloves and began slowly to draw them on. They were +quite new, and she smoothed them with a distinct satisfaction, under +which there brooded the sense of a new possibility. In all her +calculations of life--and these had been many--she had never thought +of the possibility of misery. She buttoned the gloves, she drew +them cunningly up over her rounded arms, and she wondered whether she +was going to be a miserable woman all her life. She saw herself +suddenly with those inward eyes which are sometimes vouchsafed to us +momentarily, and she saw Misery--in its best dress.</p> +<p>She looked up as Fitz and Luke came into the room. Luke’s +eyes were only for her. Fitz, with the unconcealed absorption +which was often his, absolutely ignored her presence. And the +little incident roused something contradictory in Agatha--something +evil and, alas! feminine. She awoke to the very matter-of-factness +of the present moment, and she determined to make a conquest of Fitz.</p> +<p>Agatha was not quite on her guard, and Mrs. Harrington’s cold +grey eyes were alert. It had once been this lady’s intention +to use Agatha as a means of subjecting Luke to her own capricious will +- Agatha being the alternative means where money had failed. She +had almost forgotten this when Luke came into the room with eyes only +for Agatha--and the girl was looking at Fitz.</p> +<p>“I suppose, Agatha,” said Mrs. Harrington, “you +will not be at a loss for partners to-night? You will know plenty +of dancing men?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I suppose so,” replied Agatha indifferently. +She turned over her newspaper and retreated, as it were, behind her +first line of defence--the sure line of audacious silence.</p> +<p>“The usual throng?”</p> +<p>“The usual throng,” answered Agatha imperturbably.</p> +<p>Luke was biting his nails impatiently. His jealousy was patent +to any woman. Fitz was talking to Mrs. Ingham-Baker.</p> +<p>“I should advise you young men to secure your dances now,” +continued Mrs. Harrington, with her usual fatal persistence. “Once +Agatha gets into the room she will be snapped up.”</p> +<p>Fitz turned round with his good-natured smile--the smile that indicates +a polite attention to an indifferent conversation--and Mrs. Ingham-Baker +was free to thrust in her awkward oar. She splashed in.</p> +<p>“Oh, I am sure she will not let herself be snapped up to-night; +will you, dear?”</p> +<p>“That, no doubt, depends upon the snapper,” put in Mrs. +Harrington, looking--perhaps by accident--at Fitz. “Fitz,” +she went on, “come here and tell me all about your new ship. +I hope you are proud--I am. I am often laughed at for a garrulous +old woman when I begin talking of you!”</p> +<p>She glanced aside at Mrs. Ingham-Baker, who was beaming on Fitz, +as the simple-hearted beam on the rising sun.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the stout lady, “we are all so delighted. +Agatha was only saying yesterday that your success was wonderful. +She was quite excited about it.”</p> +<p>The fond mother looked invitingly towards her daughter with a smile +that said as plainly as words--</p> +<p>“There you are! I have cleared the stage for you--step +in and score a point.”</p> +<p>But Agatha did not respond.</p> +<p>“I suppose it is a steamer,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker +eagerly. “A steam man-of-war.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Fitz, with perfect gravity, “a steam +man-of-war.”</p> +<p>“The <i>Horrible</i>--or the <i>Terrible</i>, is it not?”</p> +<p>“The <i>Terrific</i>.”</p> +<p>There was an account of the new war-ship in the evening paper which +Agatha had laid aside, and Fitz was impolitely glancing at this while +he spoke. The journal gave the names of the officers. Fitz +was wondering whether Eve Challoner ever saw the <i>Globe</i>.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker became lost in a maternal fit of admiration. +She was looking at Agatha with her head on one side. At intervals +she glanced towards Fitz--an inviting glance, as if to draw his attention +to the fact that one of Nature’s most perfect productions was +waiting to gladden his vision.</p> +<p>“Look!” that little glance seemed to say. “Look +at Agatha. <i>Is</i> she not lovely?”</p> +<p>But Fitz was still wondering whether Eve was in the habit of reading +the <i>Globe</i>. He often wondered thus about her daily habits, +trying to picture, in his ignorant masculine way, the hours and minutes +of a girl’s daily existence.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker could not stand this waste of his time and Agatha’s +dress.</p> +<p>“What do you think of the frock?” she asked Mrs. Harrington, +in a whisper which was audible to every one in the room.</p> +<p>“It is very pretty,” replied the hostess, who happened +to be in a good humour. Dress possessed a small corner of her +cold heart. It was one of very few weaknesses. It was almost +a redeeming point in a too man-like character. Her own dresses +were always perfect, usually of the richest silk--and grey. Hence +she was known as the Grey Lady, and only a few--for Society has neither +time nor capacity for thought--wondered whether the colour had penetrated +to her soul.</p> +<p>The two now became engaged in a technical conversation, which was +only interrupted by the arrival of tea. Luke and Agatha were talking +about Malta. She was telling him that their friends in Valetta +had invited them to go again next year, and the <i>Croonah</i> was mentioned.</p> +<p>While the hostess was attending to the teapot, Mrs. Ingham-Baker +took the opportunity of disturbing Fitz--of stirring him up, so to +speak, and making him look at Agatha.</p> +<p>“Do you think you would have recognised your old playmate if +you had met her accidentally--to-night, for instance, at the ball?” +she asked.</p> +<p>Again the inviting glance toward her daughter, to which Fitz naturally +responded. It was too obvious to ignore.</p> +<p>“No; I do not think so,” he replied, going back in his +mind to the recollection of a thin-legged little girl with lank hair.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s proud eyes rested complacently on her offspring.</p> +<p>“Do you like her dress?” she asked in a whisper--only +audible to him. But Agatha knew the gist of it. The arm +and shoulder nearest to them gave a little jerk of self-consciousness.</p> +<p>“Very pretty,” replied Fitz; and Mrs. Ingham-Baker stored +the remark away for future use. For all she knew--or all she +wanted to know--it might refer to Agatha’s self.</p> +<p>“I am afraid I shall lose her, you know--horribly afraid,” +whispered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, knowing the value of competition in all +things.</p> +<p>Fitz looked genuinely sympathetic, and glanced at Agatha again, wondering +what disease had marked her for its own. Mrs. Ingham-Baker thought +fit to explain indirectly, as was her wont.</p> +<p>“She is very much admired,” she said under her breath, +with a sigh and a lugubrious shake of the head.</p> +<p>“Oh,” murmured Fitz, with a smile.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker. She heaved a +sigh, observed a decent pause, and then added, “Does it surprise +you?”</p> +<p>“Not in the least. It is most natural.”</p> +<p>“You think so--really?”</p> +<p>“Of course I do,” answered Fitz.</p> +<p>There was another little pause, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker then said, +in a tone of friendly confidence--</p> +<p>“I advise you to secure your dances early. She will be +engaged three deep in a very short time--a lot of mere boys she does +not want to dance with.”</p> +<p>Fitz thanked her fervently, and went to help Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker sat back in her chair, well pleased with herself. +Like many of her kind, she began the social campaign with the initial +error of underrating her natural foes--young men.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V. THE TEAR ON THE SWORD.</h3> +<p> <i>But over all things brooding slept<br /> The +quiet sense of something lost.</i></p> +<p>Agatha was singularly uncertain of herself. If it had not been +for her education--at the Brighton school they had taught her that +tears are not only idle, but also harmful to the complexion--she would +have felt inclined to weep.</p> +<p>There was something wrong about the world this evening, and she did +not know what it was. Little things irritated her--such as the +creak of Mrs. Harrington’s rich silk dress as that lady breathed. +Agatha almost hated Fitz, without knowing why. She wanted Luke +to come and speak to her, and yet the necessity of limiting their conversation +to mere social platitudes made her hope that he would not do so.</p> +<p>At length she rose to go and make her last preparations for the ball. +The old habit was so strong upon her that unconsciously she gave a little +swing of the hips to throw her skirt out--to show herself to the greatest +advantage in the perfect dress. There was a tiny suggestion of +the thoroughbred horse in the paddock--as there always is in the attitude +of some young persons, though they would not be grateful were one to +tell them of it--a certain bridling, a sleek step, and a lamentably +obvious search for the eye of admiration. Fitz opened the door +for her, and she gave him a glance as she passed him--a preliminary +shot to find the range, as it were--to note which way the wind blew.</p> +<p>In the dimly-lighted hall Agatha suddenly became aware of a hot sensation +in the eyelids. The temperature of the tear of vexation is a high +one. As she passed towards the staircase, her glance was attracted +by a sword, bright of hilt, dark of sheath. Fitz’s sword, +lying with his white gloves on the table, where he had laid them on +coming into the house. The footman had drawn the blade an inch +or so from the sheath--to look at the chasing--to handle the steel +that deals in warfare with all the curiosity of one whose business lies +among the knives of peace.</p> +<p>Agatha paused and looked at the tokens of Fitz’s calling. +She thought of Luke, who had no sword. And the hot unwonted tear +fell on the blade.</p> +<p>All the evening Mrs. Harrington had been marked in her attention +to Fitz. It was quite obvious that he was--for the moment, at +all events--the favoured nephew. And Mrs. Ingham-Baker noted +these things.</p> +<p>“My dear,” she whispered to Agatha, when they were waiting +in the hall for their hostess, “it is Fitz, of course. I +can see that with half an eye.”</p> +<p>Agatha shrugged her shoulders in a rude manner, suggesting almost +that her mother was deprived of more reliable means of observation than +the moiety mentioned.</p> +<p>“What is Fitz?” she asked, with weary patience.</p> +<p>“Well, I can only tell you that she has called him ‘dear’ +twice this evening, and I have never heard her do the same to Luke.”</p> +<p>“A lot Luke cares!” muttered Agatha scornfully, and her +mother, whose sense of logic did not run to the perception that Luke’s +feelings were beside the question, discreetly collapsed into her voluminous +wraps.</p> +<p>She was, however, quite accustomed to be treated thus with contumely, +and then later to see her suggestions acted upon--a feminine consolation +which men would do well to take unto themselves. As soon as they +entered the ball-room, Mrs. Ingham-Baker, with that supernatural perspicacity +which is sometimes found in stupid mothers, saw that Agatha was refusing +her usual partners. She noted her daughter’s tactics with +mingled awe and admiration, both of which tributes were certainly deserved. +She saw Agatha look straight through one man at the decorations on the +wall behind; she saw her greet an amorous youth of tender years with +a semi-maternal air of protection which at once blighted his hopes, +cured his passion, and made him abandon the craving for a dance. +Agatha was evidently reserving herself and her programme for some special +purposes, and she did it with a skill bred of long experience.</p> +<p>Luke was the first to come and ask for a dance--nay, he demanded +it.</p> +<p>“Do you remember the last time we danced together?” he +asked, as he wrote on her card.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she replied, in a voice which committed her to +nothing. She did not look at him, but past him; to where Fitz +was talking to Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>But he was not content with that. He retained the card and +stood in front of her, waiting with suppressed passion in every muscle, +waiting for her to meet his eyes.</p> +<p>At last, almost against her will, she did, and for one brief moment +she was supremely happy. It was only, however, for a moment. +Sent, apparently, by a very practical Providence to save her from herself, +a young man blustered good-naturedly through the crowd and planted himself +before her with a cheery <i>aplomb</i> which seemed to indicate his +supposition that in bringing her his presence he brought the desire +of her heart and the brightest moment of the evening.</p> +<p>“Well, Agatha,” he said, in that loud voice which, with +all due deference, usually marks the Harrovian, “how many have +you got for me? No rot now! I want my share, you know, eh?”</p> +<p>Heedless of Luke’s scowling presence, he held out his hand, +encased in a very tight glove, asking with a good-natured jerk of the +head for her programme.</p> +<p>“Is your wife here?” asked Agatha, smilingly relinquishing +her card.</p> +<p>“Wife be blowed!” he answered heartily. “Why +so formal? Of course she’s here, carrying on with all the +young ’uns as usual. She’s as fit as paint. +But she won’t like to be called stiff names. Why don’t +you call her Maggie?”</p> +<p>Agatha smiled and did not explain. She doubtless had a good +reason for the unusually formal inquiry, and she glanced at Luke to +see that his brow had cleared.</p> +<p>Then suddenly some instinct, coming she knew not whence, and leading +to consequences affecting their three lives, made her introduce the +two men.</p> +<p>“Mr. Carr,” she said, “Mr. FitzHenry. You +may be able to get each other partners. Besides, you have an interest +in common.”</p> +<p>The two men bowed.</p> +<p>“Are you a sailor?” inquired Luke, almost pleasantly. +With Willie Carr it was difficult to be stiff and formal.</p> +<p>“Not I; but I’m interested in shipping--not the navy, +you know--merchant service. I’m something in the City, +like the young man on the omnibus, eh?”</p> +<p>“I’m in the merchant service,” answered Luke.</p> +<p>“Ah! What ship?”</p> +<p>“The <i>Croonah</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>Croonah</i>,” repeated Carr, hastily scribbling his +name on Agatha’s programme. “Fine ship; I know her +well by name. Know ’em all on paper, you know. I’m +an insurance man--what they call a doctor--Lloyd’s and all that; +missing ships, overdue steamers, hedging and dodging, and the inner +walks of marine insurance--that’s yours truly. <i>Croonah’s</i> +a big value, <i>I</i> know.”</p> +<p>He looked up keenly over Agatha’s engagement card. The +look was not quite in keeping with his bluff and open manners. +Moreover, a man who is, so to speak, not in keeping with himself is +one who requires watching.</p> +<p>“Yes, she is a fine ship,” answered Luke, with a momentary +thought of the <i>Terrific</i>.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” went on Carr, confidentially plucking Luke’s +sleeve, “when she is going to the bottom, and I’ll do a +line for you--make your fortune for you. You’d not be the +first man who has come to me, with his hair hardly dry, for a cheque.”</p> +<p>Luke laughed and went away in answer to Mrs. Harrington’s beckoning +finger.</p> +<p>Fitz was coming towards Agatha and her companion.</p> +<p>“Holloa!” exclaimed Carr, “I’m blowed if +here is not a second edition of the same man.”</p> +<p>“His brother,” explained Agatha, who saw Fitz coming, +although she was apparently looking the other way.</p> +<p>“Royal Navy,” muttered Carr.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then I’m off. Can’t get on with Royal Navy +men, somehow.”</p> +<p>With a jovial nod and something remarkably near a wink, Willie Carr +left her, shouldering his way through the crowd with that good-natured +boisterousness of manner which is accepted by the world for honesty.</p> +<p>Agatha was looking the other way when Fitz came to her, and he was +forced to touch her and repeat his desire to be accorded a dance before +she became aware of his proximity.</p> +<p>“Certainly,” she answered rather carelessly, “if +you want one. I--”--she paused with infinite skill and +looked down at her own dress--“I thought I had displeased you.”</p> +<p>Fitz looked slightly surprised.</p> +<p>“What an absurd thing to think!” he said rather lamely.</p> +<p>She glanced up with pert coquetry.</p> +<p>“Then it was only oblivion or indifference.”</p> +<p>“What was only oblivion or indifference?” he asked, still +smiling as he compared cards.</p> +<p>“Your very obvious delay in coming,” she answered. +“Considering that we have known each other since we were children, +it is only natural that I should want to dance with you.”</p> +<p>“Considering that we have known each other since we were children,” +he said, repeating her words and tone, “may I have a third?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” with a frank nod. “And”--she +paused, and looking round saw Luke going away in the opposite direction +with Mrs. Harrington--“and will you take me to have some coffee +now? I am engaged for this dance, but no matter.”</p> +<p>Fitz gave her his arm and turned to hitch his sword higher. +He made sure that the blade was well home, shutting in the little red +spot of gathering rust--a tear.</p> +<p>When they had at length passed through the eager crowd and found +a resting-place in a smaller room, Agatha looked up at Fitz as he handed +her her coffee, and did not pretend to hide the admiration with which +she regarded him.</p> +<p>“You know,” she said, “you are a great favourite +with Mrs. Harrington.”</p> +<p>“She is always very kind to me.”</p> +<p>Fitz was a difficult person to gossip with by reason of his quiet +directness of manner. He had a way of abruptly finishing his speech +without the usual lowering of the voice. And it is just that small +drop of half a tone that invites further confidence. In such small +matters as these lies the secret of conversational success, and by such +trivial tricks of the tongue we are daily and hourly deceived. +The man or the woman who lowers the tone at the end of speech defers +to the listener’s opinion, and usually receives it. The +manner with which Fitz broke off led his listener to believe that he +was not attending to the conversation. Agatha therefore baited +her hook more heavily.</p> +<p>“Like many women, she thinks that sailors are superior to the +rest of mankind,” she said, with just enough lightness of tone +to be converted into a screen if necessary. But she heaved a little +sigh before she drank her coffee.</p> +<p>Fitz had not decided whether all this referred to himself or to Luke. +He hoped that Agatha had, so to speak, brought her guns to bear upon +him, because of himself he was sure, of Luke he was doubtful. +As a matter of curiosity he pursued the conversation.</p> +<p>“And you,” he said, “look upon such mistaken persons +with the mingled pity and contempt that they deserve?”</p> +<p>“No,” she answered, with audacious calmness, as she rose +and passed before him; “for I think the same.”</p> +<p>She cleverly deprived him of the opportunity of answering, and pushed +her way through the crowd alone, allowing him to follow.</p> +<p>Before she danced with him again, she danced with Luke, and her humour +seemed to have undergone a change.</p> +<p>There are some men who, like salmon, never go back. They push +on, and that which they have gained they hold to though it cost them +their lives. Luke FitzHenry was one of these, and Agatha found +that in the London ball-room she could take back nothing that she had +given on board the <i>Croonah</i>. Luke, it is to be presumed, +had old-fashioned theories which have fallen into disuse in these practical +modern days wherein we flirt for one night only, for a day, for a week, +according to convenience. He could not lay aside the voyage to +Malta and that which occurred then as a matter of the past; and Agatha, +surprised and at a loss, did not seem to know how to make him do so.</p> +<p>She learnt with a new wonder that the rest of this ball--namely, +that part of his programme which did not refer to her, the dances he +was to dance with partners other than herself--counted as nothing. +For him this ball was merely herself. There was not another woman +in the room--for him. He told her this and other things. +Moreover, the sound of it was quite new to her. For the modern +young man does not make serious love to such women as Agatha Ingham-Baker.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY.</h3> +<p> <i>La discretion d’un homme est +d’autant plus grande qu’on lui demande davantage.</i></p> +<p>“I want you to ask me to dinner!”</p> +<p>The Count de Lloseta bowed as he made this remark, and looked at +his companion with a smile.</p> +<p>At times Mrs. Harrington gave way to a momentary panic in respect +to Cipriani de Lloseta--when she was not feeling very well, perhaps. +Her situation seemed to be somewhat that of a commander holding an impregnable +position against a cunning foe. For every position of such a nature +is impenetrable only so long as it can meet and defy each new engine +of warfare that is brought against it. And one day the fatal engine +is invented.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington looked into his face with a flicker in her drawn +grey eyes. Then she gave a little laugh which was not quite free +from uneasiness.</p> +<p>“Why?” she asked sardonically. “Have you +fallen in love with some one at last?”</p> +<p>She knew that this taunt would hurt him. Besides, she liked +to throw it at the memory of a woman whom she had hated--Cipriani de +Lloseta’s dead wife.</p> +<p>“I should like to be of your party to-night,” he said +quietly.</p> +<p>She gave another scornful laugh, with that ring of malice in it which +thrills in the voice of some elderly women when they speak of young +girls.</p> +<p>“Eve is to be of our party to-night,” she said. +“Ah--that would be too absurd--a new Adam! You! +But, mind you, Agatha will be here too. You will have to be careful +how you play your cards, Don Juan! However, we dine at eight, +and I shall be glad to see you.”</p> +<p>De Lloseta took up his hat and stick. With Mrs. Harrington, +and with no one else perhaps in London, he still observed the stiff +Spanish manner. He bowed without offering to shake hands, and +left her.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington--cold, calculating, essentially worldly--looked +at the closed door with deep speculation in her eyes. They were +hard eyes, such as are only to be seen in a woman’s face; for +an old man has usually picked up a little charity somewhere on the road +through life.</p> +<p>Then she looked at a hundred-pound note which he had tossed across +the table to her with a silent Catalonian contempt earlier in the proceedings.</p> +<p>“I thought he was rather easy to manage,” she said, examining +the note. “I thought he wanted something. He has paid +this--for his dinner.”</p> +<p>The Count moreover appeared to consider the entertainment cheap at +the price, if his manner was to be relied upon. For he entered +the drawing-room at eight o’clock the same evening with an unusually +pleasant air of anticipatory enjoyment. He shook hands quite gaily +with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, who bridled stoutly, and thought that he was +a very distinguished-looking man despite his dark airs. He received +Agatha’s careless nod and shake of the hand with a murmured politeness; +with Eve he shook hands in silence. Then he turned rather suddenly +upon Fitz and held out his hand gravely.</p> +<p>“I congratulate you,” he said. “When I last +had the pleasure of seeing you, I did not suspect that I was entertaining +a great man unawares--you were too humble.”</p> +<p>Fitz involuntarily glanced towards Eve, knowing that the speaker +had a second meaning. Eve was watching the Count rather curiously, +as if wondering how he would greet Fitz. Every one in the room +was looking at the Count de Lloseta; for this quiet-spoken Spaniard +was a distinct factor in the life of each one of them.</p> +<p>They fell to talking of commonplace matters, and presently Mrs. Harrington +rustled in. The servants were only awaiting her arrival to announce +that dinner was ready.</p> +<p>She looked round.</p> +<p>“We are short of men,” she said. “We miss +Luke, do we not?”</p> +<p>She looked straight at Agatha, who returned her stare with audacious +imperturbability. It was only Luke’s presence that unsteadied +her. When he was away, she could hold her own against the world.</p> +<p>“I have never seen Luke,” said Eve to the Count, who +had been commanded to offer her his arm. “I am so sorry +to have missed him.”</p> +<p>Agatha, who was in front, beneath them on the stairs, turned and +looked up at her with a strange smile. She either did not heed +the Count, or she undervalued his powers of observation.</p> +<p>“You would undoubtedly have liked him,” said the Spaniard.</p> +<p>At the table there was considerable arranging of the seats, and finally +De Lloseta was placed at one side with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, while the +two girls sat side by side opposite to them.</p> +<p>Fitz was at the foot of the table.</p> +<p>In the course of conversation the Spaniard leant across and said +to Agatha--</p> +<p>“Have you seen this month’s <i>Commentator</i>, Miss +Ingham-Baker?”</p> +<p>An unaccountable silence fell upon the assembled guests. Eve +Challoner’s face turned quite white. Her eyes were lowered +to her plate. No one looked at her except the Count, and his glance +was momentary.</p> +<p>“Yes--and of course I have read the Spanish sketch. +I suppose every one in London has! It makes me want to go to Spain.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker bridled and glanced at the Spaniard. Agatha +might be a countess yet--a foreign one, but still a countess. +Fitz was looking at De Lloseta. He naturally concluded that it +was he who had written the article. He was still watching his +face when the Spaniard turned to him and said--</p> +<p>“And you, Fitz? You know something about the matter too!”</p> +<p>And Eve Challoner betrayed herself completely. No one happened +to be looking at her except Cipriani de Lloseta, and he saw that not +only had she written the celebrated articles, but that she loved Fitz. +Fitz’s opinion was the only one worth hearing. In her anxiety +to hear it, she quite forgot to guard her secret.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Fitz, wondering what De Lloseta was leading +up to. “I have read them both, of course. I hope there +are more. The man knows what he is writing about.”</p> +<p>“He does,” said the Count, smiling across the table at +Eve.</p> +<p>The girl was moistening her lips, which seemed suddenly to have become +dry and feverish. Her hands were trembling. She had evidently +been terribly afraid of the opinion so innocently asked by the Spaniard.</p> +<p>De Lloseta changed the subject at once. He had found out all +that he wanted to know, and more. He had no intention of forcing +a confidence upon Eve.</p> +<p>The burthen of the conversation fell upon his shoulders. Fitz, +no great talker at any time, was markedly quiet. He had nothing +to offer for the general delectation. His remarks upon all subjects +mooted were laconic and valueless. The duties as temporary host +occupied him for the moment, and his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. +His attitude towards Eve had been friendly, but rather reserved. +There was no suggestion of sulkiness, but on the other hand he had failed +to take advantage of one or two opportunities which she had given him +of referring to the past and to any mutual obligations or common interests +they had had therein. It happened that Agatha had heard her give +him these openings, and had noticed his lack of enterprise.</p> +<p>Agatha Ingham-Baker had long before conceived a strange suspicion +- namely, that Eve and Fitz loved each other. She had absolutely +nothing to base her suspicions upon, not so much even as the gossips +of Majorca. And nevertheless her suspicions throve, as such do, +and grew into conviction.</p> +<p>Agatha had come down early to the drawing-room on purpose to establish +her right over Fitz. She found De Lloseta in the hall, and he +followed her into the room. Whenever she attempted to demonstrate +her right to the attention of the only young man present by one of those +little glances or words with which women hurt each other, De Lloseta +seemed to step in, intercepting with his dark smile. At dinner, +when Fitz was absent-minded, Agatha managed to show the others that +she alone could follow him into the land of his reflections and call +him back from thence. But on several occasions, when she was about +to turn to him with a smile which was especially reserved for certain +young men under certain circumstances, Cipriani de Lloseta spoke to +her and spoilt the small manœuvre.</p> +<p>Eve saw it all. She saw more than the acute Spaniard. +Firstly, because she was a woman. Secondly, because she loved +Fitz. Thirdly, because the inken curse was hers in a small degree, +and people who dabble in ink often wade deep into human nature.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII. A VOYAGE.</h3> +<p> <i>And hence one master passion in +the breast,<br /> Like Aaron’s serpent, +swallows all the rest.</i></p> +<p>Life is, after all, a matter of habit. In those families where +rapid consumption is hereditary, the succeeding generations seem to +get into the habit of dying early. They take it, without complaint, +as a matter of course. Sailors and other persons who lead a rough +and hazardous life seem also to acquire this philosophy of existence. +Luke FitzHenry went to sea again on the day appointed for the <i>Croonah</i> +to leave London, without so much as a snarl at Fate.</p> +<p>It was a great wrench to him to leave Agatha again so soon, in the +first full force of his passion. But he left her almost happily. +His love for her was rising up and filling his whole existence. +And it is not those lives that are frittered away in a thousand pastimes +that are happy. It is the strong life wholly absorbed by one great +interest, be it love or be it merely money-making.</p> +<p>Luke had hitherto been rather an aimless man. He was a brilliant +sailor, not because he set himself to the task, but merely because seamanship +was born in him, together with a dogged steadiness of nerve and a complete +fearlessness. It was so easy to be a good sailor that he had not +even the satisfaction of having to make an effort. His heart was +empty. He had indeed the sea, but his love of it was unconscious. +Away from it, he was ill at ease; on its breast, he was not actively +happy--he was merely at home. But he had no career. He +had no great prize to aim for, and his combative nature required one. +He had no career to make, for he was already near the summit of the +humble ladder on which Fate had set his feet.</p> +<p>Then came Agatha, and the empty heart was filled with a dangerous +suddenness.</p> +<p>The pain which this parting caused him had something of pleasure +in it. There are some men and many women who doubt love unless +it bring actual pain with it. Luke had always mistrusted fate, +and had love brought happiness with it he would probably have doubted +its genuineness. He hugged all his doubts, his jealousies, his +passionate thoughts to himself. He had nothing to cling to. +Agatha had never told him that she loved him. But she was for +him so entirely apart from all other women that it seemed necessary +that he also should not be as other men for her. Not much for +a lover to live upon during four or five months!</p> +<p>Agatha had given him a photograph of herself--a fashionable picture +in an affected pose in evening dress--but she had absolutely refused +to write. This photograph Luke put into a frame, and as soon as +the <i>Croonah</i> was out of dock he hung it up in his little cabin. +His servant saw it and recognised the fair passenger of a former voyage, +but he knew his place and his master too well to offer any comment.</p> +<p>Unlike the ordinary young man, whose thoughts are lightly turned +to love, Luke was no worse a sailor for his self-absorption. All +his care, all his keen, fearless judgment were required; for the <i>Croonah</i> +ran through a misty channel into a boisterous Atlantic.</p> +<p>He stood motionless at his post, as was his wont, keen and alert +for the moment, but living in the past. He saw again Mrs. Harrington’s +drawing-room as he had last seen it, with Agatha sitting in a low chair +near the fire, while Mrs. Harrington wrote at her desk, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker +read the <i>Times</i>.</p> +<p>“I have come,” he remembered saying, “to bid you +good-bye.”</p> +<p>He heard again the rustle of Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s newspaper, +and again he saw the look in Agatha’s eyes as they met his. +He would remember that look to the end of his life; he was living on +it now. Agatha, in her rather high-pitched society tones, was +the first to speak.</p> +<p>“If I were a sailor,” she said, “I would never +say good-bye. It is better to drop in and pay a call; at the end +one might casually mention the words.”</p> +<p>“Oh! we grow accustomed to it,” Luke answered.</p> +<p>“Do you?” the girl inquired, with an enigmatical smile, +and her answer was in his eyes. She did not want him to grow accustomed +to saying farewell to her.</p> +<p>Luke FitzHenry was not inclined to sociability--the stronger sort +of man rarely is. On board the <i>Croonah</i> he was usually considered +morose and self absorbed. He did his duty, and in this was second +to no man on board; but he was content to get the passengers to their +destination, looking upon the <i>Croonah</i> as a mere conveyance for +a certain number of chattering, gossiping, mischief-making live-stock. +He utterly failed in his social duties; he did not cultivate the art +of making his ship a sort of floating “hydro”.</p> +<p>The boisterous weather kept the decks fairly select until Gibraltar +had been left behind in the luminous haze that hangs over the mouth +of the Mediterranean in a westerly breeze. But in the smoother +waters of the Southern seas the passengers plucked up courage, and one +morning at breakfast Luke perceived a tall, heavy-shouldered man nodding +vigorously, and wiping his mouth with a napkin, which he subsequently +waved with friendly jocularity.</p> +<p>“Morning--morning!” he cried.</p> +<p>“Good morning,” replied Luke, passing to his seat at +the after-end of the saloon. He had recognised the man at once, +although he had only exchanged a few words with him in a crowded ball-room. +Everything connected with Agatha, however remotely, seemed to engrave +itself indelibly on his mind. This was Willie Carr, the man to +whom Agatha had introduced him at the naval orphanage ball. Willie +Carr was on board the <i>Croonah</i>, evidently quite at home, and bound +for India, for he was seated at the Indian table.</p> +<p>It was not necessary for Luke to make inquiries about this passenger, +because his brother officers soon began to speak of him. By some +means Carr made himself popular among the officers, and gradually began +to enjoy privileges denied to his fellow passengers. He frequently +visited the engine-room, and was always to be seen after meals in, or +in the neighbourhood of, the smoking-room, in conversation with one +or other of the <i>Croonah’s</i> officers, who were generally +found to be smoking Carr’s cigars.</p> +<p>Despite many obvious and rather noisy overtures of friendship, Luke +FitzHenry held aloof until the Aden light was left behind. He +succeeded in limiting his intercourse to an exchange of passing remarks +on the weather until the <i>Croonah</i> had rounded Pointe de Galle +and was heading northwards. Then arose circumstances which brought +them together, and possibly served Willie Carr’s deliberate purpose.</p> +<p>Carr was travelling without his wife--he was the sort of man who +does travel without his wife. She, poor woman, had made one initial +mistake, namely, in marrying him, and such mistakes are sometimes paid +for by a life of atonement to the gods. She remained at home to +care for an ever-increasing family on a small housekeeping allowance, +which was not always paid.</p> +<p>This wife was the only point in his favour which had presented itself +to Luke’s mind, for the latter resented a certain tone of easy +familiarity, which Agatha seemed to take as a matter of course.</p> +<p>Luke was afraid of being questioned about Agatha, and he therefore +kept Carr at a respectful distance. He harboured no personal dislike +towards the man, whose bluff and honest manner made him popular among +his fellows.</p> +<p>It was the evening of the first day in the Bay of Bengal that a steamer +passed the <i>Croonah</i>, running south, and flying a string of signals. +The <i>Croonah</i> replied, and the homeward-bound vessel disappeared +in the gathering twilight with her code flags still flying.</p> +<p>“What did she say?” asked the passengers.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” replied the officers; “only the weather. +It is the change of the monsoon.”</p> +<p>At dinner the captain was remarkably grave; he left the table early, +having eaten little. The officers were reticent, as was their +wont. Luke FitzHenry, it was remarked and remembered afterwards, +alone appeared to be in good spirits.</p> +<p>After dinner a busybody in the shape of a too intelligent young coffee-planter, +who possessed an aneroid barometer, brought that instrument to the smoking-room +with a scared face. The needle was deflected to a part of the +dial which the intelligent young planter had hitherto considered to +be merely ornamental and not intended for practical use. His elders +and betters told him to put it away and not to tell the ladies. +Then they continued smoking; but they knew that they had just seen such +a barometer as few men care to look upon.</p> +<p>The word “cyclone” was whispered in one corner of the +cabin, and a white-moustached general was understood to mutter--</p> +<p>“Damned young fool!” as he pulled at his cheroot.</p> +<p>The whisperer did not hear the remark, and went on to give further +information on atmospheric disturbances. Suddenly the field-officer +jumped to his feet.</p> +<p>“Look here, sir!” he cried. “If we are in +for a cyclone, I trust that we know how to behave as men--and die as +men, if need be! But don’t let us have any whispering in +corners, like a lot of schoolgirls. We are in the care of good +men, and all we have to do is to obey orders, and--damn it, sir!--to +remember we’re Englishmen!”</p> +<p>The general walked out of the smoking-saloon, and the first sight +that greeted his eyes was Luke FitzHenry, quick, keen, and supernaturally +calm, standing over a group of Malay sailors who were hard at work getting +in awnings. The white-haired soldier stood and watched with the +grim silence which he had showed to death before now. He was of +the Indian army. He had led the black man to victory and death, +and he knew to a nerve the sensitive Asiatic organisation. He +saw that it was good and not for the first time he noted the sheep-like +dependence with which the black men grouped themselves round their white +leader, watching his face, taking their cue in expression, in attitude, +even in their feelings from him.</p> +<p>“Good man,” muttered the general to himself.</p> +<p>He stood there alone while the ship was stripped of every awning, +while the decks were cleared of all that hamper which makes the passenger +an encumbrance at sea. There was no shouting, no confusion, no +sign of fear. In a marvellously short time the broad decks were +lying bare and clear, all loose things were stowed away or made fast, +and the <i>Croonah</i> stood ready for her great fight.</p> +<p>All the while an arc of black cloud had been growing on the horizon. +There was not a breath of wind. From the engine-rooms the thud +of the piston-rods came throbbing up with a singular distinctness. +The arc of cloud had risen halfway to the meridian. There were +streaks in it--streaks of yellow on black. Far away to the north, +at the point of contact with the horizon, a single waterspout rose like +a black pillar from sea to cloud. Dwellers in the cool and temperate +zones would have thought that the end of the world was about to come. +Men, standing quite still, felt the drops of perspiration trickling +beneath their ears. The air taken into the lungs seemed powerless +to expand them. The desire to take a deeper breath was constant +and oppressive.</p> +<p>A quartermaster brought a message to the general that he must go +below or else come up to the lower bridge. He could not stay where +he was. The captain said that the cyclone might break at any moment. +The old soldier nodded, and made his way to the lower bridge. +Before he had been there long he was joined by Carr, who carried a mackintosh +over his arm. The two men nodded. The general rather liked +Carr. He was a Harrovian, and the general’s son was at Harrow.</p> +<p>“Going to see it out on deck?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Rather. I’m not going to be drowned like a rat +in a trap!” replied Carr, jovial still, and brave.</p> +<p>Luke came to the bridge and took up his position by the side of the +captain. No one spoke.</p> +<p>From the distant horizon--from the north where the waterspout still +was--a long groan floated over the water. There was a green line +on the black surface of the ocean, dark green flecked with white; it +was spreading over the sea, and coming towards them. Luke turned +and said one word to the quartermaster. The man went to the wheelhouse +and brought out three long black oilskin coats--two for the captain +and Luke, the other for himself.</p> +<p>The groan, like that of an animal in pain, was repeated. It +seemed farther off. Then a sound like the escape of steam from +an engine came apparently from the sky.</p> +<p>Luke said something to the captain, and pointed with his right hand. +They consulted together in a whisper, and the captain made a signal +to the two steersmen motionless in the wheelhouse. The well-greased +chains ran smoothly, and the great black prow of the <i>Croonah</i> +crept slowly round the horizon pointing out to sea, away from the land. +Ceylon lay astern of them in the darkness which was almost like night.</p> +<p>The captain and Luke stood side by side on the little bridge, far +above the deck. They had exchanged their gold-braided caps for +sou’westers. The outline of their black forms was just distinguishable +against the sky. They were looking straight ahead into the yellow +streaks, out over the flecked sea. And not a breath of wind stirred +the leaden atmosphere.</p> +<p>Looking down on the broad decks, it would seem at first that they +were deserted, but as the eye became accustomed to the gloom, men standing +like shadows could be perceived here and there--at their posts--waiting.</p> +<p>All the skylights had been doubly tarpaulined. Some of them +had been strengthened with battens lashed transversely over the canvas. +All that mortal brain could devise mortal hand had done. The rest +was with God.</p> +<p>The decks were quite dark, for the skylights were covered, even those +of the engine-room, and the men at work down there in the stifling heat +knew not what the next moment might bring. They had nothing to +guide them as to the moment when the hurricane would strike the ship. +For the last five minutes they had been holding on to their life-rails +with both hands, expecting to be thrown among the machinery at every +second.</p> +<p>Still there was no breath of wind. The darkness was less intense. +A yellow glow seemed to be behind the cloud.</p> +<p>Then a strange feeling of being drawn upward came to all, and strong +men gasped for breath. It was only for a moment. But the +sensation was that the air was being sucked up to the sky, leaving a +vacuum on the face of the waters.</p> +<p>Suddenly the captain’s voice startled the night, rising trumpet-like +above the hiss of the steam.</p> +<p>“Stand <i>by</i>!” he cried.</p> +<p>Luke looked down to the lower bridge.</p> +<p>“You had better hold on to something,” he called, and +as he spoke the hurricane struck the <i>Croonah</i>. It can only +be described as a pushing smack. She rolled slowly over before +it, and it seemed that she would never stop.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII. A GREAT FIGHT.</h3> +<p> <i>Who knows? The man is proven +by the hour.</i></p> +<p>The sea seemed to rise up and fall on the disabled ship with a wild +fury. There was a strange suggestion of passion in every wave +as it crashed over the bulwarks. In the roar of the hurricane +there was a faint sound of crackling wood. The deck was at an +angle of thirty. The port boats on their davits were invisible; +they were under water. If the <i>Croonah</i> righted quickly those +boats would break up like old baskets.</p> +<p>The two men on the lower bridge stood on the uprights of the rail, +leaning against the deck as against a wall. The crackling sound +like breaking matchwood seemed to come from above. Carr looked +up and saw the captain and Luke at the wheel. The wheelhouse had +collapsed like a card house; it had simply been blown away, and one +of the helmsmen with it. The other was lying huddled up at the +lower end of the narrow bridge.</p> +<p>For a moment the darkness lifted and the survivors saw a weird sight. +One of the starboard boats, attached to the davit by only one fall, +was held by the wind like a flag straight out over the deck. Already +two men were clambering to the upper bridge to take the place of the +helmsmen who were dead. Relieved from the wheel, Luke dragged +himself up to the ladder leading from the upper to the lower deck. +A few moments later they saw him cutting with a hatchet at the ropes +holding the boat to the davit. There were four, for it was a heavy +boat, held by a double block. He cut two at a stroke: the others +ran out instantly. The boat disappeared to leeward like a runaway +hat, and fell with a splash into the foaming sea.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> seemed to feel the relief. She rose a little +to windward, but her lee-rail was still under water. Down in the +scuppers, in the tangle of ropes and splintered wood, sundry dark forms, +looking more like bundles of dirty rags than anything else, rolled and +tossed helplessly. These were dead and drowning men. Already +the European sailors were at work, some cutting away useless top-hamper, +others attempting to drag the terror-stricken Malays to a place of comparative +safety. Luke FitzHenry took command of these men, as was his duty, +working like one of them, with infinite daring. He could only +communicate with his captain by signs, speech being impossible. +It was a seaman’s fight. Each man did that which seemed +to him expedient for the safety of the ship. The <i>Croonah</i> +was fully equipped for fine weather--for cleaning brasses and swabbing +decks and bending awnings; but for bad weather--notably for a cyclone +- she was perilously undermanned. Half of the native crew were +paralysed by fear, many were killed, others drowned from a mere incapacity +to hold on.</p> +<p>The other officers of the ship had their hands more than full. +The doctor was below in the saloon surrounded by a babel of shrieking +women and white-faced men; the engineers were on watch at their deadly +posts in the heart of the ship.</p> +<p>Carr turned and clambered down the iron ladder to the upper deck. +He was half a sailor and quite an Englishman. Moreover he came +from Harrow, where they teach a certain bull-dog courage.</p> +<p>Luke, working half blinded by spray and salt water, presently found +a strong man working at his side. Together they cut away the submerged +boats, standing to their waists in water, at infinite peril of their +lives; together they made their way forward to help the chief officer +and his devoted gang, who were cutting away the foremast and the wreckage +of forward boats.</p> +<p>Through the long hours of the night these dauntless men worked unceasingly, +and--incongruous practical details--the stewards brought them food +at stated intervals, while two men served out spirits all the while. +Slowly, inch by inch, they righted the ship, bringing her stubborn prow +gradually into the wind; and all the while the engines throbbed, all +the while the grimy stokers shovelled coal into the furnaces, all the +while the engineers stood and watched their engines.</p> +<p>Dawn broke on a terrific sea and a falling wind. The night +was over and the dread Bay had had her thousand lives and more, for +a cyclone simply wipes out the native craft like writing on a slate. +The <i>Croonah</i> had been right through the corner of the worst cyclone +of a generation. Luke crawled back to the bridge where the captain +stood, as he had stood all night, motionless. Sheer skill and +a great experience had pulled the <i>Croonah</i> through.</p> +<p>When the danger was past those who were on deck saw a man in shirt +and trousers only, his grey hair ruffled, his clothes glued to his limbs +by perspiration, emerge from the bowels of the ship. He came on +deck, passed by those who scarce knew him without his gold braid, and +slowly climbed the ladder to the bridge. There, in the early morning +light, the two men who had saved three hundred lives--the captain and +the chief engineer--silently shook hands.</p> +<p>“I had to keep you down there for the safety of the ship,” +said the captain gruffly.</p> +<p>“All right, old man, I knew that.”</p> +<p>The old engineer turned and looked fore and aft over the wrecked +decks with a curious smile as if he had come back from another world.</p> +<p>While they stood there the saloon doors were opened and a haggard +row of faces peered out. A quarter-master held the passengers +back, for the decks were unsafe. Railings and bulwarks were gone, +boats smashed, awning stanchions twisted and bent. No landsmen +could be trusted to move safely amid such confusion.</p> +<p>And all the while the engines throbbed, and the <i>Croonah</i> held +proudly on her course to the north--battered, torn, and sore stricken, +yet a victor.</p> +<p>After changing their clothes, Luke and Carr breakfasted together +at the after-end of the second officer’s table in the saloon. +With a certain humour the captain allowed of no relaxation in the discipline +of the ship. The breakfast bell was rung at the usual time, the +meal was served with the usual profusion, even the menus were written +as carefully as ever; and some good ladies opined that the captain must +be a godless man, because forsooth he did not cringe beneath the wing +of the passing Angel of Death.</p> +<p>“I am glad I saw that,” said Carr, neat and clean, hearty +and smiling as usual.</p> +<p>Luke looked up from a generous plate. He thought that Carr +was indulging in bravado, but he relinquished this opinion when he saw +the man’s face and his helping of bacon and eggs. Carr seemed +to have enjoyed the cyclone, as he had no doubt enjoyed many a game +of football in his youth, and many a spin across country later. +For this man kept his hunters. He was moved thereto by that form +of self-respect which urges some men to live like gentlemen, to, as +they express it, “do themselves well,” whether their mere +monetary circumstances allow of it or no; and some one usually pays +for these philosophers--that is the annoying part of it.</p> +<p>“By gad! I didn’t think it could blow like that, +though!” Carr went on, with his mouth full.</p> +<p>“I don’t think it can often,” replied Luke. +He could not help liking this man, despite his first prejudice against +him. Besides, they had stood shoulder to shoulder, with death +around them, and such moments draw differing men together. It +is the required touch of Nature, this same death, which frightens us +before it comes and seems so gentle when it is here.</p> +<p>“I always wanted to see a cyclone,” went on Carr conversationally, +“and now I’m satisfied. I have had enough. I +shouldn’t have cared for more. Pass, cyclones!”</p> +<p>“It is not many men who have your laudable thirst for experience,” +said Luke. “It is rather a strenuous form of pleasure.”</p> +<p>“Pleasure!” answered Carr, with one of his sharp glances. +“Pleasure, be d--d! It’s business, sir, business. +I mean to make money out of cyclones.”</p> +<p>“How? Bottle them up and make them turn a windmill?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>Carr turned round to make sure that he could not be overheard.</p> +<p>“No, sir. Your idea is not bad in the main, though hardly +practicable. No. I know a dodge worth two of that! +I told you before that I am in the marine insurance line. Now, +the funny part of the marine insurance line is that the majority of +the men engaged in it do not know their business. Now I propose +to teach these gentlemen their business.”</p> +<p>“Will they thank you for it?” asked Luke.</p> +<p>“They’ll pay me for it, which is better, by a long chalk! +Ha, ha! Butter, please.”</p> +<p>“And what have cyclones got to do with it?”</p> +<p>Again one of the sharp glances which sat so strangely on Carr’s +open countenance.</p> +<p>“I understand there is a science of cyclones,” he said +quietly.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Which means that you chaps knew what was coming forty-eight +hours ago?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Luke.</p> +<p>“That that steamer flying signals yesterday was talking to +you about it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And that when you got into it you knew exactly whereabout +you were in it; where the centre was, and which was the shortest way +out of it, to get clear away from the vortex and beyond the axis line, +so as not to get into it again?”</p> +<p>“Yes. You’re quite a Fitzroy.”</p> +<p>Carr winked cheerily.</p> +<p>“And all this is a certainty?”</p> +<p>“A dead certainty,” replied Luke. “It is +a science.”</p> +<p>Carr laid down his knife and fork.</p> +<p>“Suppose,” he said, “that the next cyclone sends +forty ships to kingdom come, and I’ve got a line of five hundred +or a thousand insured on every one of them. I’ll study these +jolly old cyclones. It will be easy enough to know about when +they’ll be coming. When one is about I’ll have a line +on every ship at sea between Colombo and Penang--do you see? +I’ll get a man on the coast here to watch the weather. When +there’s a cyclone in the Bay of Bengal he will wire me home one +word, ‘Milksop,’ or ‘Spongecake,’ or something +soft and innocent. I’ll do the rest, my boy.”</p> +<p>Luke was only pretending to eat. The desire to make money was +strong upon him--as indeed were all his desires--it was almost a passion; +for money meant Agatha, and Agatha had grown to be the one absorbing +passion of his heart. Agatha had been at the back of the superhuman +fight which he had waged all night against death. Agatha was behind +Carr’s words. The thought of her was tempting him through +the man’s arguments.</p> +<p>“But what will you insure?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Profit,” replied Carr, in a whisper. “It +is done every day--policy proof of interest--the fools!”</p> +<p>“What is policy proof of interest?”</p> +<p>“It means that they admit your insurance to be valid, whether +you have anything on board the ship or not. It is not legal, but +they know it when they sign the policy; and they know that it would +ruin them if they refused to pay an ‘honour policy.’ +I tell you they don’t know their business and they have no combination. +They all distrust each other, and tell lies to each other about their +profits and their losses. If I insure profit I have only to say +that I shall lose money if the ship does not reach her destination and +deliver her cargo safely. The cargo may be mine; I may be buying +it or selling it; no one can tell, and the underwriters don’t +ask. They pocket their premium, and if they have to pay, and think +they have been rooked, they keep it to themselves, because each man +is against his neighbour.”</p> +<p>“But do they know nothing about cyclones?” inquired Luke.</p> +<p>“My good sir, they hardly know the difference between Calcutta +and Bombay. Half of them think that a cyclone and a monsoon are +the same thing, and not one in ten could tell you the difference between +a brig and a barquentine.”</p> +<p>Luke gave a little half-convinced laugh. The man was so open +and honest that his arguments had nothing underhand or crafty in them.</p> +<p>“It sounds very simple,” he said.</p> +<p>“It is; d--d simple! So are the underwriters; but that +is not our business. You see, FitzHenry, in all commerce there +are a certain number of fools for the wise men to outwit. In marine +insurance there are a large number. All insurance is nothing but +a bet, and betting is a matter of intelligence. We bring more +intelligence to bear upon it than the other chap, therefore we win.”</p> +<p>He helped himself to marmalade with a jaunty hand. Luke hardly +noticed the easy transition from “I” to “we.” +He had had no intention of suggesting a partnership in this easy manner +of making money, but the partnership seemed to have formed itself.</p> +<p>“But--” Carr paused, holding in the air an emphatic +spoon. “But, my boy, we want capital, we want to lay our +hands on fifty thousand pounds.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid I could not lay my hand on fifty thousand pence,” +said Luke.</p> +<p>Carr glanced at him sharply. There was a little pause while +Carr ate marmalade and toast.</p> +<p>“Oh yes, you could,” he said in a low tone. “Between +us we could raise fifty thousand as easy as winking.”</p> +<p>As if to demonstrate the facility of the latter, he looked up and +closed his left eye confidentially.</p> +<p>“You’re a sailor,” he went on to say, “and +a ripping good one at that. You know the perils of the deep, as +the parsons say. It wouldn’t be hard for you to tell when +the <i>Croonah</i> was running into a tight place like yesterday. +All you have to do is to wire home one word to me. My telegraphic +address is ‘Simple, London.’ Say you wire home ‘Milksop.’ +We could fix on ‘Milksop’; it sounds so innocent! +In twenty-four hours I’d have fifty thousand done on the <i>Croonah</i> +in London, Glasgow, Liverpool, New York, Paris, and Germany--spread +about, you know. In four or five days the <i>Croonah</i> goes +to the bottom, and we scoop in, your name never appearing--see?”</p> +<p>There was a little pause.</p> +<p>“See?” repeated Carr, in little more than a whisper. +Luke looked up. He met Carr’s eyes and knew that he was +dealing with a villain. The strange part of it was that he felt +no anger. He could not free his mind from the thought of Agatha. +There was one corner of the steamer which was almost sacred to him--the +little space behind the deckhouse where he had held Agatha in his +arms for one moment of intense happiness--where she told him that she +could not be poor.</p> +<p>Carr rose and threw down his table napkin with a certain grand air +which was his.</p> +<p>“It would be the making of you,” he said. “It +is worth thinking about.”</p> +<p>He threw back his shoulders--a trick common enough with strongly +built men who incline to stoutness--nodded, and left him. He +passed down the length of the saloon, seeking his cigar-case in the +pocket of his coat, exchanging loud and hearty greetings with those +among the passengers whom he knew. He was popular on account of +the open British frankness which he cultivated, and which is supposed +to be the outward sign of an honest heart. He seemed to be thinking +of his great scheme no longer, but he left Luke to brood over it--to +try and chase the word “Milksop” from his brain, where it +seemed to be indelibly engraved.</p> +<p>He left Luke to fight against a great temptation alone and heavily +handicapped, for Luke FitzHenry was held as in a vice by his passionate +love for Agatha. It is not all men who can love. It is only +a few who are capable of a deep passion. This is as rare as genius. +A man of genius is usually a failure in all except his own special line. +The man who can and does love passionately must be a good man indeed +if his love do not make a villain of him.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IX. THE EDITOR’S ROOM.</h3> +<p> <i>The greater man, the greater courtesy</i>.</p> +<p>The Count de Lloseta and John Craik were sitting together in the +editorial room of the <i>Commentator</i>.</p> +<p>It was a quiet room, with double windows and a permanent odour of +tobacco smoke. An empty teacup stood on the table by John Craik’s +elbow.</p> +<p>“Name of God!” Cipriani de Lloseta had ejaculated when +he saw it. “At eleven o’clock in the morning!”</p> +<p>“Must stir the brain up,” was the reply.</p> +<p>“I would not do it with a teaspoon,” De Lloseta had answered, +and then he sat down to correct the proof of Eve’s fourth article +on “Spain and Spanish Life.”</p> +<p>They had been sitting thus together for half an hour in friendly +silence, only broken by an occasional high-class Spanish anathema hurled +at the head of the printer.</p> +<p>“A dog’s trade!” ejaculated De Lloseta at last, +leaning back and throwing down his pen, “a dog’s trade, +my friend!”</p> +<p>“It is mine,” replied Craik, without looking up. +In fiction he was celebrated for a certain smartness of dialogue. +His printed conversations were pretty displays of social sword-play. +It had become a sort of habit with him to thrust and parry quickly; +but the sudden smile on his lined face, the kindly glance from behind +the spectacles, always took away the sting and demonstrated that it +was mere “copy,” to fill up the dull columns of life and +throw in a sparkle here and there.</p> +<p>“Have you finished?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Yes, thank Heaven! I was not intended for a literary +calling. That is number four, and I am not paid--I am not paid; +there lies the sting.”</p> +<p>“Number four, yes; two published and two in hand,” replied +John Craik. His mind was busy elsewhere; it was with the creatures +of his own imagination, living their lives, rejoicing with them, sorrowing +with them.</p> +<p>The Count rose and walked gravely to the hearthrug, holding the proof-sheets +in his hand.</p> +<p>“Number four,” he reiterated. “Will they +go on, my friend?”</p> +<p>John Craik looked up sharply.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“How many more will you accept?”</p> +<p>“Two more at the outside, making six in all. The public +is like a greedy child, it must be stopped before it makes itself sick. +Nausea leaves a lasting distaste for that which preceded it.”</p> +<p>The Count nodded.</p> +<p>“And this worldly wisdom--is it the editor or the man who +speaks?”</p> +<p>“The editor. The editor is a man who lives by saying +‘No.’”</p> +<p>“And you will say ‘No’ to any more from +this--writer’s pen?”</p> +<p>“To any more about Spain I most certainly shall.”</p> +<p>The Count reflected. What little light the London day afforded +fell full upon his long narrow face, upon the pointed Velasquez chin, +the receding iron-grey hair brushed straight back.</p> +<p>“And the fact that the writer is supporting herself and a worn-out +old uncle by her pen will make no difference?”</p> +<p>John Craik hesitated for a moment.</p> +<p>“Not the least,” he then said. “You seem +to know the writer.”</p> +<p>“I do, and I am interested in her.”</p> +<p>“A lady?” John Craik was dotting his <i>i’s</i> +with the contemplativeness of artistic finish.</p> +<p>“Essentially so.”</p> +<p>“And poor?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and proud as--”</p> +<p>“A Spaniard,” suggested John Craik.</p> +<p>“If you will. It is a vice which has almost become a +virtue in these democratic days.”</p> +<p>John Craik looked up.</p> +<p>“I will do what I can, Lloseta,” he said. “But +she is not a great writer, and will never become one.”</p> +<p>“I know that. Some day she will become a great lady, +or I know nothing of them.”</p> +<p>Craik was still busy touching up his manuscript.</p> +<p>“I have never seen her,” he said. “But the +impression I received from her manuscripts is that she is a girl who +has lived a simple life among a simple people. She has seen a +great deal of nature, out-of-door nature, which is pure, and cannot +be too deeply studied. She has seen very little of human nature, +which is not so pure as it might be. That is her chief charm of +style, a high-minded purity. She does not describe the gutter +and think she is writing of the street. By the way, I am expecting +her here” (he paused, and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece) +“in exactly two minutes.”</p> +<p>The Count rose quickly and took his hat. As he extended his +hand to say “Good-bye” there was a rap at the door. +The discreet youth who told John Craik’s falsehoods for him came +in and handed his master a slip of paper with a name written thereon.</p> +<p>Craik read the inscription, crumpled up the paper, and threw it into +the waste-paper basket.</p> +<p>“In one minute,” he said, and the liar withdrew.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta, with a quiet deliberation which was sometimes +almost dramatic, stooped over the paper basket and recovered the crumpled +slip of paper. He did not unfold it, but held it out, crushed +up in his closed fist.</p> +<p>“Miss Eve Challoner,” he said.</p> +<p>John Craik nodded.</p> +<p>De Lloseta laughed and threw the paper into the fire.</p> +<p>“I must not be seen. Where do you propose to put me?”</p> +<p>“Go upstairs instead of down,” replied John Craik, as +if he had been asked the same question before. “Wait on +the next landing until you hear this door close; you may then escape +in safety.”</p> +<p>“Thanks--good-bye.”</p> +<p>“Good-bye.”</p> +<p>When Eve entered the room, John Craik was writing. He rose +with a bow savouring of a politer age than ours, and held out his hand.</p> +<p>“At last,” he said, “I have prevailed upon you +to come and see me. Will you sit down? The chair is shabby, +but great men and women have sat in it.”</p> +<p>He spoke pleasantly, with his twisted laugh, and when Eve was seated +he sat slowly, carefully down again. He was thinking not so much +of what he was saying as of his hearer. He saw that Eve was undeniably +beautiful--the man saw that. The novelist saw that she was probably +interesting. As he had just stated, great women had sat in the +same chair, and it was John Craik’s impulse to save Eve from that +same greatness. He had, since a brilliant youth at Oxford, been +steeped, as it were, in literature. He had known all the great +men and women, and he held strong views of his own. These were +probably erroneous--many women will think so--but he held to them. +They were based on experience, which is not always the case with views +expressed in print and elsewhere. John Craik held that greatness +is not good for women. That it is not for their own happiness, +he knew. That it is not for the happiness of those around them, +he keenly suspected. Some of Eve’s celebrated predecessors +in that chair had not quite understood John Craik. All thought +that he was not sufficiently impressed--not, that is, so impressed +by them as they were themselves when they reflected upon their own renown.</p> +<p>He looked at Eve quickly, rubbing his hands together.</p> +<p>“May I, as an old man, ask some impertinent questions?” +he inquired, with a cheerfulness which sat strangely on the wan face.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Why do you write?” he said. “Take time; +answer me after reflection.”</p> +<p>Eve reflected while the great editor stared into the fire.</p> +<p>“To make money,” she answered at last.</p> +<p>He looked up, and saw that she was answering in simple good faith.</p> +<p>“That is right.”</p> +<p>He did not tell her that he was sick and tired of the jargon of art +for art’s sake, literature for literature’s sake. +He did not tell that--practical man of the world that he was--he had +no faith in literary art; that he believed the power of writing to be +a gift and nothing else; that the chief art in literature is that which +is unconscious of itself.</p> +<p>“Do you feel within yourself the makings of a great author?”</p> +<p>Eve laughed, a sudden girlish laugh, which made John Craik reduce +his estimate of her age by five years.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered.</p> +<p>He sat up and looked at her with a kind admiration.</p> +<p>“You are refreshing,” he said, “very, especially +to a man who has seen stout and elderly females sit in that same chair +and state their conviction that they were destined to be George Eliots +or Charlotte Brontës, women who had written one improper or irreligious +novel, which had obtained a certain success in the foolish circles.”</p> +<p>“Do you think I have,” asked Eve, “the--the makings +of an income?”</p> +<p>John Craik reflected.</p> +<p>“A small one,” he said bluntly.</p> +<p>“That is all I want.”</p> +<p>Craik raised his eyebrows.</p> +<p>“And renown,” he said, “do you want that?”</p> +<p>“Not in the least, except for its intrinsic value.”</p> +<p>Craik banged his hand down on the arm of his chair and laughed aloud.</p> +<p>“This is splendid!” he cried. “I have never +met such a practical person. Then you would be content to work +for a sufficient income without ever being known to the world?”</p> +<p>“Yes, provided that the work was genuine and not given to me +out of mere charity.”</p> +<p>The editor of the <i>Commentator</i> looked at her gravely. +He had suddenly remembered Cipriani de Lloseta.</p> +<p>“Oh, you are proud!” he said.</p> +<p>Eve laughed with a negative shake of the head.</p> +<p>“Not more than other people,” she answered.</p> +<p>“Not more than other people. Well, we will have it so. +And not ambitious.”</p> +<p>“No, I think not.”</p> +<p>“You may thank God for that,” said John Craik, half to +himself. “An ambitious woman is not a pleasant person.”</p> +<p>There was a little pause, during which John Craik rubbed his chin +reflectively with his bony fingers.</p> +<p>“And now,” he said, “that I know something about +you, I will tell you why I asked you to be good enough to come and see +me. To begin with, I am an old man; you can see that for yourself. +I am a martyr to rheumatism, and I frequently suffer from asthma, otherwise +I should have done myself the pleasure of calling on you. I wanted +to see you, because lady authors are uncertain creatures. A large +majority of them have nothing better to do, and therefore write. +Others do not care for the money, but they do most decidedly for the +renown. The nudge and whisper of society is nectar to them. +Others again are brilliant in flashes and dull in long periods. +Few, very few are content to work with their pen as their poorer sisters +are forced to work with their needles. In that lies the secret +of the more permanent success of men journalists and men authors. +The journalism and the authorship are not the men, but merely the business +of their lives. Now will you be content to work hard and steadily +without any great hope of renown--to work, in fact, anonymously for +a small but certain income?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Eve, without hesitation.</p> +<p>Craik nodded his head gravely and thoughtfully. He was too +deeply experienced to fall into the error of thinking that Eve was different +from other women. He did not for a moment imagine that he had +secured in her a permanent subscriber to the <i>Commentator</i>--possibly +he did not want her as such. He was merely doing a good deed--no +new thing to him, although his right hand hardly knew what his left +was doing. He liked Eve, he admired her, and was interested in +her. Cipriani de Lloseta he was deeply interested in, and he knew, +with the keen instinct of the novelist, that he was being drawn into +one of those romances of real life which exists in the matter-of-fact +nineteenth century atmosphere that we breathe.</p> +<p>So Eve Challoner left John Craik’s office an independent woman +for the time being, and the charity was so deeply hidden that her ever-combative +pride had failed to detect it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER X. THE CURTAIN LOWERS.</h3> +<p> <i>The shadow, cloaked from head to +foot,<br /> Who keeps the keys of all the +creeds</i>.</p> +<p>As she walked back to Grosvenor Gardens, Eve reflected with some +satisfaction that the Ingham-Bakers had left Mrs. Harrington’s +hospitable roof. From this shelter they had gone forth into a +world which is reputed cold, and has nevertheless some shelter still +for such as are prepared to cringe to the overbearing, to flatter the +vain, to worship riches.</p> +<p>Eve wanted time to think over her new position, to reflect with satisfaction +over her new independence, for the Caballero Challoner, if he had bequeathed +little else, had left to her a very active pride. She knew so +little of the world that she never paused to wonder why John Craik should +have made her a proposal which could hardly be beneficial to himself. +She was innocent enough to think that the good things of this world +are given just where and when they are wanted.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor was the chief object of her thoughts, and she was +already dreaming of restoring him to Malabar Cottage and his bits of +things. So engrossed was she in these reflections, that she noticed +nothing unusual in the face of the butler who opened the door which +had shut upon Luke FitzHenry some years before.</p> +<p>“I’m glad you’re back, miss,” he said gravely.</p> +<p>Something in his tone--cold and correct--caught Eve’s attention.</p> +<p>“Why?” she asked, and a consoling knowledge that the +<i>Terrific</i> was safe in Chatham Dockyard leapt into her mind.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Harrington’s been took rather bad, miss.”</p> +<p>The man’s manner said more than his words. Eve hurried +upstairs to Mrs. Harrington’s bedroom. She tapped at the +door and went in without waiting. There was a strong smell of +ammonia in the air. The blinds were half lowered, and in the dim +light Eve did not see very clearly. Presently, from the depths +of a huge four-poster bed, she descried a pair of keen eyes--the face +of Mrs. Harrington. The face, the eyes, the mind were alive, the +body was stricken; it was almost dead already. Mrs. Harrington +looked down at the shapeless limbs beneath the coverlet with something +like fear in her eyes, something of the expression of a dog that has +been run over. This woman meant to die hard.</p> +<p>Eve knew little of life, but she was no stranger to death. +She recognised our last enemy in the grey face beneath the canopy of +the four-poster.</p> +<p>“Where have you been so long, child?” said Mrs. Harrington +querulously, “leaving me to these fools of servants. I have +been unwell, but I’m better now. They’ve sent for +the doctor. I shall be better presently. I have no pain, +only--only a sort of numbness.”</p> +<p>She looked down at her left hand, which lay outside the coverlet, +and fear was in her eyes. She had defied men too long to be afraid +of God, but she did not want to die; she had too keen an enjoyment for +the good things of this world.</p> +<p>Eve came to the bedside.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s face was drawn together in anger. She +was annoyed that Death should have come for her, and, true to herself, +she insulted him by deliberately ignoring his presence. There +was something defiant in her cold eyes still, something unbeaten, although +she knew that there was no one on her side. The general feeling +was against her. So far as the world was concerned, Death could +have her.</p> +<p>Eve turned away from the bed and faced the doctor, who was coming +into the room with Mrs. Harrington’s maid. No one displayed +the slightest emotion. A selfish life and a happy death are rarely +vouchsafed to the same person. The doctor did not ask Eve to stay, +so she went downstairs and wrote to Fitz, sending the note round to +his rooms in Jermyn Street by a servant. It was the second time +in her life that she had sent for Fitz.</p> +<p>When the doctor came downstairs, Eve went out into the hall. +He pointed with his finger to the room from which she came, and followed +her back there. He was a middle-aged man, educated to the finger-tips +- all science and no heart.</p> +<p>“Are you a relation of Mrs. Harrington’s?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“We are distantly connected,” answered Eve.</p> +<p>The doctor was not giving much attention to her answer. He +had a habit of tapping his teeth with his thumbnail, which made Eve +dislike him at sight.</p> +<p>“Has she any one else?” he asked. “Any one +who--cares?”</p> +<p>He was quite without the intention of being rude but he was absorbed +in his profession, and had a large practice. He wanted to go.</p> +<p>“She has a nephew. I have sent for him.”</p> +<p>The doctor nodded. He glanced at Eve, then he said quietly +-</p> +<p>“She will live about an hour. She wants me to come again +and bring another man. I will do it, although it is useless. +There are some things money cannot buy.”</p> +<p>With a quick mechanical smile he was gone.</p> +<p>Eve went upstairs again to the room where Mrs. Harrington was fighting +her last fight. As she passed up the stairs, she noticed two letters +on the hall table awaiting postage; one was addressed to Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +the other to Luke, at Malta.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had ordered the blinds to be pulled up, and the daylight +showed her face to be little changed. It had always been grey; +the shadows on it now were grey; the eyes were active and bright. +It was only the body that was dying; Mrs. Harrington’s mind was +bright and keen as ever.</p> +<p>“That doctor is a fool,” she said. “I have +told him to come back and bring Sir James Harlow with him. And +will you please send and tell Fitz that I should like to see him? +You must arrange to stay on a few days until I am better. Captain +Bontnor will have to do without you. My servants are not to be +trusted alone. I shall want you to keep them in order; they require +a tight reign.”</p> +<p>“I have sent for Fitz,” said Eve.</p> +<p>“Why?” snapped Mrs. Harrington. “To come +and make love to you? Leave that to Agatha. She has been +teaching them both to do that for the last three years. Her idea +is to marry the one who gets my money. I’ve known that all +along.”</p> +<p>Eve’s dark eyes hardened suddenly. She could not believe +what the doctor had told her five minutes earlier. Five minutes +- one-twelfth part of Mrs. Harrington’s life ebbed away.</p> +<p>“Pray do not talk like that,” said the girl quietly.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s cold grey eyes fell before Eve’s glance +of mingled wonder and contempt; her right hand was feebly plucking at +the counterpane.</p> +<p>Far below, in the basement, a bell rang, and soon after there was +a step on the stairs.</p> +<p>“Who is that?” inquired Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>“Fitz.”</p> +<p>The dying woman was looking at the door with an unwonted longing +in her eyes.</p> +<p>“You seem to know his step,” she said, with a jealous +laugh.</p> +<p>Eve said nothing. The door opened, and Fitz came in.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington was the first to speak.</p> +<p>“I am not well this morning, dear,” she said. “I +sent for you because I have a few things I want you to do for me.”</p> +<p>“Pleasure,” murmured Fitz, glancing at Eve. He +either did not know how ill Mrs Harrington was, or he did not care. +It is probable that these two persons now at the dying woman’s +bed were the only two people who would be in any degree sorry at her +death.</p> +<p>Eve, with a woman’s instinct, busied herself with the pillow +- with the little adjuncts of a sick-room which had already found their +way to the bedside. She looked at Mrs. Harrington’s face, +saw the hard eyes fixed on Fitz, and something in the glance made her +leave the room.</p> +<p>“Just leave me alone,” the dying woman said peevishly +as Eve went away; “I don’t want a lot of people bothering +about.”</p> +<p>But Fitz stayed, and when Eve had closed the door the sudden look +of cunning that came over the faded face did not appear to surprise +him.</p> +<p>“Quick!” whispered Mrs. Harrington, “quick! +I do not believe I am dying, as that doctor said I was, but it is better +to make sure. Open the left-hand drawer in the dressing-table; +you will find my keys.”</p> +<p>Fitz obeyed her, bringing the bunch of keys, rusty and black from +being concealed in a thousand different hiding-places.</p> +<p>“Now,” she said, “open that desk; it was--your +father’s. Bring it here. Be quick! Some one +may come.”</p> +<p>Her shrivelled fingers fumbled hastily among some old papers. +Finally she found an envelope, brown with age, on which was written, +in her own spidery handwriting, “Recipe for apple jelly.”</p> +<p>She thrust the envelope into Fitz’s hands, and he smilingly +read the superscription.</p> +<p>“That’s nothing,” she explained sharply; “that’s +only for the servants. One cannot be too careful. Inside +there is some money. I saved it up. It will help to furnish +your new cabin.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Fitz, looking critically at the envelope. +“But--”</p> +<p>“You must take it,” she interrupted; “it is the +only money I ever saved.” She broke off with a malicious +laugh. “All these fools thought I was rich,” she went +on. “They have been scheming and plotting to get my money. +There is no money. That is all there is. You and Luke were +the only two who never thought about it. You are both like your +father. Here, shut the desk up again. Put it back on the +table. Now hide the keys--left-hand corner, under the box of +hairpins.”</p> +<p>Fitz obeyed her and came back towards the bed. His large mind +felt a sudden contempt for this petty and mean woman. He did not +understand her, and the contempt he felt for her in some way hurt him. +He was afraid of what she was going to say next.</p> +<p>“But,” she said, “if I get better you must give +me the money back.”</p> +<p>Fitz gave a little laugh. Something prompted him to open the +envelope and look at the contents. There were five notes of ten +pounds each. The rich Mrs. Harrington of Grosvenor Gardens had +saved fifty pounds, and she lay on her death-bed watching Fitz count +this vast hoard with a quiet deliberation. In its way it was a +tragedy--the grimmest of all--for its dominant note was the contemptibility +of human nature.</p> +<p>“I do not want the money. I should not keep it under +any circumstances.”</p> +<p>“What would you do with it?” she asked sharply.</p> +<p>“Give it to a charity.”</p> +<p>“No, no, you must not do that; they are all swindles!”</p> +<p>In her eagerness she tried to sit up, and fell back with a puzzled +look on her face, as if some one had struck her.</p> +<p>“Here,” she gasped, “give it to me! give it to +me!”</p> +<p>She clutched the envelope in her unsteady hands, and suddenly her +jaw dropped.</p> +<p>Fitz ran to the door. On the stairs were the two doctors, followed +closely by Eve. In a moment the doctors were at the bedside.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said one of them--the younger of the two--and +he glanced at his watch. “I gave her an hour.”</p> +<p>The elder man took the dead woman’s hand in his. He released +the envelope from her grasp and read the superscription, “Recipe +for apple jelly.” With a grave smile he handed the envelope +to Eve as Fitz took her out of the room.</p> +<p>They went downstairs together, and both were thinking of D’Erraha. +They went into the library, which was silent and gloomy. Fitz +had not spoken yet, but she seemed to understand his silence, just as +she had understood it once before. She had told him then. +She did not do so now.</p> +<p>Eve was not thinking of the dead woman upstairs. This death +came to her only as a faint reflection of the one great grief which +had cut her life in two--as great griefs do. She was perhaps +wondering how it was that Fitz seemed always to come to her at those +moments when she could not do without him. She was more probably +not thinking at all, but resting as it were in the sense of complete +safety and protection which this man’s presence gave her.</p> +<p>There was a little silence, broken only by the sound of street traffic +faintly heard through the plate-glass windows. Fitz was looking +at her, his blue eyes grave and searching. This was not a man +to miss his opportunity, this youngest commander on the list.</p> +<p>“Eve,” he said, “I used to think at D’Erraha +that you cared for me.”</p> +<p>“I have always cared for you,” she answered, with a queer +little smile, half bold, half shy.</p> +<p>So Love came in at the windows as Death crept up the stairs.</p> +<p>Before long they heard the doctors go away, but they heeded not. +They only forgot each other when Cipriani de Lloseta came into the room. +The Spaniard’s quick eyes read something in Eve’s face. +He looked sharply at Fitz, but he said nothing of what he saw.</p> +<p>“So our dear lady has been taken from us,” he said quietly, +with an upward jerk of the head.</p> +<p>Fitz nodded. Cipriani de Lloseta walked to the window and quietly +drew down the blind.</p> +<p>“So falls the curtain,” he said, “on the little +drama of my humble life.”</p> +<p>He turned and looked from one to the other with that sudden warmth +of love which either of them seemed able to draw from him.</p> +<p>“Some day,” he said, “I will tell you--you two +- the story, but not now.”</p> +<p>He stepped forward and raised Eve’s fingers to his lips. +A quaint, half-Spanish grace marked the picture of Southern chivalry.</p> +<p>“My child,” said Lloseta, “may Heaven always bless +you!” And he left them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XI. “MILKSOP”.</h3> +<p> <i>What have we made each other?</i></p> +<p>The cathedral bells were calling good Papists to their morning devotion +as the <i>Croonah</i> moved into Valetta harbour. No sooner did +her black prow appear between the pier heads than a score of boats left +the steps, their rowers gesticulating, quarrelling, laughing among themselves +with Maltese vivacity.</p> +<p>One boat, flying the <i>Croonah’s</i> houseflag, made its way +more leisurely through the still, clear water. This boat was bringing +mails to the <i>Croonah</i>, and in the letter-bag Mrs. Harrington’s +last missive to Luke had found its place. This letter had been +posted by the well-trained footman while Eve and Fitz stood at Mrs. +Harrington’s bedside. Before it was stamped at the district +office the hand that wrote it was still. And it contained mischief. +Even after her death Mrs. Harrington brought trouble to the man whose +life she had spoilt by her caprice. The letter ran--</p> +<p>“DEAR LUKE,--Just a line to tell you that you may bring your +portmanteau straight up to Grosvenor Gardens when your ship arrives +in London. I read of your fortunate escape from the cyclone, and +congratulate you. I dare say I shall be having a few friends to +stay when you are with me, so you need not fear dulness. Yours +affectionately,<br /> “MARIAN +HARRINGTON.</p> +<p>“P.S.--I always suspect you of having, consciously or unconsciously, +possessed yourself of the affections of a young lady who shall be nameless. +A word to the wise: make good use of your opportunities, for there are +other aspirants in the field--a certain brilliant young naval officer +not unknown to you. Moreover his chance appears to be a good one. +You must waste no more time.”</p> +<p>It happened that Luke FitzHenry was in a dangerous mood when he read +this letter. He had been up half the night. The captain +had been cross-grained and unreasonable. Even the mildest of us +has his moments of clear-sightedness when he sees the world and the +hollowness thereof. Luke saw this and more when he had read Mrs. +Harrington’s evil communication. He seemed to have reached +the end of things, when his present life became no longer tolerable. +It must be remembered that this man was passionate and very resolute. +Moreover he had been handicapped from the beginning of his life by a +tendency to go wrong. He was not a good subject for ill-fortune.</p> +<p>It was his duty to go ashore with papers to be delivered at the agent’s +office. He delivered his papers and then he went to the cable +office. He telegraphed the single word “Milksop” to +Willie Carr in London. When he got back to the <i>Croonah</i>, +worn out, dirty, and morose, the passengers were not yet astir. +He had an unsatisfactory breakfast, and went to his cabin for a few +hours’ necessary sleep. He had given way to a great temptation, +not as the weak give way, on the spur of the moment, with hesitation, +but as a strong man--strong, even in his weaknesses.</p> +<p>He did it after mature deliberation--did it thoroughly and carefully, +without the least intention of regretting it afterwards. He was +desperate and driven. He could not think of life without Agatha, +and he did not see why he should be called upon to do so. Ill +fortune had dogged him from his childhood. He had borne it all, +morosely but without a murmur. He was going to turn at last. +The <i>Croonah</i> must go. She was well insured, he knew that. +That the cargo was fully covered against loss he could safely suppose. +As to the passengers and the crew, none of them should suffer; he thought +he was a clever enough sailor for that.</p> +<p>So he laid him down in his little cabin to sleep, while the sun rose +over the blue Mediterranean, while some passengers went ashore and others +came on board, while the single word “Milksop” was spelt +over a continent; and he was still sleeping when the anchor was jerked +up from its muddy bed, and the watchers on pier and harbour looked their +last on the grand old <i>Croonah</i>.</p> +<p>A breeze was blowing out in the open, one of those bright westerly +breezes that bring a breath of the Atlantic into the Mediterranean, +and often make the short passage from Malta to Gibraltar the worst part +of the voyage from India to the Channel.</p> +<p>None of the passengers took any interest in the morose second officer, +and few of them remarked his absence from table during the two days’ +passage. The <i>Croonah</i> arrived at Gibraltar after dark, took +her mails and passengers on board, and proceeded down the Straits about +eight o’clock in the evening. It was late autumn, and the +breeze from the cool Atlantic still hurried in over the parched lands +of Africa and Southern Europe.</p> +<p>Tarifa light was sighted and left twinkling behind. Trafalgar +stared out of the darkness ahead, and in its turn was left behind. +A few of the passengers had recovered their Mediterranean ill-usage +sufficiently to dine in the Straits, but the Atlantic swell soon sent +them below. The decks were deserted, for many of these people +were returning to England after long years in India, and the first chill +northern breeze they met made them shiver while it delighted them.</p> +<p>Luke FitzHenry was on the bridge from eight o’clock till midnight, +motionless at his post--a mere navigating machine, respected and feared +by all who worked with him, understood of none.</p> +<p>When midnight came he exchanged a few words with the first officer, +and together they superintended the shaking out of the foresails before +the watch went below. The wind was on the quarter, strong and +steady. Almost immediately the good steamer felt the canvas, leaning +gently over to leeward, adding another mile to her great speed. +The sea was black, and the air seemed to be full of the sounds of waves +breaking and hissing. Ahead the mast-head and the side-lights +shone down on the face of the waters and lighted up an occasional white-capped +wave. In the air, brisk and masterful, there was a sense of purpose +and tension which sailors understand, while mere printed words cannot +convey it to landsmen. It was a very dark night.</p> +<p>“St. Vincent,” said Luke tersely, as he turned to leave +the bridge. The first officer, a man grown old at his post, followed +the direction of his junior’s gaze, but some seconds elapsed before +he distinguished the light twinkling feebly low down on the horizon.</p> +<p>Luke went to his cabin and lay down on his berth all dressed. +He was due on the bridge again at four o’clock. The <i>Croonah</i> +sailed by time-table, subjecting the winds and seas, as the great steamships +do nowadays. Luke FitzHenry had calculated this to a minute before +he telegraphed the single word “Milksop” to Willie Carr +in London.</p> +<p>He was on the bridge a few minutes before eight bells rang, and found +the captain. He knew his chief’s customs. He knew +that this wise old sailor was in the habit of accumulating as much sleep +in his brain as possible before passing Ushant light, because he lived +on the bridge when the <i>Croonah</i> had once turned eastward up the +Channel. Whenever the captain took a night’s rest, he broke +it at four o’clock, at the change of the watch. He stood +muffled in a big coat over his pyjamas, and exchanged a few words with +his subordinates. After the first officer had gone below, Luke +went to his post at the starboard end of the bridge, while the captain +walked slowly backwards and forwards. They remained thus for half +an hour. The ship was all quiet. The breeze had fallen a +little. There was as yet no sign of daybreak towards the east. +A steamer passed, showing a red light and a white mast-head light.</p> +<p>Presently the captain paused in his walk near to Luke.</p> +<p>“Call me,” he said, “when you raise the Burling +light.”</p> +<p>Luke answered with a monosyllable, and the elder sailor went towards +the ladder.</p> +<p>No one had heard the order given. Luke followed him to the +ladder, and watched him go down into the darkness. They had sailed +together six years in fair weather and foul; they had fought and conquered +a cyclone in the Bay together from that bridge; but Agatha Ingham-Baker +was stronger than these things. Woman is the strongest thing in +a man’s life.</p> +<p>There was still no sign of daylight, no faintest gleam in the eastern +sky, when the Burling light was sighted right ahead. The look-out +on the forecastle did not “sing out” the lights on board +the <i>Croonah</i>, but sent a companion aft to the bridge with the +report. This was done for the comfort of the passengers.</p> +<p>Luke altered the course half a point. From the wheel-house +the men could not see the light, which was hidden by the fore-mast. +Luke went aft and looked at the patent log. His calculations were +all correct. He glanced at his watch--he had to go to the wheel-house +to do this, and the binnacle-lights showed his face to be still and +pale. He moved and had the air of a man upon whose shoulders an +immense responsibility was weighing. He was going to wreck the +<i>Croonah</i>, but he had two hundred and ninety lives to save. +He carefully studied the eastern sky. He did not want daylight +yet.</p> +<p>The Burling light is not a very big one--not so big, some mariners +think, as it should be. It is visible twenty-five miles away; +but Luke’s knowledge told him that in thick and misty weather, +such as hovers over this coast in a westerly wind, the glare of the +revolving lamp could not be distinguished at a greater distance than +ten or twelve miles.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> raced on, a ship full of sleeping human beings. +There came a faint blue tinge into the eastern sky, a gleam over the +eastern sea.</p> +<p>The Burling light--an eye looking round into the darkness, seeming +to open and shut sleepily--grew brighter and brighter. It was +right ahead! it rose as they approached it until it stood right above +the bowsprit.</p> +<p>Then Luke FitzHenry changed the course. The <i>Croonah</i> +turned her blunt prow half a point out into the Atlantic, and she raced +on; she passed by Burling Island, leaving the slowly winking eye on +her starboard quarter. Ahead lay the complete darkness of the +north-west horizon.</p> +<p>Luke stood at his post, his eyes hidden by his binoculars. +He was studying the horizon in front of him--in front of the <i>Croonah</i>. +There was a little lump on the horizon, like the top of a mountain sticking +out of the sea; this he knew to be the rock called the Great Farilhao. +Again he altered the course, still seeking the Atlantic, another quarter +point to the west. He was going to pass the Great Farilhao as +he had passed the Burling, within a stone’s throw. This +he actually did, the rugged outline of the barren rock standing out +sharply against the eastern sky. There was now nothing ahead; +the horizon lay before him, clear, unbroken.</p> +<p>Luke moved a few paces. He went and stood by the engine-room +telegraph. The engines throbbed merrily, but the steamer was still +asleep. There was no sound but the thud of the piston-rods and +the whispering swirl of the water lashed by the huge screw.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> raced on, her sails set, her engines working at +full speed. Suddenly Luke FitzHenry grasped the handle of the +engine-room signal. He wrenched it to one side--“Stand +by.” Instantly the gong answered, “Stand by.” +“Half speed ahead.”</p> +<p>And half speed ahead it was. Luke FitzHenry was clever even +in his crime; he had three hundred lives to save. He stood motionless +as a statue, gazing at the smooth unbroken water in front of him; he +grasped the rail and set his teeth; he stood well back with his feet +firmly planted. And there was a grinding crash. The <i>Croonah</i> +seemed to climb up into the air, then she stopped dead, and below--inside +her--there was a long, rumbling crash, as if all that was inside +her had been cast forward in confusion. She had run on to the +sunken rocks that lie north-west of the Farilhoes.</p> +<p>A great silence followed and immediately the pattering of bare feet. +A confused murmuring of voices rose from the saloon gangway--a buzzing +sound, like that of a hive disturbed. A single voice rose in a +shriek of mortal terror, and immediately there followed a chorus of +confused shouts.</p> +<p>Luke already had his lips at the speaking-tube. He was telling +the engineer on watch to steam ahead; he knew the danger of the <i>Croonah</i> +slipping back into deep water and sinking.</p> +<p>In a marvellously short time the decks were thronged with people, +some standing white-faced and calm in the dim light of early morning; +others, mad with terror, rushing from side to side.</p> +<p>The strange part of it was that Luke remained alone on the bridge. +The captain and the other officers were busy with the passengers. +The second officer remained motionless at his post; he commanded the +steersman by a wave of the arm to stay at the wheel, although he knew +that the <i>Croonah</i> would never answer her helm again; her travelling +days were done.</p> +<p>In the dim light now increasing momentarily, Luke FitzHenry looked +down upon the wildly confused decks and saw discipline slowly assert +itself. He saw the captain commanding by sheer force of individual +power; he saw the quartermasters form in line across the deck and drive +the passengers farther aft, leaving room to get out the boats.</p> +<p>In a few moments--in a marvellously short space of time--the work +of saving life began. A boat was lowered, the crew slipped into +their places, and a certain number of lady passengers were hastily handed +down the gangway. The first boat eased away. The oars were +thrown out. It was off, and some of the passengers cheered. +One can never tell what men, especially Englishmen, may do when they +actually see death face to face. The boat was headed to the south-east, +towards the Carreiro do Mosteiro, on Burling Island, the only possible +landing-place.</p> +<p>Luke felt a touch on his arm and turned sharply. It was a quartermaster, +breathless but cool.</p> +<p>“Captain wants you, sir. I’ll take the bridge.”</p> +<p>Luke turned to obey orders.</p> +<p>“Keep her steaming full speed ahead,” he said, jerking +his head towards the engine-room telegraph.</p> +<p>“Ay, sir,” the man replied.</p> +<p>“Until the water gets to the furnaces,” he added to himself, +“and then we’re dead men.”</p> +<p>Luke ran lightly down the iron ladder to the lower bridge, which +was deserted. From thence he made his way aft to the quarter-deck. +As he passed the saloon staircase he ran against two women; one was +dragging the other, or attempting to do so, towards the group of passengers +huddled together amidships.</p> +<p>“You go,” the younger woman was saying, “if you +want to. I will wait.”</p> +<p>Luke stopped. The elder woman was apparently wild with terror. +She had not even stopped to put on a dressing-gown. Her thin grey +hair fluttered in the breeze. She was stout and an object of ridicule +even with death clutching at her.</p> +<p>“Go on, mother,” said the younger woman, with contempt +in her voice.</p> +<p>“Agatha!” cried Luke. “You here?”</p> +<p>“Yes; we came on board at Malta.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XII. THE END OF THE “CROONAH”.</h3> +<p> <i>Our life is given us as a blank;<br /> Ourselves +must make it blest or curst.</i></p> +<p>A man came running along and clutched at Luke’s arm.</p> +<p>“Captain wants you, sir, immediate!” he cried.</p> +<p>“All right,” answered Luke. “Here, take this +lady and put her into a boat.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker was clinging to him.</p> +<p>“Luke,” she said firmly, “you must provide us with +a lifeboat--a safe one. I will not stand this neglect.”</p> +<p>“Here!” cried Luke to the man. “Take her +away.”</p> +<p>“You come along o’ me, marm,” said the man, with +a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll pervide ye with a lifeboat, +bless yer heart!”</p> +<p>And in the dim light of the saloon stairhead lamp, Luke and Agatha +were left facing each other.</p> +<p>“Why did you not let me know you were coming?” he asked +sharply. He looked round with haggard eyes; they were quite alone.</p> +<p>“I had no time. We just caught the boat by an hour.”</p> +<p>She was singularly quiet. Both of them seemed to forget that +every moment lost increased the danger of their position.</p> +<p>“Why did you come?” he asked.</p> +<p>She looked at him, and there was that in her eyes that makes men +mad.</p> +<p>“Because I could not stay away from you.”</p> +<p>His breath came sharply with a catch.</p> +<p>For a few moments they forgot such things as life and death. +They did more, they defied death; for surely such love as this is stronger +than the mere end of life. Again it was the possibility of something +good and something strong that lurked hidden behind the worldliness +of Agatha Ingham-Baker, and Luke FitzHenry, of all men, alone had the +power of bringing that possibility to the surface.</p> +<p>All around them the wind moaned and shrieked through the rigging; +the waves, beating against the sheer side of the doomed <i>Croonah</i>, +filled the air with a sound of great foreboding--the deep voice of +an elemental power that knows no mercy. Within twenty feet of +them men and women were struggling like dumb and driven animals for +bare life--struggling, shouting, quarrelling over a paltry precedence +of a minute or so in going to the boats; within a hundred yards of them, +out over the dark waters, Agatha’s mother, thrown from an overturned +boat, was struggling her last struggle, with her silly old face turned +indignantly up to heaven. But they saw none of these things.</p> +<p>All the good men were wanted for the boats, and the captain, with +two officers only and a few stewards, defended the gangway against the +rush of the panic-stricken native crew.</p> +<p>“FitzHenry! FitzHenry!” the old captain shouted. +“For God’s sake, come here!” For Luke alone +was dreaded by the lascars.</p> +<p>But Luke and Agatha heeded nothing. These people, these lives, +were nothing to them, for a passionate love is the acme of selfishness.</p> +<p>They heard the sounds, however; they heard the captain calling for +the man who had never failed him.</p> +<p>“I wrecked her for you,” said Luke, in Agatha’s +hungry ears. “I did it all for you.”</p> +<p>And at last the woman’s vanity was satisfied; it was thrown +a sop that would suffice for its eternal greed. Luke had done +this thing for her. She was quick enough to guess how and why, +for she knew Willie Carr. She knew that good ships are thrown +away for money’s sake. The <i>Croonah</i> had been thrown +away for her sake--the <i>Croonah</i>, the patient, obedient servant +to Luke’s slightest word, almost an animal in its mechanical intelligence, +filling that place in the sailor’s heart that some men reserve +for their horses and others for their wives. Women have been jealous +of a ship before now. Eve was jealous of the <i>Terrific</i>; +Agatha had always been jealous of the <i>Croonah</i>. And now +the ship had been thrown away for her, and with his ship Luke had cast +away his unrivalled reputation as a seaman, his honour as a gentleman, +his conscience. He was a criminal, a thief, a murderer for Agatha’s +sake. She, true to her school, to her generation, to her training, +was proud of it; for she was one of those unhappy women who will not +have their lovers love honour more.</p> +<p>There was a sudden roar far down in the bowels of the vessel, and +immediately volumes of steam issued from every skylight. The inrushing +sea had broken down the bulk-heads, the water had reached the engine-rooms. +In an instant Luke was alive to the danger--the good sailor that was +within the man all awake. His trained ears and the tread of his +feet on the deck told him that the screw was still.</p> +<p>“Come,” he cried to Agatha, “you must get away +in the next boat.”</p> +<p>But Agatha resisted his arm. That which had hitherto been mere +pertness in her manner and carriage had suddenly grown into a strong +determination. The woman was cool and fearless.</p> +<p>“Not without you,” she answered. “I will +not leave the ship until you do.”</p> +<p>“I must stay till the last,” he said.</p> +<p>She looked at him with a little smile, for women love courage, though +it sometimes frightens them. She never dreamt of danger to either +of them. Her trust in Luke was all-sufficient, without reserve, +without hesitation.</p> +<p>“Then I will stay too.”</p> +<p>For a moment his iron nerve--a nerve which had deliberately planned +all this destruction--wavered.</p> +<p>“Why did you not let me know you were coming?” he asked +desperately.</p> +<p>“I had no time,” she answered, with a singular shortness, +for she could not tell him that a letter from Mrs. Harrington to her +mother--the companion to that received by Luke at Valetta--had brought +about this sudden decision. She could not tell him that, egged +on by a transparent hint from Mrs. Harrington that Luke was to be her +heir, she and her mother had taken the first boat to Malta; that she +had deliberately planned to marry him for the money that was to be his. +Such a confession was impossible at that time; with his arms still round +her, the mere thought of it nauseated her. For a moment, she saw +herself as others had seen her--a punishment which for some women is +quite sufficient.</p> +<p>At this moment a man came running along the deck--the same quartermaster +who had taken charge of Mrs. Ingham-Baker. He was a man of no +nerves whatever, and of considerable humour.</p> +<p>“Any more ladies?” he was shouting as he ran. “Any +more for the shore?”</p> +<p>He laughed at his own conceit as he ran--the same fearless laugh +with which he sent Mrs. Ingham-Baker down the gangway to her death. +He paused, saw Luke and Agatha standing together beneath the lamp.</p> +<p>“Captain’s callin’ you like hell!” he cried. +“Engine-room’s full. The old ship’s got it this +time, sir.”</p> +<p>“All right, I know,” answered Luke curtly; and the man +ran on, shouting as he went.</p> +<p>At this moment the <i>Croonah</i> gave a shiver, and Luke looked +round hastily. He ran to the rail and looked over with a quick +sailor’s glance fore and aft. He turned towards Agatha again, +but before he could reach her the steamer gave a lurch over to starboard. +The deck seemed to rise between them. For a moment Agatha stood +above him, then she half ran, half fell, down the short steep incline +into his arms. Luke was ready for her, with one foot against the +rail--for the deck was at an angle of thirty and more; no one could +stand on it. He caught her deftly, and the breeze whirling round +the deck-house blew her long hair across his face.</p> +<p>She never changed colour. There was the nucleus of a good and +strong woman somewhere in Agatha Ingham-Baker. She clung to her +lover’s arms and watched his face with a faith that nothing could +shake. Thus they stood during three eternal seconds while the +<i>Croonah</i> seemed to hesitate, poised on the brink. Then the +great steamer slowly slid backwards, turning a little as she did so.</p> +<p>There was a sickening sound of gurgling water. The <i>Croonah</i> +was afloat, but only for a few seconds. There was no time to lower +another boat, and all on board knew it. There were not many remaining, +for the passengers had all left the ship--the stokers, the engineers. +Amidships the captain stood, surrounded by his officers and a few European +sailors--faithful to the end. They had only one boat left, and +that was forward, half under water--out of the question. So they +stood and waited for the ship to sink beneath them.</p> +<p>In the distance, on the rough sea, now grey in the light of a sullen +dawn, two boats were approaching, having landed their human freight +on Burling Island.</p> +<p>“Now, my lads,” cried the captain, “if any of you +are feeling like going overboard, over you go.”</p> +<p>One man slowly took off his coat. He stooped down and unlaced +his boots, while the others watched him. It seemed to take him +hours. The bows of the great steamer were almost buried in the +broken seas; her stern was raised high in the air, showing the screw +and the rudder.</p> +<p>The man who preferred to swim for it looked round with a strange +smile into the quiet, rough faces of his undismayed companions. +It seemed to be merely a choice of deaths.</p> +<p>“Well, mates,” he said, “so long!”</p> +<p>He dived overboard and swam slowly away.</p> +<p>Luke watched him speculatively. He knew that had he been alone +he could have saved himself quite easily. With Agatha his chances +were less certain. Agatha it was who had spoilt his careful calculation. +Without conceit--for he was a stubbornly self-depreciating man--he +knew that his absence from his captain’s side had just made the +difference--the little difference between life and death--to twenty +or thirty people. Had he been beside the captain and the other +officers the native crew would have worked quietly and intrepidly; there +would have been time for all hands to leave the <i>Croonah</i> before +she slipped back into deep water.</p> +<p>The great steamer rolled slowly from side to side, like a helpless +dumb animal in death agony, but she never righted herself, her decks +were never level. At length she gave a roll to leeward and failed +to recover herself. From some air-shaft there came a ceaseless +whistle, deep and sonorous, like the emission of air from the bunghole +of a beer-barrel. The engines were quite still, even the steam +had ceased to rise.</p> +<p>Luke stood holding Agatha with one arm. He was watching the +two boats making their way through the choppy sea towards them, and +Agatha was watching his face.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> was now lying right over on her beam ends. +Luke was standing on the wire network of the rail. Suddenly he +threw himself backwards, and as they fell through space Agatha heard +the captain’s voice quite distinctly, as from the silence of another +world.</p> +<p>“She’s going!” he cried.</p> +<p>They struck the water together, Luke undermost, as he had intended. +Agatha shut her eyes and clung to him. They seemed to go down +and down. Then suddenly she heard Luke’s voice.</p> +<p>“Take a breath,” he gasped short and sharp. His +voice was singularly stern.</p> +<p>With his disengaged hand he put her hair from her face. She +opened her eyes and saw him smiling at her; she saw a huge piece of +wreckage poised on the edge of a wave over his head; she saw it fall; +she felt the shock of it.</p> +<p>Luke’s arm lost its hold; he rolled over feebly in the water, +the blood running down his face, a sudden sense of sleep in his brain. +He awoke again to find himself swimming mechanically, and opened his +eyes. Close to him something white was floating half under water. +Spread out over the surface of the wave Agatha’s long hair rose +and fell like seaweed, almost within his grasp. It was like a +horrible nightmare. He tried to reach it, but his arms were powerless; +he could not make an inch of progress; he could only keep himself afloat. +Agatha’s face was under water. On the rise of a wave he +saw her little bare foot; it was quite still. He knew that she +was dead, and the blessed sleepiness took him again, dragging him down.</p> +<p> . + . . + . .</p> +<p>So the last of the <i>Croonah</i> was her good name written large +on a yellow telegram form, nailed to the panel of the room technically +known as the Chamber of Horrors at Lloyd’s.</p> +<p>Around this telegram a group of grave-faced men stood in silence, +or with muttered words of surprise.</p> +<p>“The <i>Croonah</i>!” they said, “the <i>Croonah</i>!” +as if a pillar of their faith had fallen. For once no one had +a theory: no carpet mariner could explain this thing.</p> +<p>Against the jamb of the window, behind them all, Willie Carr stood +leaning.</p> +<p>“Done anything on her?” some one asked him.</p> +<p>“Yes, bad luck,” he answered. “Had friends +on her, too.”</p> +<p>It was a long and expansive telegram, giving the list of the lost, +twenty-nine in all, and among the names were mentioned Mrs. Ingham-Baker +and her daughter.</p> +<p>“Ship in charge of second officer,” said the telegram. +And lower down, at the foot of the fatal list: “Second officer +picked up unconscious. Doing well.”</p> +<p>Suddenly Willie Carr moved, and, turning his back somewhat hastily, +looked out of the window.</p> +<p>Fitz had just come into the dreary, fateful little room, conducted +thither by the Admiralty agent. He read the telegram carefully +from beginning to end.</p> +<p>“Luke on the Burlings!” he muttered, as he turned to +go. “Luke! I can’t understand it. He must +have been mad!”</p> +<p>And after all Fitz only spoke the truth; but it was a madness to +which we are all subject.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII. AT D’ERRAHA AGAIN.</h3> +<p> <i>There +is no statute so sublime<br /> As Love’s +in all the world; and e’en to kiss<br /> The +pedestal is still a better bliss<br /> Than +all ambitions.</i></p> +<p>Three years later Eve was sitting on the terrace of the Casa d’Erraha. +It was late autumn, and we who live in Northern latitudes do not quite +realise what the autumn of Southern Europe is. Artists and others +interested in the beauties of nature love a dry summer for the autumn +that is sure to follow it. In Spain and in the islands of the +Mediterranean every summer is dry, and every autumn is beautiful.</p> +<p>The Casa d’Erraha has not changed in any way--nothing changes +in the Balearics. The same soft Southern odours creep up from +the valley to battle with the strong resinous scent of the pines that +crown the mountains.</p> +<p>Eve had been a year in D’Erraha--the whole of her married +life. The Count de Lloseta placed the house at their disposal +for the honeymoon. Fitz and she came to stay a month; they had +remained twelve. It is often so in Majorca. A number of +Spaniards came six hundred years ago--nine families; the nine names +are there to-day.</p> +<p>Fitz had taken D’Erraha on the Minorcan rotas lease, so the +old valley, the old house, was his.</p> +<p>Eve was not alone on the terrace, for a certain small gentleman, +called Henry Cyprian FitzHenry, a prospective sailor, lay in a pink +and perfect slumber on her lap. Henry Cyprian fully appreciated +the valley of repose.</p> +<p>Eve was reading a letter--a lamentable scrawl, by the way--obviously +the work of a hand little used to the pen.</p> +<p>“My dearie,” the letter ran; and it bore the address +- Malabar Cottage, Somarsh, Suffolk.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“MY DEARIE,--Please thank your good husband for his letter +to me announcing the birth of your son. I hope the little man +is doing well. Make a sailor of him. Being one myself I +have had opportunity of noticing seafaring men under different circumstances, +and I have never had an occasion to be ashamed of a shipmate, only excepting +when he was drunk, which is human, so to speak. Thanking the captain +kindly for his inquiries, I have to advise that all is going well at +Malabar Cottage. The cottage keeps taut and staunch; and now that +my old shipmate Creary has joined me, we keep to the weather side of +the butcher’s bill without any difficulty. We pull along +on a even keel wonderfully well, Creary being a good-natured man, and +as pleasant a shipmate as one could wish. He has brought his bits +of things with him, and alongside of mine they make a homely look. +I miss your voice about the house, and sometimes I feel a bit lonely, +but being a rough seafaring man I know that Malabar Cottage was hardly +fit for a lady like yourself. The Count de Lloseta has twice been +down to see me, sitting affable down to our bit of lunch with us and +making Creary laugh till he choked. I don’t rightly understand +how it was that the Count and your good husband the captain (R.N.) fixed +up my money affairs, getting so much of it back from Merton’s +while others haven’t had a halfpenny. I asked the Count +to explain, which he did at some length. But I didn’t rightly +understand it, never having had a good head for figures, though I could +always work out my sums near enough to fix her position on the chart +at mid-day. I take it that Mr. Lloseta has got a gift for financials, +leastwise he pays me my money most regular, and last time there was +two pounds more. I am sure I ought to feel thankful that I have +such good friends, and people, too, so much above me. I understand +that the Count de Lloseta is going out to Majorca this autumn. +He is a good man.--Your affectionate uncle,</p> +<p> “WILLIAM +JOHN BONTNOR (Master).”</p> +<p>Eve read this effusion with a queer little smile which had no mirth +in it. She folded the letter carefully and laid it aside for her +husband to see when he returned. Then she fell into a reverie, +looking down over the great silent valley that lay between her and the +sea. She had been out into the world and had come back to D’Erraha +again. In the world she had had a somewhat singular experience. +She had never loved a woman, she had never known a woman’s love. +One man after another had come into her life, passing across the field +of her mental vision when it was most susceptible to impression, each +influencing her life in his own way, each loving her in his own way, +each claiming her love. Here was a woman, the mother of a boy, +whose every thought had been formed by men, whose knowledge had been +acquired from men, whose world was a world of men. She would not +have known what to do with a daughter, so Fate had sent her a son. +From the Caballero Challoner to Fitz, from Fitz to Captain Bontnor, +from Captain Bontnor to John Craik, and from Craik back to Fitz, this, +with Cipriani de Lloseta ever coming and going, in and out, had been +Eve FitzHenry’s life.</p> +<p>These men had only taught her to be a woman, as men ever do; but +from them she had acquired the broader way of taking life, the larger +way of thinking, which promised well for Henry Cyprian lying asleep +on her lap.</p> +<p>She was thinking of these men, for all they had taught her, of all +she had learnt from them without their knowing it, when one of them +came to her. Fitz had dismounted in the patio and came walking +somewhat stiffly through to the terrace. He had been out all day +on a distant part of the D’Erraha property, for he combined the +farmer and the sailor. He had applied for a year’s leave +after having served his country for fifteen. The year had run +into fifteen months, and there was talk of the time when he should go +to sea no longer.</p> +<p>Fitz had changed little. The cloud, however, that had formerly +hung as it were in his eyes had vanished. Eve had driven it away, +slowly and surely. Perhaps Henry Cyprian had something to do in +the matter also by pushing his uncle Luke out of the place he had hitherto +occupied in Fitz’s heart. Luke had voluntarily relinquished +the place to a certain degree. He had left England three years +before to seek his fortune in other seas, and Fortune had come to him +as she often does when she is sought half-heartedly. Luke commanded +one of the finest war-ships afloat, but she sailed under the Chilean +flag.</p> +<p>“Letters,” said Fitz.</p> +<p>Eve smiled and handed him Captain Bontnor’s epistle. +She watched his face as he read--she had a trick of watching her husband’s +face. This was a hopelessly taciturn man, but Eve seemed to understand +him.</p> +<p>There was another letter unopened and addressed to Fitz. He +took it up and opened it leisurely, after the manner of one who has +all he wants and looks for nothing by post.</p> +<p>Eve saw his face brighten with surprise. He read the letter +through, and then he handed it to her.</p> +<p>“Lloseta,” he said, “is coming. He is in +Barcelona.”</p> +<p>Eve read the letter. She leant back in her deep chair with +a pensiveness, a faint suggestion of weariness bespeaking the end of +a convalescence, which was perhaps climatic.</p> +<p>“I have never understood the Count,” she said. +“There are so many people one does not understand.”</p> +<p>She broke off with a little laugh, half impatient.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said her husband quietly. “Whom are +you thinking of?”</p> +<p>“Agatha.”</p> +<p>Fitz was gazing at the fine quartz gravel beneath his feet.</p> +<p>“Agatha cared for Luke,” he said.</p> +<p>A faint flicker of anxiety passed across Eve’s eyes--the mention +of Luke’s name always brought it. She had never seen this +twin brother--this shadow as it were of Fitz’s life--and it +had been slowly borne in upon her--perhaps Henry Cyprian had taught +her--that there is a tie between twins which no man can gauge nor tell +whither it may lead.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said quietly, “I know.”</p> +<p>“How do you know? Did she tell you?”</p> +<p>Eve smiled.</p> +<p>“No; but I knew long ago. I do not think she was good, +Fitz, but that was good in her--quite good. People say that it +sometimes saves men. It often saves women. I think it is +better for a girl to have no mother at all than to have a foolish mother, +much better, I am sure of it.”</p> +<p>“Women like Mrs. Ingham-Baker,” said Fitz gruffly, “do +more harm in the world than women who are merely bad. She made +Agatha what she was, and Agatha made Luke throw away the <i>Croonah</i>.”</p> +<p>“But the Court decided that it was an unusual current,” +said Eve, who had followed every word of the official inquiry.</p> +<p>Fitz shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“He threw the ship away,” he said. “Sailors +like Luke do not get wrecked on the Burlings.”</p> +<p>Eve did not pursue the subject, for this was the shadow on her happiness. +It has been ruled that we are not to be quite happy here, and those +are happiest who have a shadow that comes from outside--from elsewhere +than from themselves or their own love.</p> +<p>Eve, womanlike, had thought of these things, analysing them as women +do, and she recognised the shadow frankly. She was too intelligent, +too far-sighted to expect perfect bliss, but she knew that she had as +near an approach to it as is offered for human delectation, neutralised +as it was by that vague regret which is only the reflection of the active +sorrows of others.</p> +<p>Fitz had handed the Count’s letter to his wife. She read +it slowly and allowed it to drop. As it fluttered to her lap she +caught sight of some writing on the back.</p> +<p>“Did you see the postscript?” she asked.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>She turned the letter and read aloud.</p> +<p>“I saw Craik just before I left. He was, I think, in +better health. His mind is much too brilliant, his brain too active, +his humour too keen to be that of a sick man. When I told him +your good news he quite forgot to be rheumatic. ‘Glad to +hear it, glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘She was much +too good to be a mere writing woman.’ By the way, I imagine +Eve never learnt that all the Spanish articles, except the first, passed +through my hands as well as Craik’s before publication. +I knew who wrote them, and am still one of their profoundest admirers, +but, like John Craik, I am well content that the gifted author should +turn her attention to other things, notably to my godson, to whom salutations. +Did either of you ever meet young Lord Seahampton, an excellent fellow, +with the appearance of a cleanly groom and the heart of a true knight? +He was killed while riding a steeplechase last week. I regret +him deeply. He was one of my few friends.”</p> +<p>Eve laid the letter down with a little sigh, a species of sigh which +she reserved for Cipriani de Lloseta.</p> +<p>“He is a nineteenth-century Quixote,” she said. +“No one ever knows what good he may be doing.”</p> +<p>Then they fell to talking of this man, of what he had done and what +he had left undone. They guessed at what he had suffered, and +of the suffering which he had spared others they knew a little; but +of his own feelings they were ignorant, his motives they only knew in +part. His life had been lived out to a certain extent before them, +but they knew nothing of it; it was a mere superficies without perspective, +and Eve, woman-like, wanted to put a background to it.</p> +<p>“But why,” she persisted, from the height of her own +happiness, which had apparently been so easy to reach, “why does +he lead such a lonely, gloomy life? Why has he so few friends? +Why does he not come and live at Lloseta instead of in the gloomy palace +in the Calle de la Paz?”</p> +<p>“His life is all whys,” answered Fitz; “it is one +big note of interrogation. He said that some day he would tell +us; no doubt he will.”</p> +<p>“Yes; perhaps so.”</p> +<p>Eve reflected, and again she indulged in a short sigh.</p> +<p>“And after he has told us there will be nothing to be done, +that is the worst of it; there will be nothing to be done, Fitz.”</p> +<p>“There never has been anything to be done,” replied Fitz +slowly, as was his wont. “That has been the keynote of his +life as long as I have known him. If there had been anything to +do, you may be sure that De Lloseta would have done it.”</p> +<p>Eve was bending over the small beginnings of a man lying supine on +her knees. She drew Henry Cyprian’s wraps closer around +him preparatory to taking him indoors.</p> +<p>“Then his is surely the saddest life imaginable,” she +said.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV. THE COUNT’S STORY.</h3> +<p> <i>And +yet I know<br /> That tears lie deep in +all I do</i>.</p> +<p>The pine forests on the mountain-tops were beginning to gather the +darkness as the Count de Lloseta rode up the last slope to the Casa +d’Erraha. The sun had just set behind the rocky land that +hides Miramar from D’Erraha. A stillness seemed to be creeping +down from the mountain to the valley. The wind had gone down with +the sun.</p> +<p>The Count rode alone beneath the gloom of the maritime pines which +grow to their finest European stature on the northern slope of D’Erraha. +He had been in the saddle all day; but Cipriani de Lloseta was a Spaniard, +and a Spaniard is a different man when he has thrown his leg across +a horse. The suave indolence of manner seems to vanish, the courtly +indifference, the sloth and contemplativeness which stand as a bar between +our northern nature and the peninsular habit. De Lloseta was a +fine horseman--even in Spain, the nation of finest horsemen in the +world; also he was on Majorcan soil again. He had landed at Palma +that morning from the Barcelona steamer, and he had found Fitz awaiting +him with a servant and a led horse on the quay.</p> +<p>There was a strangely excited gleam in De Lloseta’s dark eyes +which Fitz did not fail to notice. The Count looked around over +the dark wild faces of his countrymen and met no glance of recognition, +for he had been absent forty years. Then he raised his eyes to +the old city towering on the hillside above them, the city that has +not changed these six hundred years, and he smiled a wan smile.</p> +<p>“I have brought a horse for you,” said Fitz, “either +to ride back to D’Erraha with me now or to take you to Lloseta, +should you care to go direct there. Eve has packed up some lunch +for you in the saddle-bag if you think of going to Lloseta first.”</p> +<p>The Count nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “that is like Eve; she would think +of such things.”</p> +<p>He went up to the horse, patted it, measured the length of the stirrup-leather, +and then turned to Fitz.</p> +<p>“I will go to Lloseta,” he said. “It is only +natural after forty years. I will be with you by seven o’clock +to-night at D’Erraha.”</p> +<p>Fitz did not offer to accompany him, and Cipriani de Lloseta rode +that strange ride alone; unknown, an outcast in his own land, he rode +through the most fertile valley in the world, of which every tree was +dear to him; and no man knew his thoughts. The labourers in the +fields, men and women, brown, sunburnt, half Moorish, wholly simple +and natural, paused in their toil and looked wonderingly at the lonely +horseman; the patient mules walking their ceaseless round at the Moorish +wells blinked lazily at him; the eagles of Lloseta swept slowly round +in a great circle far above the old castle, as they had swept in his +childhood, and he looked up at them with his strange patient smile. +He pushed the great olive-wood gate open and passed into the terraced +garden, all overgrown, neglected, mournful. It was a strange home-coming, +with no one near to see.</p> +<p>He spent the whole day at Lloseta engaged in the very practical work +of employing men to labour at the garden and in the house. It +was, he said, his intention to come back to his “possession,” +as these Majorcan country houses are called, to inhabit it the larger +part of the year, and to pass the remaining winter months at his palace +in Palma.</p> +<p>In the afternoon he mounted his horse, and in the evening, as has +been said, he reached D’Erraha.</p> +<p>A servant must have been watching his approach, for the large door +was thrown open and he rode into the patio. Fitz was here to welcome +him; and behind him Eve, with Henry Cyprian in her arms. No one +spoke. It was rather singular. The Count dismounted. +He took off his hat and held it in the Spanish mode in his hand while +he shook hands with Fitz and Eve. He looked round the patio. +He noted the old marble well, yellow with stupendous age, the orange +trees clustering over it, the palms and the banana trees, then he smiled +at Eve.</p> +<p>“After many years,” he said.</p> +<p>There was a little pause.</p> +<p>“I should have wished to see your father,” he said, “amidst +these surroundings.”</p> +<p>Eve gave a little nod. From long association with men she had +learnt a manlike reticence. She moved a little towards the open +archway leading through to the terrace.</p> +<p>“We have some tea,” she said, “waiting for you. +Will you come to the terrace?”</p> +<p>He followed her, while the servant led the tired horse away.</p> +<p>They sat at the northern end of the terrace, where the garden-chairs +always stood, and before, beneath, all around them rose and fell the +finest of all the fine Majorcan scenery--scenery which only Sardinia +can rival in Europe.</p> +<p>Eve poured out his tea, which he drank, and set the cup aside.</p> +<p>They all knew that the time had come for the Count de Lloseta to +tell his story--to redeem the promise made to Eve and Fitz long ago, +before they were married.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta leant back in his deep garden-chair nursing one +booted leg over the other. He was dusty and travel-stained, but +the natural hardiness of his frame seemed to be more apparent than ever +in his native land, on his native mountains.</p> +<p>“My poor little tale,” he said; “you will have +it?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Eve; and Fitz nodded.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta did not look at them, but down into the gathering +blue of the valley beneath them. His quiet, patient eyes never +turned elsewhere during his narrative, as if he were telling the story +to the valley and the hills.</p> +<p>“When I was quite a young man everything was too prosperous +with me. I was rich, I had health and liberty and many friends; +life was altogether too simple and easy for me. Before I was twenty-one +I met my dear Rosa and fell in love with her. Here again it was +too easy, too convenient. Fate is cruellest when she is too kind. +The parents wished it. The two families were equally old, equally +rich; and lastly Rosa--Rosa was kind enough to be--kind to me.”</p> +<p>He paused, pensively rubbing his clean-shaven chin with his forefinger, +his long profile was turned towards Eve, standing out like brown marble +against the gloom of the valley. Eve wondered about this woman, +this Rosa, who had been forty years in her grave. She wondered +what manner of woman this must have been to have kept the love of a +man through all these years by a mere memory, but she did not wonder +that Rosa had been kind.</p> +<p>“She saw things in me that do not exist,” Cipriani de +Lloseta went on quietly. “It is so with women when--and +men may thank God that it is so.”</p> +<p>He gave a little laugh, unpleasant to the ear--the laugh of a man +who has been right down to the bottom of life and comes up again with +a sneer.</p> +<p>Eve and Fitz made no sign. This story was like wine that has +lain forgotten in the dark for many years, it needed careful handling. +Henry Cyprian turned on his silken cushion, and opening his great dark +eyes watched the speaker with that infantine steadfastness of gaze which +may perchance see more than we suspect.</p> +<p>“We were married”--he paused and gave a jerk of the +head towards Palma, behind him to the left--“in the cathedral, +and were quite happy. At that time the Harringtons were living, +or rather staying, in this house with your good father. Neither +of you ever saw the Honourable George Harrington; your loss is infinitesimal. +For some reason they began to come to Lloseta a good deal--some reason +of Mrs. Harrington’s. She was always a singular woman, with +a reason for all that she did, which I, in my old-fashioned way, do +not think good in a woman. She disliked my wife. I could +see that through her affectionate ways. I do not know why. +Men cannot understand these things. Rosa was very beautiful.”</p> +<p>Eve, who was watching his face, gave a little nod--a mental nod, +as it were, for her own edification. It is possible that she, +being a woman, understood.</p> +<p>“Finally they came to stay a few days--you know the Spanish +hospitality. She forced it on us against our will. I was +particularly averse to it because of--Rosa. I wanted to be quietly +at Lloseta. We intended to live almost entirely in Majorca. +We wanted our children to be Majorcans, and especially a son. +The Harringtons stayed longer than we invited them for. They were +well-bred adventurers. I have met many such in English country +houses--people who shoot, and fish, and hunt at the expense of others. +It suited them to stay at Lloseta, and they did so. They were +people who got the best of everything by asking for it--by looking +upon it in a well-bred way as their right. I did not mind that, +but I wanted them to go, on account of Rosa. Also I disliked the +woman’s manner towards myself; it altered when Rosa was not there, +you understand. We have a word for it in Spain, but I will not +say it because the woman is dead.”</p> +<p>There was a rasping sound as he drew his first and second fingers +across his closely shaven chin. It is a singular thing that cynics +usually reserve their keenest shafts for women.</p> +<p>“At last I informed Rosa that they must be told to go, and +Rosa was very angry. It was her pride--the pride of a new-fledged +hostess, of a young matron. She was Spanish, and hot tempered. +My inhospitality was terrible to her, and she spoke sharply. I +was quicker to feel and to act then than I am now. I answered +her. I would not give way, thinking, as I was, of the son we hoped +for. It was nothing, but we raised our voices. In the heat +of the argument I lifted my hand. Rosa thought that I was going +to strike her--a strange mistake. She stepped back and fell. +You know our marble floors. She struck her temple against the +floor, and she lay quite still. I heard a sound, and turning, +saw Mrs. Harrington in the doorway. She had been listening; she +had seen everything. Rosa never recovered consciousness; she died. +It was terribly easy for her to die. It was equally hard for me +to continue living. Mrs. Harrington helped me in my great sorrow +to a certain extent, but she would not help me by going away. +Then, as soon as Rosa was buried, she told me that unless I gave her +money she would tell all Spain that I had murdered my wife. At +first I did not understand. I did not know that God had created +women such as this. But she made her meaning quite clear. +Indeed to do this thoroughly, she hinted to the neighbours that she +knew more than she had disclosed. All Majorca would turn its back +upon me--all except Challoner. I paid the woman. I have +paid her ever since, and I do not regret it. What else could I +do? After many generations of honour and uprightness I could not +let the name of Lloseta fall into the hands of a low woman such as Mrs. +Harrington. I had to pay heavily, but it was still cheap. +I saved the name. No breath of dishonour has reached the name +of De Lloseta de Mallorca. I got her out of Majorca, and my old +friend Challoner set himself the task of silencing the gossips. +But I found that I had to leave Lloseta--for the name’s sake +I quitted my home.”</p> +<p>He spread out his hands with a patient gesture of resignation.</p> +<p>“Such has been my life,” he went on. “It +has been spent in preserving the name unspotted, in paying Mrs. Harrington, +and in praying the good God to make her life unhappy and short. +In His greater wisdom He prolonged her life, but it was never a happy +one, for God is just. I am the last of the Llosetas. The +name will die, but it has lived for six hundred years, and it dies as +it lived--unspotted--one of the great names of the world.”</p> +<p>He broke off with a little laugh.</p> +<p>“Spanish pride,” he said. “I must beg your +indulgence. My life you know. It has not been a happy one. +I have never forgotten Rosa; I have never even tried. I have had +several objects however in life; it has not been uninteresting. +One of the chief of these objects has been to repay to a minute extent +the true friendship of my dear Challoner. He was a friend in need. +He taught me to look upon the English as the finest race of men on this +planet. I may be wrong, but I shall adhere to my opinion. +In my small way I attempted to repay in part to Challoner’s daughter +all that I owed to him; but I only ran against a pride as strong, as +sensitive as my own. My child, you did quite right!”</p> +<p>He turned to Eve, smiling his patient smile.</p> +<p>“And now,” he went on, “I shall have my way after +all.”</p> +<p>He laid his hand on Henry Cyprian, who was conscientiously putting +the Valley of Repose to its best use.</p> +<p>“After all, this little caballero was born at D’Erraha. +D’Erraha is his; is it not so?”</p> +<p>And Eve, giving up her pride to him--casting it down before his +loftier pride--came round to his chair, and bending over, kissed him +silently.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Lady, by Henry Seton Merriman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 6517-h.htm or 6517-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/5/1/6517/ + +Produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + +Title: The Grey Lady + +Author: Henry Seton Merriman + +Posting Date: September 13, 2014 [EBook #6517] +Release Date: September, 2005 +First Posted: December 25, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY LADY *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + + + + + + +THE GREY LADY + +BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN. + + + + + "The dog that snapt the shadow, dropt the bone." + + +CONTENTS + + BOOK THE FIRST + + I. TWO IN THE FIELD. + II. A MAN DOWN. + III. A SEA DOG. + IV. PURGATORIO. + V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE. + VI. AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE. + VII. IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE. + VIII. THE DEAL. + IX. CUT FOR PARTNERS. + X. THE GAME OPENS. + XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA. + XII. A SHUFFLE. + XIII. A CHOICE. + XIV. A QUATRE. + XV. DON QUIXOTE. + XVI. BROKEN. + + + BOOK THE SECOND + + I. BITS OF LIFE. + II. A COMPACT. + III. BAFFLED. + IV. FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER. + V. THE TEAR ON THE SWORD. + VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY. + VII. A VOYAGE. + VIII. A GREAT FIGHT. + IX. THE EDITOR'S ROOM. + X. THE CURTAIN LOWERS. + XI. "MILKSOP". + XII. THE END OF THE "CROONAH." + XIII. AT D'ERRAHA AGAIN. + XIV. THE COUNT'S STORY. + + + +BOOK THE FIRST. + + + +CHAPTER I. TWO IN THE FIELD. + + Qui n'accepte pas le regret n'accepte pas la vie. + +The train technically known as the "Flying Dutchman," tearing through +the plains of Taunton, and in a first-class carriage by themselves, +facing each other, two boys. + +One of these boys remembers the moment to this day. A journey +accomplished with Care for a travelling companion usually adheres to +the wheels of memory until those wheels are still. Grim Care was with +these boys in the railway carriage. A great catastrophe had come to +them. A FitzHenry had failed to pass into her Majesty's Navy. Back +and back through the generations--back to the days when England had no +navy--she had always been served at sea by a FitzHenry. Moreover, +there had always been a Henry of that name on the books. Henry, the +son of Henry, had, as a matter of course, gone down to the sea in a +ship, had done his country's business in the great waters. + +There was, if they could have looked at it from a racial point of view, +one small grain of consolation. The record was not even now +snapped--for Henry had succeeded, Luke it was who had failed. + +Henry sat with his back to the engine, looking out over the flat +meadow-land, with some moisture remarkably like a tear in either eye. +The eyes were blue, deep, and dark like the eastern horizon when the +sun is setting over the sea. The face was brown, and oval, and still. +It looked like a face that belonged to a race, something that had been +handed down with the inherent love of blue water. It is probable that +many centuries ago, a man with features such as these, with eyes such +as these, and crisp, closely curling hair, had leaped ashore from his +open Viking boat, shouting defiance to the Briton. + +This son of countless Henrys sat and thought the world was hollow, with +no joy in it, and no hope, because Luke had failed. + +We are told that there shall be two in the field, that the one shall be +taken and the other left. But we have yet to learn why, in our limited +vision, the choice seems invariably to be mistaken. We have yet to +learn why he who is doing good work is called from the field, leaving +there the man whose tastes are urban. + +Except for the sake of the record--and we cannot really be expected in +these busy times to live for generations past or yet unborn--except for +the record it would have been more expedient that Henry should fail and +Luke succeed. Everybody knew this. It was the common talk on board +the Britannia. Even the examiners knew it. Luke himself was aware of +it. But there had always been a fatality about Luke. + +And now, when it was quite apparent that Luke was a sailor and nothing +else, the Navy would have none of him. Those who knew him--his kindly +old captain and others--averred that, with a strict and unquestionable +discipline, Luke FitzHenry could be made a first-class officer and a +brilliant sailor. No one quite understood him, not even his brother +Henry, usually known as Fitz. Fitz did not understand him now; he had +not understood him since the fatal notice had been posted on the broad +mainmast, of which some may wot. He did not know what to say, so, like +the wise old Duke, he said nothing. + +In the meantime the train raced on. Every moment brought them nearer +to London and to the Honourable Mrs. Harrington. + +Fitz seemed to be realising this, for he glanced uneasily at his +brother, whose morose, sullen face was turned resolutely towards the +window. + +"She'll be a fool," he said, "if she does not give you another chance." + +"I would not take it," answered Luke mechanically. + +He was darker than his brother, with a longer chin and a peculiar twist +of the lips. His eyes were lighter in colour, and rather too close +together. A keen observer would have put him down as a boy who in +manhood might go wrong. The strange thing was that no one could have +hesitated for a moment in selecting Luke as the cleverer of the two. + +Fitz paused. He was not so quick with his tongue as with his limbs. He +knew his brother well enough to foresee the effect of failure. Luke +FitzHenry was destined to be one of those unfortunate men who fail +ungracefully. + +"Do not decide in too great a hurry," said Fitz at length, rather +lamely. "Don't be a fool!" + +"No, it has been decided for me by my beastly bad luck." + +"It WAS bad luck--deuced bad luck." + +They had bought a packet of cigarettes at Exeter, but that outward sign +of manhood lay untouched on the seat beside Fitz. It almost seemed as +if manhood had come to them both in a more serious form than a +swaggering indulgence in tobacco. + +The boys were obviously brothers, but not aggressively twins. For Luke +was darker than Fitz, and somewhat shorter in stature. + +It is probable that neither of them had ever seriously contemplated the +possibility of failure for one and not for the other. Neither had ever +looked onward, as it were, into life to see himself there without the +other. The life that they both anticipated was that life on the ocean +wave, of which home-keeping poets sing so eloquently; and it had always +been vaguely taken for granted that no great difference in rank or +success could sever them. Fitz was too simple-minded, too honest to +himself, to look for great honours in his country's service. He +mistrusted himself. Luke mistrusted Providence. + +Such was the difference between these two boys--the thin end of a wedge +of years which, spreading out in after days, turned each life into a +path of its own, sending each man inexorably on his separate way. + +These two boys were almost alone in the world. Their mother had died +in giving them birth. Their father, an old man when he married, +reached his allotted span when his sons first donned Her Majesty's +brass buttons, and quietly went to keep his watch below. Discipline had +been his guiding star through life, and when Death called him he obeyed +without a murmur, trusting confidently to the Naval Department in the +first place, and the good God in the second, to look after his boys. + +That the late Admiral FitzHenry had sorely misplaced his confidence in +the first instance was a fact which the two boys were now called upon +to face alone in their youthful ignorance of the world. Fitz was +uneasily conscious of a feeling of helplessness, as if some +all-powerful protector had suddenly been withdrawn. Their two lives +had been pre-committed to the parental care of their country, and now +it almost took their breath away to realise that Luke had no such +protector. + +His was the pride that depreciates self. During the last twenty-four +hours Fitz had heard him boast of his failure, holding it up with a +singularly triumphant sneer, as if he had always distrusted his destiny +and took a certain pleasure in verifying his own prognostications. +There are some men who find a satisfaction in bad luck which good +fortune could never afford them. + +In a large house in Grosvenor Gardens two ladies were at that same +moment speaking of the FitzHenrys. It was quite easy to see that the +smaller lady of the two was the mistress of the house, as also of that +vague abstract called the situation. She sat in the most comfortable +chair, which was, by the way, considerably too spacious for her, and +there was a certain aggressive sense of possession about her attitude +and manner. + +Had she been a man, one would have said at once that here was a nouveau +riche, ever heedful of the fact that the big room and all the +appurtenances thereof were the fruits of toil and perseverance. There +was a distinct suggestion of self-manufacture about Mrs. +Harrington--distinct, that is to say, to the more subtle-minded. For +she was not vulgar, neither did she boast. But the expression of her +keen and somewhat worldly countenance betokened the intention of +holding her own. + +The Honourable Mrs. Harrington was not only beautifully dressed, but +knew how to wear her clothes en grande dame. + +"Yes," she was saying, "Luke has failed to pass off the Britannia. It +is a rare occurrence. I suppose the boy is a fool." + +Mrs. Harrington was rather addicted to the practice of calling other +people names. If the butler made a mistake she dubbed him an idiot at +once. She did not actually call her present companion, Mrs. +Ingham-Baker, a fool, possibly because she considered the fact too +apparent to require note. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, smoothed out the piece of silken +needlework with which she moved through life, and glanced at her +companion. She wanted to say the right thing. And Mrs. Harrington was +what the French call "difficult." One could never tell what the right +thing might be. The art of saying it is, moreover, like an ear for +music, it is not to be acquired. And Mrs. Ingham-Baker had not been +gifted thus. + +"And yet," she said, "their father was a clever man--as I have been +told." + +"By whom?" inquired Mrs. Harrington blandly. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker paused in distress. + +"I wonder who it was," she pretended to reflect. + +"So do I," snapped Mrs. Harrington. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker's imagination was a somewhat ponderous affair, and, +when she trusted to it, it usually ran her violently down a steep +place. She concluded to say nothing more about the late Admiral +FitzHenry. + +"The boy," said Mrs. Harrington, returning to the hapless Luke, "has +had every advantage. I suppose he will try to explain matters when he +comes. I could explain it in one word--stupidity." + +"Perhaps," put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker nervously, "the brains have all +gone to the other brother, Henry. It is sometimes so with twins." + +Mrs. Harrington laughed rather derisively. + +"Stupid woman to have twins," she muttered. + +This was apparently one of several grievances against the late Mrs. +FitzHenry. + +"They have a little money of their own, have they not?" inquired Mrs. +Ingham-Baker, with the soft blandness of one for whom money has +absolutely no attraction. + +"About enough to pay their washerwoman." + +There was a pause, and then Mrs. Ingham-Baker heaved a little sigh. + +"I am sure, dear," she said, "that in some way you will be rewarded for +your great kindness to these poor orphan boys." + +She shook her head wisely, as if reflecting over the numerous cases of +rewarded virtue which had come under her notice, and the action made +two jet ornaments in her cap wobble, in a ludicrous manner, from side +to side. + +"That may be," admitted the lady of the house, "though I wish I felt as +sure about it as you do." + +"But then," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, in a low and feeling tone, +"you always were the soul of generosity." + +The "soul of generosity" gave an exceedingly wise little smile--almost +as if she knew better--and looked up sharply towards the door. At the +same moment the butler appeared. + +"Mr. Pawson, ma'am," he said. + +The little nod with which this information was received seemed to +indicate that Mr. Pawson had been expected. + +Beneath her black curls Mrs. Ingham-Baker's beady eyes were very much +on the alert. + +"In the library, James," said Mrs. Harrington--and the two jet +ornaments bending over the silken needlework gave a little throb of +disappointment. + +"Mr. Pawson," announced the lady of the house, "is the legal light who +casts a shadow of obscurity over my affairs." + +And with that she left the room. + +As soon as the door was closed Mrs. Ingham-Baker was on her feet. She +crossed the room to where her hostess's key-basket and other belongings +stood upon a table near the window. She stood looking eagerly at these +without touching them. She even stooped down to examine the address of +an envelope. + +"Mr. Pawson!" she said, in a breathless whisper. "Mr. Pawson--what +does that mean? Can she be going to alter her--no! But--yes, it may +be! Perhaps Susan knows." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker then rang the bell twice, and resumed her seat. + +Presently an aged servant came into the room. It was easy to see at a +glance that she was a very old woman, but the years seemed to weigh +less on her mind than on her body. + +"Yes," she said composedly. + +"Oh--eh, Susan," began Mrs. Ingham-Baker almost cringingly. "I rang +because I wanted to know if a parcel has come for me--a parcel of +floss-silk--from that shop in Buckingham Palace Road, you know." + +"If it had come," replied Susan, with withering composure, "it would +have been sent up to you." + +"Yes, yes, of course I know that, Susan. But I thought that perhaps it +might have been insufficiently addressed or something--that you or Mary +might have thought that it was for Mrs. Harrington." + +"She don't use floss silks," replied the imperturbable Susan. + +"I was just going to ask her about it, when she was called away by some +one. I think she said that it was her lawyer." + +"Yes, Mr. Pawson." + +Susan's manner implied--very subtly and gently--that her place in this +pleasant house was more assured than that of Mrs. Ingham-Baker, and +perhaps that stout diplomatist awoke to this implication, for she +pulled herself up with considerable dignity. + +"I hope that nothing is wrong," she said, in a tone that was intended +to disclaim all intention of discussing such matters with a menial. "I +should be sorry if Mrs. Harrington was drawn into any legal difficulty; +the law is so complicated." + +Susan was engaged in looking for a speck of dust on the mantelpiece, +not for its own intrinsic value, but for the sake of Mary's future. She +had apparently no observation of value to offer upon the vexed subject +of the law. + +"I was rather afraid," pursued Mrs. Ingham-Baker gravely, "that Mrs. +Harrington might be unduly incensed against that poor boy, Luke +FitzHenry; that in a moment of disappointment, you know, she might be +making some--well, some alteration in her will to the detriment of the +boy." + +Susan stood for a moment in front of the lady, with a strange little +smile of amusement among the wrinkles of her face. + +"Yes, that may be," she said, and quietly left the room. + + + +CHAPTER II. A MAN DOWN. + + Caress the favourites, avoid the unfortunate, and trust nobody. + +The atmosphere of Mrs. Harrington's drawing-room seemed to absorb the +new-found manhood of the two boys, for they came forward shyly, +overawed by the consciousness of their own boots, by the conviction +that they carried with them the odour of cigarette smoke and failure. + +"Well, my dears," said the Honourable Mrs. Harrington, suddenly +softened despite herself by the sight of their brown young faces. +"Well, come here and kiss me." + +All the while she was vaguely conscious that she was surprising herself +and others. She had not intended to treat them thus. Mrs. Harrington +was a woman who had a theory of life--not a theory to talk about, but +to act upon. Her theory was that "heart" is all nonsense. She looked +upon existence here below as a series of contracts entered into with +one's neighbour for purposes of mutual enjoyment or advantage. She +thought that life could be put down in black and white. Which was a +mistake. She had gone through fifty years of it without discovering +that for the sake of some memory--possibly a girlish one--hidden away +behind her cold grey eyes, she could never be sure of herself in +dealing with man or boy whose being bore the impress of the sea. + +The strange thing was that she had never found it out. We speak +pityingly of animals that do not know their own strength. Which of us +knows his own weakness? There was a man connected with Mrs. +Harrington's life, one of the contractors in black and white, who had +found out this effect of a brown face and a blue coat upon a woman +otherwise immovable. This man, Cipriani de Lloseta, who contemplated +life, as it were, from a quiet corner of the dress circle, kept his +knowledge for his own use. + +Fitz and Luke obeyed her invitation without much enthusiasm. They were +boyish enough to object to kissing on principle. They then shook hands +awkwardly with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, and drifted together again with that +vague physical attraction which seems to qualify twins for double +harness on the road of life. There was trouble ahead of them; and +without defining the situation, like soldiers surprised, they +instinctively touched shoulders. + +It was the psychological moment. There was a little pause, during +which Mrs. Harrington seemed to stiffen herself, morally and +physically. Had she not stiffened herself, had she only allowed +herself, as it were, to go--to call Luke to her and comfort him and +sympathise with him--it would have altered every life in that room, and +others outside of it. Even blundering, cringing, foolish Mrs. +Ingham-Baker would have acted more wisely, for she would have followed +the dictates of an exceedingly soft, if shallow, heart. + +"I had hoped for a more satisfactory home-coming than this," said Mrs. +Harrington in her hardest voice. When she spoke in this tone there was +the faintest suggestion of a London accent. + +Fitz made a little movement, a step forward, as if she had been +unconsciously approaching the brink of some danger, and he wished to +warn her. The peculiar twist in Luke's lips became momentarily more +visible, and he kept his deep, despondent eyes fixed on the speaker's +face. + +There are two kinds of rich women. The one spends her money in doing +good, the other pays it away to gratify her love of power. Of the +Honourable Mrs. Harrington it was never reported that she was lavish in +her charities. + +"I think," she said, "that I ought to tell you that I have been paying +the expenses of your education almost entirely. I was in no way bound +to do so. I took charge of you at your father's death because +I--because he was a true friend to me. I do not grudge the money, but +in return I expected you to work hard and get on in your profession." + +She stiffened herself with a rustling sound of silk, proudly conscious +of injured virtue, full of the charity that exacteth a high interest. + +"We did our best," replied Fitz, with a simple intrepidity which rather +spoilt the awesomeness of the situation. + +"I am not speaking to you," returned the lady. "You have worked and +have passed your examination satisfactorily. You are not clever--I +know that; but you have managed to get into the Navy, where your father +was before you, and your grandfather before him. I have no doubt you +will give satisfaction to your superior officers. I was talking to +Luke." + +"We all knew that," said Luke, in a dangerous voice, which trite +observation she chose to ignore. + +"You have had equal advantages," pursued the dispenser of charity. "I +have shown no favour; I have treated you alike. It had been my +intention to do so all your lives and after my death." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was so interested at this juncture that she leant +forward with parted lips, listening eagerly. The Honourable Mrs. +Harrington allowed herself the plebeian pleasure of returning the stare +with a questioning glance which broke off into a little laugh. + +"Have you," she continued, addressing Luke directly, "any reason to +offer for your failure--beyond the usual one of bad luck?" + +Luke looked at her in a lowering way and made no reply. Had Mrs. +Harrington been a poor woman, she would have recognised that the boy +was at the end of his tether. But she had always been surrounded--as +such women are--by men, and more especially by women, who would swallow +any insult, any insolence, so long as it was gilded. The world had, in +fact, accepted the Honourable Mrs. Harrington because she could afford +to gild herself. + +"It was bad luck, and nothing else," burst out Fitz, heedless of her +sarcastic tones. "Luke is a better sailor than I am. But he always +was weak in his astronomy, and it all turned on astronomy." + +"I should imagine it all turned on stupidity," said Mrs. Harrington. + +"I'm stupid, if you like," said Fitz; "Luke isn't. Luke is clever; ask +any chap on board!" + +"I do not need to ask any chap on board," said Mrs. Harrington. "My +own common sense tells me that he is clever. He has proved it." + +"It's like a woman--to hit a fellow when he's down," said Luke, with +his hands deep in his pockets. + +He turned to Mrs. Ingham-Baker for sympathy in this sentiment, and that +soft-hearted lady deemed it expedient to turn hastily away, avoiding +his glance, denying all partisanship. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was not a person given to the disguise of her own +feelings. She was plausible enough to the outer world. To herself she +was quite frank, and hardly seemed to recognise this as the event she +had most desired. It is to be presumed that her heart was like her +physical self, a large, unwieldy thing, over which she had not a proper +control. The organ mentioned had a way of tripping her up. It tripped +her now, and she quite forgot that this quarrel was precisely what she +had wanted for years. She had looked forward to it as the +turning-point in her daughter Agatha's fortunes. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker had, in fact, wondered more than a thousand times why +the Honourable Mrs. Harrington should do all for the FitzHenrys and +nothing for Agatha. She did not attempt to attribute reasons. She knew +her sex too well for that. She merely wondered, which means that she +cherished a question until it grew into a grievance. The end of it she +knew would be a quarrel. This might not come until the FitzHenrys +should have grown to man's estate and man's privilege of quarrelling +with his female relatives about the youthful female relative of some +other person. But it would come, surely. Mrs. Ingham-Baker, the +parasite, knew her victim, Mrs. Harrington, well enough to be sure of +that. + +And now that this quarrel had arisen--much sooner than she could have +hoped--providentially brought about by an astronomical +examination-paper, Mrs. Ingham-Baker was forced to face the humiliating +fact that she felt sorry for Luke. + +It would have been different had Agatha been present, but that +ingenious maiden was at school at Brighton. Had her daughter been in +the room, Mrs. Ingham-Baker's motherly instinct would have narrowed +itself down to her. But in the absence of her own child, Luke's sorry +plight appealed to that larger maternal instinct which makes good women +in unlikely places. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was, however, one of the many who learn to curb the +impulse of a charitable intention. She looked out of the window, and +pretended not to notice that the culprit had addressed his remark to +her. To complete this convenient deafness she gave a simulated little +cough of abstraction, which entirely gave her away. + +Mrs. Harrington chose to ignore Luke's taunt. + +"And," she inquired sweetly, "what do you intend to do now?" + +Quite suddenly the boy turned on her. + +"I intend," he cried, "to make my own life--whatever it may be. If I +am starving I will not come to you. If half-a-crown would save me, I +would rather die than borrow it from you. You think that you can buy +everything with your cursed money. You can't buy me. You can't buy a +FitzHenry. You--you can't--" + +He gave a little sob, remembered his new manhood--that sudden, complete +manhood which comes of sorrow--pulled himself up, and walked to the +door. He opened it, turned once and glanced at his brother, and passed +out of the room. + +So Luke FitzHenry passed out into his life--a life which he was to make +for himself. Passionate--quick to love, to hate, to suffer; deep in +his feeling, susceptible to ridicule or sarcasm--an orphan. The stairs +were dark as he went down them. + +Mrs. Harrington gave a little laugh as the door closed behind him. She +had always been able to repurchase the friendship of her friends. + +Fitz made a few steps towards the door before her voice arrested him. +"Stop!" she cried. + +He paused, and the old sense of discipline that was in his blood made +him obey. He thought that he would find Luke upstairs on the bed with +his face buried in his folded arms, as he had found him a score of +times during their short life. + +"I think you are too hard on him," he answered hotly. "It is bad +enough being ploughed, without having to stand abuse afterwards." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Harrington, "just you come here and sit beside me. +We will leave Luke to himself for a little. It is much better. Let him +think it out alone." + +What was there in this fair-haired boy's demeanour, voice, or being +that appealed to Mrs. Harrington, despite her sterner self? + +So Fitz was pacified by the lady's gentler manner, and consented to +remain. He made good use of his time, pleading Luke's cause, +explaining his bad fortune, and modestly disclaiming any credit to +himself for having succeeded where his brother failed. But all the +while the boy was restless, eager to get away and run upstairs to Luke, +who he felt sure was living years in every moment, as children do in +those griefs which we take upon ourselves to call childish. + +At last he rose. + +"May I go now?" he asked. + +"Yes, if you like. But do not bring Luke to me until he is prepared to +apologise for his ingratitude and rudeness." + +"What a dear boy he is!" ejaculated Mrs. Ingham-Baker almost before the +door was closed. "So upright and honest and straightforward." + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Harrington, with a sigh of anger. + +"He will be a fine man," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "I shall die +quite happy if my Agatha marries such a man as Henry will be." + +Mrs. Harrington glanced at her voluminous friend rather critically. + +"You do not look like dying yet," she said. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker put her head on one side and looked resigned. + +"One never knows," she answered. "It is a great responsibility, +Marian, to have a daughter." + +"I should imagine, from what I have seen of Agatha, that the child is +quite capable of taking care of herself." + +"Yes," answered the fond mother, "she is intelligent. But a girl is so +helpless in the world, and when I am gone I should feel happier if I +knew that my child had a good husband, such as Fitz, to take care of +her." + +Neither of these ladies being of the modern school of feminine +learning, the vague theology underlying this remark was allowed to pass +unnoticed. + +Mrs. Harrington drummed with her thin wrinkled fingers on the arm of +her chair, and waited with a queer anticipatory little smile for her +friend to proceed. + +"But, of course," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, blundering into the +little feminine snare, "a naval man can scarcely marry. They are +always so badly off. I suppose poor Fitz will not be able to support a +wife until he is quite middle-aged." + +"That remains to be seen," said Mrs. Harrington, with a gleam in her +hard grey eyes, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker pricked her finger. + +"I am sure," said the latter lady unctuously, when she had had time to +think it out, "I am sure I should be content for her to live very +quietly if I only knew that she had married a good man. I always say +that riches do not make happiness." + +"Yes, a number of people say that," answered Mrs. Harrington, and at +the same moment Fitz burst into the room. + +"Aunt Marian," he cried, "he has gone!" + +"Who has gone?" asked the lady of the house coldly. "Please close the +door." + +"Luke! He has gone! He went straight out of the house, and the butler +does not know where he went to! It is all your fault, Aunt Marian; you +had no right to speak to him like that! You know you hadn't. I am +going to look for him." + +"Now, do not get excited," said Mrs. Harrington soothingly. "Just come +here and listen to me. Luke has behaved very badly. He has been idle +and stubborn on board the Britannia. He has been rude and ungrateful +to me." + +She found she had taken the boy's hand, and she dropped it suddenly, as +if ashamed of showing so much emotion. + +"I am not going to have my house upset by the tantrums of a +bad-tempered boy. It is nearly dinner time. Luke is sure to come +back. If he is not back by the time we have finished dinner I will send +one of the men out to look for him. He is probably sulking in some +corner of the gardens." + +Seeing that Fitz was white with anxiety, she forgot herself so much as +to draw him to her again. + +"Now, Fitz," she said, "you must obey me and leave me to manage Luke in +my own way. I know best. Just go and dress for dinner. Luke will +come back--never fear." + +But Luke did not come back. + + + +CHAPTER III. A SEA DOG. + + There is one that slippeth in his speech, but not from his +heart. + +The glass door of the dining-room of the Hotel of the Four Nations at +Barcelona was opened softly, almost nervously, by a shock-headed little +man, who peered into the room. + +One of the waiters stepped forward and drew out a chair. + +"Thank ye--thank ye," said the new-comer, in a thick though pleasant +voice. + +He looked around, rather bewildered--as if he had never seen a table +d'hote before. It almost appeared as if a doubt existed in his mind +whether or not he was expected to go and shake hands with some one +present, explaining who he was. + +As, however, no one appeared to invite this confidence he took the +chair offered and sat gravely down. + +The waiter laid the menu at his side, and the elderly diner, whose face +and person bespoke a seafaring life, gazed politely at it. He was +obviously desirous of avoiding hurting the young man's feelings, but +the card puzzled as much as it distressed him. + +Observing with the brightest of blue eyes the manners and customs of +his neighbours, the old sailor helped himself to a little wine from the +decanter set in front of him, and filled up the glass with water. + +The waiter drew forward a small dish of olives and another containing +slices of red sausage of the thickness, consistency, and flavour of a +postage stamp. The Englishman looked dubiously at these delicacies and +shook his head--still obviously desirous of giving no offence. Soup +was more comprehensible, and the sailor consumed his portion with a +non-committing countenance. But the fish, which happened to be of a +Mediterranean savour--served in little lumps--caused considerable +hesitation. + +"Is it slugs?" inquired the mariner guardedly--as if open to +conviction--in a voice that penetrated half the length of the table. + +The waiter explained in fluent Castilian the nature of the dish. + +"I want to know if it's slugs," repeated the sailor, with a stout +simplicity. + +One or two commercial travellers, possessing a smattering of English, +smiled openly, and an English gentleman seated at the side of the +inquirer leant gravely towards him. + +"That is a preparation of fish," he explained. "You won't find it at +all bad." + +"Thank you, sir," replied the old man, helping himself with an air of +relief which would have been extremely comic had it been shorn of its +pathos. "I am afraid," he went on confidentially, "of gettin' slugs to +eat. I'm told that they eat them in these parts." + +"This," replied the other, with stupendous gravity, "is not the slug +season. Besides, if you did get 'em, I dare say you would be +pleasantly surprised." + +"Maybe, maybe! Though I don't hold by foreign ways." + +Such was the beginning of a passing friendship between two men who had +nothing in common except their country; for one was a peer of the +realm, travelling in Spain for the transaction of his own private +affairs, or possibly for the edification of his own private mind, and +the other was Captain John Thomas Bontnor, late of the British +mercantile service. + +Being a simple-minded person, as many seamen are, Captain Bontnor +sought to make himself agreeable. + +"This is the first time," he said, "that I have set foot in Spain, +though I've heard the language spoken, having sailed in the Spanish +Main, and down to Manilla one voyage likewise. It is a +strange-sounding language, I take it--a lot of jabbering and not much +sense." + +He spoke somewhat slowly, after the manner of one who had always had a +silent tongue until grey hairs came to mellow it. + +The young man, his hearer, looked slightly distressed, as if he was +suppressing some emotion. He was rather a vacuous-looking young +man--startlingly clean as to countenance and linen. He was shaven, and +had he not been distinctly a gentleman, he might have been a groom. He +apparently had a habit of thrusting forward his chin for the purpose of +scratching it pensively with his forefinger. This elegant trick +probably indicated bewilderment, or, at all events, a slight +mystification--he had recourse to it now--on the question of the +Spanish language. + +"Well," he answered gravely, "if you come to analyse it, I dare say +there is as much sense in it as in other languages--when you know it, +you know." + +"Yes," murmured the captain, with a glowing sense of satisfaction at +his own conversational powers. He felt he was becoming quite a society +man. + +"But," pursued the hereditary legislator, "it's tricky--deuced tricky. +The nastiest lot of irregular verbs I've come across yet. Still, I get +along all right. Worst of it is, you know, that when I've got a +sentence out all right with its verbs and things, I'm not in a fit +state to catch the answer." + +"Knocks you on to your beam-ends," suggested Captain Bontnor. + +"Yes." + +Lord Seahampton settled his throat more comfortably in his spotless +collar, and proceeded to help himself to a fourth mutton cutlet. + +"Staying here long?" he inquired. + +"No, not long," answered Captain Bontnor slowly, as if meditating; then +suddenly he burst into his story. "You see, sir," he said, "I'm +getting on in years, and I'm not quite the build for foreign travel. +It sort of flurries me. I'm a bit past it. I'm not here for pleasure, +you know." + +This seemed to have the effect of sending Lord Seahampton off into a +brown study--not apparently of great value so far as depth of thought +was concerned. He looked as if he were wondering whether he himself +was in Barcelona for pleasure or not. + +"No," he murmured encouragingly, + +"It is like this," pursued Captain Bontnor, confidentially. "My +sister, Amelia Ann, married above her." + +"Very much to her credit," said Lord Seahampton, with a stolid face and +a twinkle in his eye. "And--" + +"Died." + +"Dear, dear!" + +"Yes," pursued the captain, "she died nineteen years ago, leaving a +little girl. He's dead now--Mr. Challoner. He's my brother-in-law, +but I call him Mr. Challoner, because he's above me." + +"I trust he is," said Lord Seahampton, cheerfully, with a glance at the +painted ceiling. "I trust he is." + +The captain chuckled. "I mean in a social way," he explained. "And +now he's dead, his daughter Eve is left quite alone in the world, and +she telegraphed for me. She is living in the Island of Majorca." + +"Ah!" + +The kindly old blue eyes flashed round on his companion's face. + +"Do you know it?" + +The peer thrust forward his chin and spoilt what small claims he had to +good looks. + +"No; I've heard of it, though. I know of a wom--a lady, who has large +estates there--a Mrs. Harrington." + +"The Honourable Mrs. Harrington is a sort of relation of my niece's, +Miss Challoner. I call her Miss Challoner, although she is my niece, +because she is above me." + +His lordship glanced at the ceiling again. + +"I mean she is a lady. And I'm going to Majorca to fetch her. At +least, I'm trying to get there, but I cannot somehow find out about the +boat. They're a bit irregular, it seems, and this stupid jabbering of +theirs does flurry me so. Now, what's this? Eh? Pudding, is it? +Well, it doesn't look like it. No, thank ye!" + +The poor old man was soon upset by insignificant trifles, and after he +had given way to a little burst of petulance like this, he had a +strange, half pathetic way of staring straight in front of him for a +few seconds, as if collecting himself again. + +It happened that Lord Seahampton was a good-natured young man, with +rather a soft heart, such as many horsey persons possess. Something in +Captain Bontnor touched him; some simple British quality which he was +pleased to meet with, thus, in a foreign land. + +"Look here," he said, "I'll go out with you afterwards and find out all +about the boat, take your ticket, and fix the whole thing up." + +"I'm sure you're very kind," began the old sailor hesitatingly. He +fumbled at his necktie for a moment with unsteady, weather-beaten +hands. "But I shouldn't like to trespass on your time. I take it +you're here for pleasure?" + +Lord Seahampton smiled. + +"Yes, I'm here for pleasure; that's what I'm in the world for." + +Still Captain Bontnor hesitated. + +"You might meet some of your friends," he began tentatively, "in the +streets, you know." He paused and looked down at his own hands; he +turned one palm up, showing the faint tattoo on the wrist. "I'm only a +rough seafaring man," he went on. "They might think it strange--might +wonder whom you had picked up." + +The spotless collar seemed to be very uncomfortable. + +"I've always made a practice," mumbled Lord Seahampton, rather +incoherently, "of letting my friends think what they damned well +please. May I ask your name?" + +"Bontnor's my name. Captain Bontnor, at your service." + +"My name's Seahampton." + +Captain Bontnor turned and looked at him. + +"Yes, I'm Lord Seahampton." + +"Oh!" ejaculated Captain Bontnor, under his breath. His social +facilities did not quite rise to an occasion like this. + +"As soon as you've finished," went on his companion rather hurriedly, +"we'll go out and look up these steamer people. Miss Challoner will be +anxious for you to get there as soon as you can." + +"Yes, yes!" + +The captain laid aside his napkin and began to show signs of getting +flurried again. + +"Her name is Eve," he said, in the hurried way which was rather +pathetic. "Now, I wonder what I should call her. Poor young thing! if +she's distressed about her father's death--which is only natural, I'm +sure--it would sound a bit chilly like to call her Miss Challoner. +What do you think, Mr.--eh--er--Lord--sir?" + +"Well, I think I should call her Eve--it's a pretty name--and take her +by the hand, and--yes, I think I'd kiss her. Especially if she was a +nice-looking girl," he added for his own personal edification as he +preceded his companion into the hall. + +He was fumbling in the tail pocket of his short tweed coat as he went. +In the hall he turned. + +"Got anything to smoke?" he asked, in his most abrupt manner, as if the +cut of his collar did not allow of verbosity. + +The old man shyly produced some cigars in a leather case, which had +never been of great value, even in the far-off days of its youth. + +"I hardly like to offer them to you," he said slowly. "T--they're not +expensive, and I couldn't explain to the young woman what I wanted." + +"Rather like the look of them," said Lord Seahampton, taking one and +cutting the end off with a certain show of eagerness. This young man's +reputation for personal bravery was a known quantity on the +hunting-field. "Old sailors," he continued, "generally know good +tobacco." + +And all the while he had half-a-dozen of the best Havanas in his +pocket. Some instinct, which he was much too practical to define, and +possibly too stupid to detect, told him that this was one of those +occasions where it is much more blessed to receive than to give. + +"And so," continued Captain Bontnor, as they were walking down the +shady side of that noisiest street in the world, the Rambla, "and so +you would just call her Eve, if you was me?" + +"I should." + +"Remember that she is a lady, you know. Quite a lady." + +"I am remembering that," replied the peer stolidly; "that's why I am of +the opinion just expressed." + +Captain Bontnor gave a little sigh of relief, as if one of his many +difficulties had been removed. At the same time he glanced furtively +towards the inexpensive cigar, which was affording distinct if somewhat +exaggerated enjoyment. + +Together they walked down the broad street and turned along the quay. +And here Captain Bontnor found himself talking quite easily and affably +about palm-trees and tramways, and other matters of local interest, to +the first peer whom he had ever seen in the flesh. + +Out of sheer good nature, and with a vague question in his mind as to +whether Miss Challoner knew what sort of help she had called in, Lord +Seahampton obtained the necessary information--no easy matter in this +country--and took the necessary ticket. Ticket and information alike +were obtained from a grave gentleman who smoked a cigarette, and did +the honours of his little office as if it had been a palace--showing no +desire to sell the ticket, and taking payment as if he were conferring +a distinct favour. + +The steamer left that same afternoon, and Lord Seahampton sent his +protege back rejoicing to the hotel to pack up. Then the youthful peer +bestowed the remainder of the cheap cigar on an individual in reduced +circumstances and lighted one of his own. He was quite unconscious of +having done a good action. Such actions are supposed to bring their +own reward, but experience suggests that it is best not to count upon +anything of a tangible nature. + + + +CHAPTER IV. PURGATORIO. + + Like lutes of angels, touched so near + Hell's confines, that the damned can hear. + +Time: Five o'clock in the afternoon. Five o'clock, that is to say, by +the railway time. There is another time in Barcelona--the town time, +to wit--which differs from the hour of the iron road by thirty minutes +or thereabouts. But then the town time is Spanish, that is to say that +no one takes any notice of it. For into Spanish life time comes but +little. If one wishes to catch a train--but, by the way, in Spain we +do not catch, we take the train--a subtle difference--if then we wish +to take the train, we arrive at the station three-quarters of an hour +before the time indicated for departure, and there we make our +arrangements with due dignity. + +Place: The Rambla, which for those who speak alien tongues has an +Arabic sound, and tells us that this, the finest promenade in the +world, was once a sandy river-bed. Here now the grave caballero +promenades himself from early morning to an eve that knows no dew. + +Priest and peasant, the great lady and the gentleman who sells one a +glass of water for a centimo, brush past each other. The great lady is +dressed in black, as all Spanish ladies are, and on her head she wears +the long-lived mantilla, which will last our time and the time of our +grandsons. The humbler women-folk wear bright handkerchiefs in place +of the mantilla; in dress they affect bright colours. + +With the sterner sex, the line of demarcation is equally distinct. +There is the man who wears the peasant's blouse, and the man who wears +the cloak. + +It is with one of the latter that we have to deal--a tall, grave man, +with quiet eyes and a long, pointed chin. The air is chilly, and this +promenader's black cloak is thrown well over the shoulder, displaying +the bright-coloured lining of velvet, which is all the relief the +Spaniard allows his sombre self. + +The caballero's face is brown, as of one whose walk is not always +beneath the shady trees. The expression of it is chastened. One sees +the history of a country in the faces of its men. In this there is the +history of a past, it is the face of a man living in a bygone day. He +notes the interest of the moment with grave surprise, but his life is +behind him. + +This man has the Spaniard's thoughtful interest in a trifle. He pauses +to note the number of the sparrows, as thick as leaves upon the trees. +He carefully unfolds his cloak, gives the loose end a little shake, and +casts it skilfully over his shoulder, so that it falls across his back, +and, hanging there, displays the bright lining. He pauses to watch the +result of an infantile accident. The baby picks itself up and brushes +the dust from its diminutive frock with all the earnestness of early +youth. And the cavalier walks on. + +All this with a contemplative grandeur of demeanour worthy of larger if +not better things. + +In the roadway at the side of the broad promenade a carriage and pair +followed this gentleman--carriage and horses which were beautiful even +in this land of horses. For this was Cipriani de Lloseta de Mallorca, +a great man in Barcelona, if he wished it, a greater in his own little +island of Majorca, whether he wished it or not. + +Leading out of this same fascinating Rambla, to the left, up towards +the impenetrable fortress of Juich--impenetrable excepting once, and +then it was the pestilent Englishman, as usual--leading then to the +left is the Calle de la Paz. In the Street of the Peace there is a +house, on the left hand also, into the door of which one could not only +drive a coach and four, but eke a load of straw. Moreover, the driver +could go to sleep and leave it to the horses, for there is plenty of +space. This is the Casa Lloseta, the town residence since time +immemorial of the family of that name. There are servants at the door, +there are servants on the broad marble staircase, there are servants +everywhere! for the Spaniard is unapproachable in the gentle art of +leaving things to others. In the patio, or marble courtyard, there +plays a monotonous little fountain, peacefully plashing away the sunny +hours. + +In England el Senor Conde de Lloseta de Mallorca would be looked upon +as a mystery, because he lived in a large house by himself; because it +was not known what his tastes might be; because the interviewer +interviewed him not, and because the Society rags had no opportunity of +describing his drawing-room. + +In Spain things are different. If the count chose to live in his own +cellar, his neighbours would shrug their shoulders and throw the end of +their capes well over to the back. That was surely the business of the +count. + +Moreover, Cipriani de Lloseta was not the sort of man of whom it is +easy to ask questions. His was the pride of pride, which is a vice +unbreakable. When the Moors went to Majorca in the eighth century they +found Llosetas there, and Llosetas were left behind eight hundred years +later, when the southern conqueror was driven back to his dark land. +Among his friends it is known that Cipriani de Lloseta lived alone +because he was faithful to the memory of one who, but for the hand of +God, would have lived with him until she was an old woman, filling, +perhaps, the great gloomy house in the Calle de la Paz with the prattle +of children's voices, with the clatter of childish feet in the marble +passages. + +The younger women looked at him surreptitiously, and asked each other +what sort of wife this must have been; while their elders shrugged +their ample shoulders with a strange little Catalonian contraction of +the eyes, and said-- + +"It is not so much the woman herself as that which the man makes her." + +For they are wise, these stout and elderly ladies. They were once +young, and they learnt the lesson. + +This man, Cipriani de Lloseta, leads a somewhat lonely life, inasmuch +as he associates but little with the men of his rank and station. It +is, for instance, known that he walks on the Rambla, but no one of any +importance whatever, no one that is likely to recognise him, is aware +of the fact that another favourite promenade of his is the Muelle de +Ponente, that forsaken pier where the stone works are and where no one +ever promenades. Here Cipriani de Lloseta walks gravely in the +evening--to be more precise, on Tuesday or Friday evening--about five +o'clock, when the boat sails for Majorca. + +He stands, a lonely, cloaked figure, at the end of the long stone pier, +and his dark Spanish eyes rest on the steamer as it glides away into +the darkening east and south. + +Often, often this man watches the boats depart, but he never goes +himself. Often, often he gazes out in his chastened, impenetrable +silence over the horizon, as if seeking to pierce the distance and look +on the bare heights of the far-off island. + +For there, over the glassy smoothness of the horizon, behind those +little grey clouds, is Majorca--and Lloseta. + +Lloseta, a bare, brown village, standing on the hillside, as if it had +economically crept up there among the pines, so as to leave available +for cultivation every inch of the wonderful soil of the plain. Below, +the vast fertile plateau, tilled like a garden, lies to the westward, +while to the east the rising undulations terminate in the bare uplands +of Inca. Olive-trees cover the plain like an army, trees that were +planted by the Moors a thousand years ago. + +Amid the rugged heights of the mountains, here at their highest, and in +the fastness of a gorge, lies Lloseta itself. + +From the heights above a subtle invigorating odour of marjoram, +rosemary, lavender, growing wild like heather, comes down to mingle +with the more languid breath of tropic plant and flower. + +Such is Lloseta--a home to live for, to die for, to dream of when away +from it. As a man is dreaming of it now, just across that hundred +miles of smooth sea, on the end of the Muelle de Ponente at Barcelona. + +He is always dreaming of it--in Spain, where he is a Spaniard--in +England, where he might be an Englishman. It is not every one of us +who has a home from whence his name is derived, who signs his letters +with a word that is marked upon the map. + +Such is Cipriani of that name, who has now left the Rambla and is +wandering along the deserted pier. + +The steamer has loosed its moorings, is slowly picking its way out of +the crowded harbour, and it will pass the pier-head by the time that +Cipriani de Lloseta reaches that point. + +The man walks slowly, cloaked to the mouth, for the evening breeze is +chilly. He gravely descends the steps and begins to walk on the little +path around the circular tower at the end of the pier. He usually +stands at the very end, so as to be as near to Majorca as possible, one +might almost think. + +He gravely walks on, and quite suddenly he comes upon a youthful Briton +smoking a cigar and dangling a thick stick. + +"Ah!" the two men exclaim. + +"What are you doing in Barcelona?" asks the Spaniard. + +"The devil only knows, my dear man. I don't." + +"I hope he had nothing to do with your coming here--idle hands, you +know." + +The Englishman sat gravely down on a small granite column and reflected. + +"No," he answered after a pause, "it was not that. I left England +because I wanted to get away from--Well, from an old woman who wants me +to marry her daughter. I went to Monte Carlo, and, if you don't mind +my saying so, I'm hanged if she didn't follow me, bringing the poor +girl with her." + +The Spaniard smiled gravely. + +"A willing victim!" + +"No, Lloseta, you're wrong there. That's the beastly part of it. That +girl, sir, was actually shivering with fright one night when the old +woman managed to leave us on the terrace together. Some one else, you +know!" + +The dark eyes looking across towards Majorca were not pleasant to +contemplate. + +"However," pursued the ingenuous parti, "I spoke to her as one might +have done to another chap, you know. I said, 'You're frightened of +something.' She didn't answer. 'You're afraid that I'm going to ask +you to marry me.' 'Yes,' she answered. 'Well, I'm not. I'm not such +a cad.' And after that we got on all right. She would have told who +it was if I had let her. Two days later I sloped off here. Spain +choked her off--the old lady, I mean." + +Lloseta laughed, and the young man began to think that he had said +something rude. + +"She did not know what a nice place it is," he added, with a +transparency which did no harm. "Yes, you're right. The devil had +something to do with my coming here. Match-making old women are the +devil." + +He paused and attended to his cigar. The steamer passed within a +hundred yards of them. + +The Englishman nodded towards it. + +"Steamer's going to Majorca," he said. + +Lloseta nodded his head. + +"Yes," he answered gravely, "I know." + +"I came down to see it off!" + +The Spaniard looked at him sharply. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"I know an old chap on board--going across to fetch an English girl, a +Miss Challoner. Her father's dead." + +Lloseta said nothing. Presently he turned to go, and as they walked +back together he arranged to send a carriage for the Englishman and his +luggage to bring him to the big house in the Street of the Peace, which +he explained with a shadowy smile was more comfortable than the hotel. + +"So," he said to himself, as he walked towards his vast home alone, "so +the Caballero Challoner is dead. They are passing off the stage one by +one." + + + +CHAPTER V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE. + + A home where exiled angels might forbear + Awhile to moan for paradise. + +There is a valley far up in the mountains behind the ancient city of +Palma--the Val d'Erraha. Some thousand years ago the Arabs found this +place. After toils and labours, and many battles by sea and land, a +roaming sheikh settled here, calling it El Rahah--the Repose. + +He dug a well--for where the Moor has been there is always sparkling +water--he planted olive trees, and he built a mill. The well is there +to-day; the olive trees, old and huge and gnarled as are no other olive +trees on the earth, yield their yearly crop unceasingly; the mill +grinds the Spaniard's corn to-day. + +In the Val d'Erraha there stands a house--a rambling, ungainly Farm, as +such are called in Majorca. It runs off at strange angles, presenting +a broken face to all points of the compass. From a distance it rather +resembles a village, for the belfry of the little chapel is visible and +the buildings seem to be broken up and divided. On closer inspection +it is found to be self-contained, and a nearer approach discloses the +fact that it presents to the world four solid walls, and that it is +only to be entered by an arched gateway. + +In the centre of the open patio stands the Moorish well, surrounded, +overhung by orange trees. This house could resist a siege--indeed, it +was built for that purpose; for the Moorish pirates made raids on the +island almost within the memory of living persons. + +Such is the Casa d'Erraha--the House of Repose. It stands with its +back to the pine slopes, looking peacefully down the valley, over +terraces where grow the orange, the almond, the fig, the lemon, the +olive; and far below, where the water trickles, the feathery bamboo. + +The city of Palma is but a few miles away, in its strong +thirteenth-century restriction within high ramparts. It has its +cathedral, its court-house--all the orthodox requirements of a city, +and, moreover, it is the capital of the whilom kingdom of Majorca. +King Jaime is dead and gone. Majorca, after many vicissitudes, has +settled down into an obscure possession of Spain; and to the old-world +ways of that country it has taken very kindly. + +But with the unwritten history of Majorca we have little to do, and we +have much with the Casa d'Erraha and the owner thereof--a plain +Englishman of the name of Challoner--the last of his line, the third of +his race, to own the Casa d'Erraha. + +Edward Challoner lay on his bed in the large room overlooking the +valley and the distant sea. In the House of Repose he lay awaiting the +call to a longer rest than earthly weariness can secure. The grave old +Padre of the neighbouring village of St. Pablo stood near the bed. Eve +Challoner had sent for him, with the instinct that makes us wish to be +seen off on a long journey by a good man, of whatsoever creed or +calling. + +At times the old priest gently patted the hand of Eve Challoner as she +stood by his side. + +Climate and country and habit have a greater influence over the human +frame than we ever realise. Eve Challoner had been subject to these +subtle influences to a rare extent. Tall and upright, clad in black, +as all Spanish ladies are, she was English and yet Spanish. Of a clear +white, her skin was touched slightly by the sun and the warm air which +blows ever from the sea, blow which way it may across the little island. + +Romance tells of Andalusian beauty, of Catalonian grace--and in sober +British earnest (a solid thing) there are few more beautiful women than +high-born Spanish ladies. Eve Challoner had caught something--some +trick of the head--which belongs to Spain alone. Her eyes had a certain +northern vivacity of glance, a small something which is noticeable +enough in Southern Europe, though we should hardly observe it in +England, for it means education. In the matter of learning, be it +noted in passing, the ladies of the Peninsula are not so very far above +their duskier sisters of the harem farther east. + +The girl's eyes were dull now, with a sort of surprised anguish, for +sorrow had come to her before its time. The man lying on the bed +before her had not reached the limit of his years. Quite suddenly, +twelve hours before, he had complained of a numb feeling in his head, +and the voice he spoke in was thick and strange. In a surprisingly +short time Edward Challoner was no longer himself--no longer the +cynical, polished gentleman of the world--but a hard-breathing, inert +deformity, hardly human. From that time to this he had never spoken, +and Heaven knew there was enough for him to say. Death had caught him +unawares as, after all, he generally does catch us. There were several +things to set in order as usual; for it is only in books and on the +stage that folks make a graceful exit, clearing up the little mystery, +forgiving the wrongs, boasting with feeble voice of the good they have +done--with lowering tone and soft music slowly working together to the +prompter's bell. It is not in real life that dying men find much time +to prattle about their own souls. They usually want all their breath +for those they leave behind. And who knows! Perhaps those waiting on +the other side think no worse of the man who dies fearing for others +and not for himself. + +In Edward Challoner's paralysed brain there was a great wish to speak +to his daughter, but the words would not come. He looked at those +around him with a dreary indistinctness as from a distance, almost as +if he had begun his long journey and was looking back from afar. + +And so the afternoon wore on to the short southern twilight, and the +goat-bells came tinkling up from the valley--for nature must have her +way though men may die, and milking-time rules through all the changes. + +While the light failed over the land two men were riding through it as +fast as horse could lay hoof to the ground. They were on the small +road running from the Soller highway up to the Val d'Erraha, and he who +led the way seemed to know every inch of it. This was Henry FitzHenry, +and his companion, ill at ease in a Spanish saddle, was the doctor of +Her Majesty's gunboat Kittiwake. + +Four months earlier, by one of those chances which seem no chance when +we look back to them, the Kittiwake had broken down on leaving the +anchorage of Port Mahon. Towed back by a consort, she had been there +ever since, awaiting some necessary pieces of machinery to be made in +England and sent out to her. Hearing by chance that the navigating +lieutenant of the Kittiwake was Henry FitzHenry--usually known as +Fitz--Mr. Challoner had written to Minorca from the larger island, +introducing himself as the Honourable Mrs. Harrington's cousin, and +offering what poor hospitality the Val d'Erraha had to dispense. + +In a little island there is not very much to talk about, and the +gossips of Majorca had soon laid hold of Fitz. They said that the +English senorita up at the Casa d'Erraha had found a lover, and a fine, +handsome one at that; else, they opined, why should this English sailor +thrash his boat through any weather from Cuidadela in Minorca to Soller +in Majorca, riding subsequently from that small and lovely town over +the roughest country in the island to the Valley of Repose as if the +devil were at his heels. That was only their way of saying it, for +they knew as well as any of us that love in front can make us move more +quickly than ever the devil from behind. + +At Alcudia they watched his boat labour through the evil seas. The +wind was never too boisterous for him, the waves never too high. + +"It is," they said, "the English mariner from Mahon going to see the +Senorita Challoner. Ah! but he has a firm hand." + +And they smiled dreamily with their deep eyes, as knowing the malady +themselves. + +This time there had been two figures clad in black oilskins in the +stern of the long white boat. Two horses had been ordered by cable to +be ready at Soller instead of one. For Eve Challoner had telegraphed +to her countrymen at Port Mahon when this strange and horrid numbness +seized her father. + +The sun was setting behind the distant line of the sea when Fitz and +his companion urged their tired horses up the last slope to the Casa +d'Erraha. Within the gateway Mrs. Baines, the only English servant in +this English house, was awaiting them. She curtsied in an +old-fashioned way to the doctor, who had not seen an Englishwoman's +face for two years and more, and asked him to follow her. Fitz did not +offer to accompany them--indeed, he made it quite obvious that he did +not want to do so. Two of the vague attendants who are always to be +found in their numbers about the doorway and stableyard of a Spanish +country-house took the horses, and Fitz wandered round the patio to the +southern door which led to the terrace. + +There was not very much change in Henry FitzHenry since we saw him in +Mrs. Harrington's drawing-room six years earlier. The promise of the +boy had been fulfilled by the man, and here was a quiet Englishman, +chiefly remarkable for a certain directness of purpose which was his, +and seemed to pervade his being. Here was one who had commanded +men--who had directed skilled labour for the six impressionable years +of his life. And he who directs skilled labour is apt to differ in +manner, in thought and habit, from him whose commands are obeyed +mechanically. + +The naval officer is a man of detail--he tells others to do that which +they know he can do better himself. + +They said on board the Kittiwake, which was a small ship, that +Fitz,--"old" Fitz, they used to call him--was too big for a seafaring +life. In height, he was nearly six feet--six feet of spare muscle and +bone--such a man as one sees on the north-east coast of England, the +east coast of Scotland, or the west coast of Norway--anywhere, in fact, +where the Vikings passed. + +The deep blue eyes had acquired a certain quiet which had been absent +in the boyish face--the quiet that comes of a burden on the heart; of +the certain knowledge that the burden can never be removed. Luke's +life was not the only one that had been spoiled by an examination +paper. Examination papers have spoilt more lives than they have +benefited. A twin brother is something more than a brother, and Fitz +went through life as if one side of him was suffering a dull, aching +pain. The face of this man walking alone on the terrace of the House +of Repose was not happy. Perhaps it was too strong for complete +happiness--some men are so, and others are too wise. This was the +face, not of a very wise or a brilliant man, but of one who was strong +and simple--something in the nature of a granite rock. Sandstone is +more easily shaped into a thing of beauty, but it is also the sandstone +that is worn by weather, while a deep mark cut on granite stays there +till the end. + +Fitz had no intention of going upstairs. He was not a man to take the +initiative in social matters. His instinct told him that if Eve wanted +him she would send for him. She had cabled to him to bring the doctor. +He had brought the doctor, and now he went out on the terrace to "stand +by," as he put it to himself, for further orders. If, as the gossips +averred, he was the Senorita's lover, he deemed it wiser to relinquish +that position just now. + +As a matter of fact, however, no word of love had passed between them. + +Fitz was standing by the low wall of the terrace looking down into the +hazy, dim depths of the valley, when the further orders which he +awaited came to him. + +Hearing a light step on the pavement behind him, he turned, and faced +Eve, who was running towards him. + +"Will you come upstairs?" she said. "I think he wants to see you." + +"Certainly," he answered. + +She had hurried out, but they walked back rather slowly. Nevertheless, +they did not seem to have anything to say to each other. + +When they entered the room upstairs together, a faint little smile full +of wisdom hovered for a second round the old priest's clean-shaven lips. + +The dying man had evidently wanted something or some one. The old +priest knew human nature, hence the little shadowy smile called up by +Eve's transparently partial interpretation of her father's desire. + +Edward Challoner looked at him, but did not appear to recognise his +face. It seemed that he had left the earth so far behind now that the +faces of those walking on it were no longer distinguishable. + +He gave a little half-pettish groan, and a stillness came over the room. + +The old padre and the doctor, who did not know a word of any common +language, exchanged a glance, and in a very business-like way, as of +one whose trade it was, the priest got down upon his knees. Then the +doctor, half-shyly, approached Eve, and taking her by the arm, led her +gently out of the room. + +Fitz stayed where he was, standing by the dead man, looking down at the +priest's bowed head, while the bell of the little chapel attached to +the Casa d'Erraha told the valley that a good man had gone to his rest. + + + +CHAPTER VI. AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE. + + We pass; the path that each man trod + Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds. + +The priest was the first to speak. + +"You are his friend, I also; but we are of different nations." + +He paused, drawing the sheet up over the dead man's face. + +"He was not of my Church. You have your ways; will you make the +arrangements?" + +"Yes," replied Fitz simply, "if you like." + +"It is better so, my son"--the padre took a pinch of +snuff--"because--he was not of my Church. You will stay here, you and +your friend. She, the Senorita Eve, cannot be left alone, with her +grief." + +He spoke Spanish, knowing that the Englishman understood it. + +They drew down the blinds and passed out on to the terrace, where they +walked slowly backwards and forwards, talking over the future of Eve +and of the Casa d'Erraha. + +In Spain, as in other southern lands, they speed the parting guest. Two +days later Edward Challoner was laid beside his father and grandfather +in the little churchyard in the valley below the Casa d'Erraha. And +who are we that we should say that his chance of reaching heaven was +diminished by the fact that part of the Roman Catholic burial service +was read over him by a Spanish priest? + +Fitz had telegraphed to Eve's only living relative, Captain Bontnor, +and Fitz it was who stayed on at the Casa d'Erraha until that mariner +should arrive; for the doctor was compelled to return to his ship at +Port Mahon, and the priest never slept in another but his own little +vicarage house. + +And in the Casa d'Erraha was enacted at this time one of those strange +little comedies that will force themselves upon a tragic stage. Fitz +deemed it correct that he should avoid Eve as much as possible, and +Eve, on the other hand, feeling lonely and miserable, wanted the +society of the simple-minded young sailor. + +"Why do you always avoid me?" she asked suddenly on the evening after +the funeral. He had gone out on to the terrace, and thither she +followed him in innocent anger, without afterthought. She stood before +him with her slim white hands clasped together, resting against her +black dress, a sombre, slight young figure in the moonlight, looking at +him with reproachful eyes. + +He hesitated a second before answering her. She was only nineteen; she +had been born and brought up in the Valley of Repose amidst the simple +islanders. She knew nothing of the world and its ways. And Fitz, with +the burden of the unique situation suddenly thrust upon him, was, in +his chivalrous youthfulness, intensely anxious to avoid giving her +anything to look back to in after years when she should be a woman. He +was tenderly solicitous for the feelings which would come later, though +they were absent now. + +"Because," he answered, "I am not good at saying things. I don't know +how to tell you how sorry I am for you." + +She turned away and looked across to the hills at the other side of the +valley, a rugged outline against the sky. + +"But I know all that," she said softly, "without being told." + +A queer smile passed over his sunburnt face, as if she had +unintentionally and innocently made things more difficult for him. + +"And," she continued, "it is--oh, so lonely." + +She made an almost imperceptible little movement towards him. Like the +child that she was, she was yearning for sympathy and comfort. "I +know--I know," he said. + +Outward circumstance was rather against Fitz. A clear, odorous Spanish +night, the young moon rising behind the pines, a thousand dreamy tropic +scents filling the air. And Eve, half tearful, wholly lovable, +standing before him, innocently treading on dangerous ground, +guilelessly asking him to love her. + +She, having grown almost to womanhood, pure as the flowers of the +field, ignorant, a child, knew nothing of what she was doing. She +merely gave way to the instinct that was growing within her--the +instinct that made her turn to this man, claiming his strength, his +tenderness, his capability, as given to him for her use and for her +happiness. + +"You must not avoid me," she said. "Why do you do it? Have I done +anything you dislike? I have no one to speak to, no one who +understands, but you. There is the padre, of course--and nurse; but +they do not understand. They are--so OLD! Let me stay here with you +until it is time to go to bed, will you?" + +"Of course," he answered quietly. "If you care to. To-morrow I should +think we shall hear from your uncle. He may come by the boat sailing +from Barcelona to-morrow night. It will be a good thing if he does; +you see, I must get back to my ship." + +"You said she would not be ready for sea till next month." + +"No, but there is discipline to be thought of." + +He looked past her, up to the stars, with a scrutinising maritime eye, +recognising them and naming them to himself. He did not meet her +eyes--dangerous, tear-laden. + +"There is something the matter with you," she said. "You are +different. Yes, you want my uncle to come the day after to-morrow--you +want to go away to Mahon as soon as you can. I-- Oh, Fitz, I don't +want to be a coward!" + +She stood in front of him, clenching her little fists, forcing back the +tears that gleamed in the moonlight. He did not dare to cease his +astronomical observations. + +"I WON'T be a coward--if you will only speak. If you will tell me what +it is." + +Then Fitz told his first deliberate lie. + +"I have had bad news," he said, "about my brother Luke. I am awfully +anxious about him." + +He did it very well; for his motive was good. And we may take it that +such a lie as this is not writ very large in the Book. + +The girl paused for a little, and then deliberately wiped the tears +from her eyes. + +"How horribly selfish I have been!" she said. "Why did you not tell me +sooner? I have only been thinking of my own troubles ever since--ever +since poor papa-- I am a selfish wretch! I hate myself! Tell me about +your brother." + +And so they walked slowly up and down the moss-grown terrace--alone in +this wonderful tropic night--while he told her the little tragedy of +his life. He told the story simply, with characteristic gaps in the +sequence, which she was left to fill up from her imagination. + +"I shall not like Mrs. Harrington," said Eve, when the story was told. +"I am glad that she cannot come much into my life. My father wanted me +to go and stay with her last summer, but I would not leave him alone, +and for some reason he would not accept the invitation for himself. Do +you know, Fitz, I sometimes think there is a past--some mysterious +past--which contained my father and Mrs. Harrington and a man--the +Count de Lloseta." + +"I have seen him," put in Fitz, "at Mrs. Harrington's often." + +The girl nodded her head with a quaint little assumption of shrewdness +and deep suspicion. + +"My father admired him--I do not know why. And pitied him intensely--I +do not know why." + +"He was always very nice to me," answered Fitz, "but I never understood +him." + +Talking thus they forgot the flight of time. It sometimes happens thus +in youth. And the huge clock in the stable yard striking ten aroused +Eve suddenly to the lateness of the hour. + +"I must go," she said. "I am glad you told me about--Luke. I feel as +if I knew you better and understood--a little more. Good-night." + +She left him on the terrace, and walked sorrowfully away to the house +which could never be the same again. + +Fitz watched her slight young form disappear through an open doorway, +and then he became lost in the contemplation of the distant sea, lying +still and glass-like in the moonlight. He was looking to the north, +and it happened that from that same point of the compass there was +coming towards him the good steamer Bellver, on whose deck stood a +little shock-headed man--Captain Bontnor. + +There is a regular service of steamers to and from the Island of +Majorca to the mainland, and, in addition, steamers make voyages when +pressure of traffic may demand. The Bellver was making one of these +supplemental journeys, and her arrival was not looked for at Palma. + +Eve and Fitz were having breakfast alone in the gloomy room +overshadowed by the trailing wings of the Angel of Death, when the +servant announced a gentleman to see the senorita. The senorita +requested that the gentleman might approach, and presently there stood +in the doorway the quaintest little figure imaginable. + +Captain Bontnor, with a certain sense of the fitness of things, had put +on his best clothes for this occasion, and it happened that the most +superior garment in his wardrobe was a thick pilot-jacket, which stood +out from his square person with solid angularity. He had brushed his +hair very carefully, applying water to compass a smoothness which had +been his life-long and hitherto unattained aim. His shock hair--red +turning to grey--stood up four inches from his honest, wrinkled face. +It was unfortunate that his best garments should have been purchased +for the amenities of a northern climate. His trousers were as stiff as +his jacket, and he wore a decorous black silk tie as large as a +counterpane. + +He stood quaintly bowing in the doorway, his bright blue eyes veiled +with shyness and a pathetic dumb self-consciousness. + +"Please come in," said Eve in Spanish, quite at a loss as to who this +might be. + +Then Fitz had an inspiration. Something of the sea seemed to be wafted +from the older to the younger sailor. + +"Are you Captain Bontnor?" he asked, rising from the table. + +"Yes, sir, yes! That's my name!" + +He stood nervously in the doorway, mistrusting the parquet-floor, +mistrusting himself, mistrusting everything. + +Fitz went towards him holding out his hand, which the captain took +after a manfully repressed desire to wipe his own broad palm on the +seam of his trousers. + +"Then you are my uncle?" said Eve, coming forward. + +"Yes, miss, I'm afraid--that is--yes, I'm your uncle. You see--I'm +only a rough sort of fellow." + +He came a little nearer and held his arms apart, looking down at his +own person in humble deprecation. + +Eve was holding out her hand. He took it with a vague, deep-rooted +chivalry, and she, stooping, very deliberately kissed him. + +This seemed rather to bewilder the captain, for he shook hands again +with Fitz. + +"I--" he began, nodding into Fitz's face. "You are--eh? I didn't +expect--to see--I didn't know--" + +At that moment Eve saw. It came to her in a flash, as most things do +come to women. She even had time to doubt the story about Luke. + +"This," she said, with crimson cheeks, "is Mr. FitzHenry of the +Kittiwake. He kindly came to us in our trouble. You will have to +thank him afterwards--uncle." + +"And in the meantime I expect you want breakfast?" put in Fitz, +carefully avoiding Eve. + +"Yes," added the girl, "of course. Sit down. No, here!" + +"Thankye--thankye, miss--my dear, I mean. Oh, anything'll do for me. +A bit of bread and a cup o' tea. I had a bit and a sup on board before +she sheered alongside the quay." + +He looked round rather helplessly, wondering where he should put his +hat--a solid, flat-crowned British affair. Eve took it from him and +laid it aside. + +Captain Bontnor sat very stiffly down. His square form did not seem to +lose any of its height by the change of position, and with a stiff back +he looked admiringly round the room, waiting like a child at a school +treat. + +As the meal progressed he grew more at ease, telling them of the little +difficulties of his journey, avoiding with a tact not always found +inside a better coat all mention of the sad event which had caused him +to take this long journey after his travelling days were done. + +That which set him at ease more than all else was the fact, at length +fully grasped, that Fitz was, like himself, a sailor. Here at least +was a topic upon which he could converse with any man. General subjects +only were discussed, as if by tacit consent. No mention was made of +the future until this was somewhat rudely brought before their notice +by the announcement that a second visitor desired to see the senorita. + +With a more assured manner than that of his predecessor, a small, dark +man came into the room, throwing off his cloak and handing it to the +servant. He bowed ceremoniously and with true Spanish grace to Eve, +with less ceremony and more dignity to the two men. + +"I beg that your excellency will accept the sympathy of my deepest +heart," he said. "I regret to trouble you so soon after the great loss +sustained by your excellency, indeed, by the whole island of Majorca. +But it is a matter of business. Such things cannot be delayed. Have I +your excellency's permission to proceed?" + +"Certainly, senor." + +The man's clean-shaven face was like a mask. The expressions seemed to +come and go as if worked by machinery. Sympathy was turned off, and in +its place Polite-Attention-to-Business appeared. From under his arm he +drew a leather portfolio, which he placed upon the table. + +"The affairs of the late Cavalier Challoner were perhaps known to your +excellency?" + +"No; I knew nothing of my father's affairs." + +Sympathy seemed to be struggling behind "Polite-Attention-to-Business," +while for a moment a real look of distress flitted over the parchment +face. He paused for an instant, reflecting while he assorted his +papers. + +"I am," he said, "the lawyer of his excellency the Count de Lloseta." + +Eve and Fitz exchanged a glance, and as silence was kept the lawyer +went on. + +"Three generations ago," he said, "a Count de Lloseta, the grandfather +of this present excellency, made over on 'rotas' the estate and house +known as the Val d'Erraha to the grandfather of the late Cavalier +Challoner--a Captain Challoner, one of Admiral Byng's men." + +Again he paused, arranging his papers. + +"The Majorcan system 'rotas' is known to your excellency?" + +"No, senor." + +"On this system an estate is made over for one or two or three +generations by the proprietor to the lessee who farms or sublets the +land, and in lieu of rent hands over to the proprietor a certain +proportion of the crops. Does your excellency follow me?" + +Eve did not answer at once. Then the lawyer's meaning seemed to dawn +upon her. + +"Then," she said, "the Casa d'Erraha never belonged to my father?" + +"Never"--with a grave bow. + +"And I have nothing--nothing at all! I am penniless?" + +The lawyer looked from her to Fitz, who was standing beside her +listening to the conversation, but not offering to take part in it. + +"Unless your excellency has private means--in England, perhaps." + +"I do not know--I know nothing. And we must leave the Casa d'Erraha. +When, senor? Tell me when." + +The lawyer avoided her distressed eyes. + +"Well," he said slowly, "the law is rather summary. I--your excellency +understands I only do my duty. I am not the principal. I have no +authority whatever--except the law." + +"You mean that I must go at once?" + +The lawyer's parchment face was generously expressive of grief now. + +"Excellency, the lease terminated at the death of the late Caballero +Challoner." + +Eve stood for a moment, breathing hard. Fate seemed suddenly to have +turned against her at every point. At this moment Captain Bontnor made +bold--one could see him doing it--to take her hand. + +"My dear," he said, "I don't quite understand what this foreign +gentleman and you are talkin' about. But if it's trouble, dear, if +it's trouble--just let me try." + + + +CHAPTER VII. IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE. + + Measure thy life by loss instead of gain, + Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth. + +"MY DEAR MISS CHALLONER,--I learn that you are in Barcelona, and at the +same time I find with some indignation that my lawyer in Mallorca, with +a deplorable excess of zeal, has been acting without my orders in +respect to the property of the Val d'Erraha. I hasten to place myself +and possessions at your disposition, and take the liberty of writing to +request an interview, instead of calling on you at your hotel, for +reasons which you will readily understand, knowing as you do the +gossiping ways of hotels. As an old friend of your father's, and one +who moved and lived in neighbourly intercourse with him before your +birth, and before the deplorable death of your mother, I now waive +ceremony, and beg that you and your uncle will come and take tea with +me this afternoon at my humble abode in the 'Calle de la Paz.'--Believe +me, dear Miss Challoner, yours very sincerely, + "CIPRIANI DE LLOSETA DE MALLORCA." + +Eve read this letter in her room in the Hotel of the Four Nations at +Barcelona. She had only been on the mainland twenty-four hours when it +was delivered to her by a servant of the Count's, who came to her +apartment and delivered it into her own hands, as is the custom of +Spanish servants. + +Eve Challoner had grown older during the last few days. She had been +brought face to face with life as it really is, and not as we dream it +in the dreams of youth. She was not surprised to receive this letter, +although she had no idea that the Count de Lloseta was in Spain. But +the varying emotions of the last week had, as it were, undermined the +confident hopefulness with which we look forward when we are young, and +sometimes when we are old, to the management of our own lives here +below. She was beginning to understand certain terms which she had +heard applied to human existence, and to which she had hitherto +attached no special meaning as relating to herself. More especially +did she understand at this time that life may be compared to a stream, +for she was vaguely conscious of drifting she knew not whither. + +Fitz had come suddenly into her life; Captain Bontnor had come into it; +and now this man, Cipriani de Lloseta, seemed to be asserting his right +to come into it too. And she did not know quite what to do with them +all. She had never, in the quiet, dreamy days of her youth, pictured a +life with any of these men in it, and the future was suddenly +tremendous, unfathomable. There were vast possibilities in it of +misery, of danger, of difficulty; and behind these a vague, new feeling +of a possible happiness far exceeding the happiness of her peaceful +childhood. + +Without consulting her uncle, who had gone out into the street to walk +backwards and forwards before the door, as he had walked backwards and +forwards on his deck for forty years, she sat down and accepted the +Count's informal invitation. She seemed to do it without reflection, +as if impelled thereto by something stronger than pro or con, as if +acknowledging the Spaniard's right to come into her life, bringing to +bear upon it an influence which she never attempted to fathom. + +Thus it came about that Eve and Captain Bontnor found themselves +awaiting their host in the massive, gloomy drawing-room of the Palace +in the Calle de la Paz at five o'clock that afternoon. + +Captain Bontnor had learnt a great deal during the last few days; among +other things he had learnt to love his niece with a simple, dog-like +devotion, which had a vein of pathos in it for those who see such +things. He placed himself well behind Eve, and looked around him with +a wondering awe. + +"I think, my dear," he said, "that it would have been better if you had +come alone. I--you know I am getting too old to learn manners +now--eh--he! he! Yes. Having been so long at sea, you know." + +"I think the sea teaches men manners, uncle," said Eve, with a little +smile which he did not understand. "At any rate," she went on, +touching his rough sleeve affectionately, "it teaches them something +that I like." + +"Does it, now? What, now? Tell me." + +"I do not know," answered the girl, as if speaking to herself, and at +this moment the door was opened. The man who came in was of medium +height, with a long, narrow face, and singularly patient eyes. + +"I should have known you," he said, approaching Eve, and holding out +his hand. "You do not remember your mother? I do, however. You are +like her--and she was a good woman. And this is Captain Bontnor--your +uncle." + +He shook hands with the old sailor without the faintest flicker of +surprise at his somewhat incongruous appearance. + +"I am glad," he said suavely, "to make Captain Bontnor's acquaintance." + +He turned to draw forward a chair, and the light from the high, barred +window falling full on his head, betrayed the fact that his hair, close +cut as an English soldier's, was touched and flecked with grey. His +lithe youthfulness of frame rather surprised Eve, who knew him to be a +contemporary of her father's. + +"It is very good of you to come," he went on in a low voice. "I took +the privilege of the elder generation, you see! Captain, pray take +that chair." + +He did the honours with a British ease of manner, strangely touched by +a Spanish dignity. + +"When I heard of your great bereavement," he said, turning to Eve with +a grave bow, "I ought perhaps to have gone to Mallorca at once to offer +you what poor assistance was in my power. But circumstances, over +which I had no control, prevented my doing so. My offer of help is +tardy, I know, but it is none the less sincere." + +"Thank you," replied Eve, conscious of a feeling of pleasant reliance +in this new-found ally. "But I have good friends--the Padre Fortis, my +uncle, and--a friend of ours, Mr. FitzHenry." + +"Of the Kittiwake--at Mahon?" + +"Yes." + +"I have the pleasure of knowing Mr. FitzHenry," murmured the Count. +"Now," he said, with a sudden smile which took her by surprise by +reason of the alteration it made in the whole man, "will you do me a +great favour?" + +"I should like to," answered Eve, with some hesitation. + +"And you?" said the Count, turning to Captain Bontnor. + +"Oh yes," replied that sailor bluntly, "if it's possible." + +"I want you," continued the Count de Lloseta, "to forget that this is +the first time we meet, and to look upon me as a friend--one of the +most intimate--of your father." + +"My father," said the girl, "always spoke of you as such." + +"Indeed, I am glad of that. Now, tell me, who have you in the world +besides Captain Bontnor?" + +"I have no one. But--" + +"We was thinking," put in the Captain, in ungrammatical haste, "that +Eve would come and live with me. It isn't a grand house--just a little +cottage. But such as it is, she'll have a kindly welcome." + +"And, I have no doubt, a happy home", added the Count, with one of his +dark smiles. "I was merely wondering whether Miss Challoner intended +to live in the Casa d'Erraha or to let it?"' + +Eve looked up in surprise, and Captain Bontnor's blue eyes wandered +from her face to the dark and courteous countenance of Cipriani de +Lloseta. + +"Perhaps," continued the Spaniard imperturbably, "you have not yet made +up your mind on the subject." + +"But the Casa d'Erraha does not belong to me," said Eve, and Captain +Bontnor wagged his head in confirmation. "Your own lawyer explained to +me that my father only held it on 'rotas.'" + +"My own lawyer, my dear young lady, thereby proved himself an ass." + +"But," said Eve, somewhat mystified, "the Val d'Erraha belongs to you, +and you must know it. I have no title-deeds--I have nothing." + +"Except possession, which is nine points of the law. Will you take +tea, and cream? I do not know how many points the law has, but one +would naturally conclude that nine is a large proportion of the whole." + +While he spoke he was pouring out the tea. He handed a cup to her with +a grave smile, as if the matter under discussion were one of a small +and passing importance. + +"I suppose," he added, "you have learnt to love the Casa d'Erraha. It +is a place--a place one might easily become attached to. Do you +know"--he turned his back to her, busying himself with the silver +teapot--"Lloseta?" he added jerkily. + +"Yes. My father and I used to go there very often." + +"Ah--" He waited--handing Captain Bontnor a cup of tea in silence. But +Eve was not thinking of Lloseta; she was thinking of the Casa d'Erraha. + +"My father did not speak to me of his affairs," she said. "He was +naturally rather reserved, and--and it was very sudden." + +"Yes. So I learnt. That indeed is my excuse for intruding myself upon +your notice at this time. I surmised that my poor friend's affairs had +been left in some confusion. He was too thorough a gentleman to be +competent in affairs. I thought that perhaps my small influence and my +diminutive knowledge of Majorcan law--the Roman law, in point of +fact--might be of some use to you." + +"Thank you," she answered; "I think we settled everything before we +left the island, although we did not see Senor Pena, your lawyer. +I--the Casa d'Erraha belongs to you!" she added, suddenly descending to +feminine reiteration. + +"Prove it," said the Count quietly. + +"I cannot do that." + +He shrugged his shoulders with a smile. + +"Then," he said, "I am afraid you cannot shift your responsibility to +my shoulders." + +The girl looked at him with puzzled young eyes. He stood before her, +dignified, eminently worthy of the great name he bore--a solitary, +dark-eyed, inscrutable man, whose whole being subtly suggested +hopelessness and an empty life. She shook her head. + +"But I cannot accept the Casa d'Erraha on those terms." + +The Count drew forward a chair and sat down. + +"Listen," he said, with an explanatory forefinger upheld. "Three +generations ago two men made a verbal agreement in respect to the +estate of the Val d'Erraha. To-day no one knows what that agreement +was. It may have been the ordinary 'rotas' of Minorca. It may not. In +those days the English held Minorca; my ancestor may therefore have +been indebted to your great-grandfather, for we have some small estates +in Minorca. You know what the islands are to-day. They are two +hundred years behind Northern Europe. What must they have been a +hundred and twenty years ago? We have no means of finding out what +passed between your great-grandfather and my grandfather. We only know +that three generations of Challoners have lived in the Casa d'Erraha, +paying to the Counts of Lloseta a certain proportion of the product of +the estate. I do not mind telling you that the smallness of that +proportion does away with the argument that the agreement was the +ordinary 'rotas' of the Baleares. We know nothing--we can prove +nothing. If you claimed the estate I might possibly wrest it from +you--not by proof, but merely because the insular prejudice against a +foreigner would militate against you in a Majorcan court of law. I +cannot legally force you to hold the estate of the Val d'Erraha. I can +only ask you as the daughter of one of my best friends to accept the +benefit of a very small doubt." + +Eve hesitated. What woman would not? + +Captain Bontnor set down his cup very gravely on the table. + +"I don't rightly understand," he said sturdily, "this 'rotas' business. +But it seems to me pretty plain that the estate never belonged to my +late brother-in-law. Now what I say is, if the place belongs by right +to Miss Challoner she'll take it. If it don't; well, then it don't, +and she can't accept it as a present from anybody. Much obliged to you +all the same." + +The Count laughed pleasantly. + +"My dear sir, it is not a present." + +The Captain stuffed his hands very deeply into his pockets. + +"Then it's worse--it's charity. And she has no need of that. Thank ye +all the same," he replied. + +He stared straight in front of him with a vague and rather painful +suggestion of incapability that sometimes came over him. He was +wondering whether he was doing right in this matter. + +"If," he added, half to himself, as a sort of afterthought on the +crying question of ways and means--"if it comes to that, I can go to +sea again. There's plenty would be ready to give me a ship." + +The Count was still smiling. + +"There is no question," he said, "of charity. What has Miss Challoner +done that I should offer her that? I am in ignorance as to her +affairs. I do not know the extent of her income." + +"As far as we can make out," said Eve gently, "there is nothing. But I +can work. I thought that my knowledge of Spanish might enable me to +make a living." + +"No," said Captain Bontnor, "I'm d--- I mean I should not like you to +go governessing, my dear." + +The Count was apparently reflecting. + +"I have a compromise to propose," he said, addressing himself to Eve. +"If we place the property in the hands of a third person--you know the +value of land in Majorca--to farm and tend; if at the end of each year +the profits be divided between us?" + +But Eve's suspicions were aroused, and her woman's instinct took her +further than did Captain Bontnor's sturdy sense of right and wrong. + +"I am afraid," she said, rising from her chair, "that I must refuse. +I--I think I understand why papa always spoke of you as he did. I am +very grateful to you. I know now that you have been trying to give me +D'Erraha. It was a generous thing to do--a most generous thing. I +think people would hardly believe me if I told them. I can only thank +you; for I have no possible means of proving to you how deeply I feel +it. Somehow"--she paused, with tears and a sad little smile in her +eyes--"somehow it is not the gift that I appreciate so much as--as your +way of trying to give it." + +The Spaniard spread out his two hands in deprecation. + +"My child," he murmured gently, "I have not another word to say." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE DEAL. + + Oh, the little more, and how much it is! + And the little less, and what worlds away! + +A howling gale of wind from the south-east, and driving snow and +darkness. The light of Cap Grisnez struggling out over the blackness +of the Channel, and the two Foreland lights twinkling feebly from their +snow-clad heights. A night to turn in one's bed with a sleepy word of +thanksgiving that one has a bed to turn in, and no pressing need to +turn out of it. + +The smaller fry of Channel shipping have crept into Dungeness or the +Downs. Some of them have gone to the bottom. Two of them are breaking +up on the Goodwins. + +The Croonah Indian liner is pounding into it all, with white decks and +whistling shrouds. The passengers are below in their berths. Some of +them--and not only the ladies--are sending up little shamefaced +supplications to One who watches over the traveller in all places and +at all times. + +And on the bridge of the Croonah a man all eyes and stern resolve and +maritime instinct. A man clad in his thickest clothes, and over all of +them his black oilskins. A man with three hundred lives depending upon +his keen eyes, his knowledge, and his judgment. A man whose name is +Luke FitzHenry. + +The captain has gone below for a few minutes to thaw, leaving the ship +to FitzHenry. He does it with an easy conscience--as easy, that is, as +the maritime conscience can well be in a gale of wind, with the +Foreland lights ahead and infinite possibilities all around. The +captain drinks his whisky and hot water with a certain slow +appreciation of the merits of that reprehensible solution, and glances +at the aneroid barometer on the bulkhead of his cabin. + +Overhead, on the spidery bridge, far up in the howling night, Luke +FitzHenry, returning from the enervating tropics, stares sternly into +the night, heedless of the elemental warfare. For Luke FitzHenry has a +grudge against the world, and people who have that take a certain +pleasure in evil weather. + +"The finest sailor that ever stepped," reflects the captain of his +second officer--and he no mean mariner himself. + +The Croonah had groped her way up Channel through a snowstorm of three +days' duration, and the brunt of it had fallen by right of seniority on +the captain and his second officer. Luke FitzHenry was indefatigable, +and, better still, he was without enthusiasm. Here was the steady, +unflinching combativeness which alone can master the elements. Here +was the true genius of the sea. + +With his craft at his fingers' ends, Luke had that instinct of +navigation by which some men seem to find their way upon the trackless +waters. There are sailors who are no navigators just as there are +hunting men who cannot ride. There are navigators who will steer you +from London to Petersburg without taking a sight, from the Thames to +the Suez Canal without looking at their sextant. Such a sailor as this +was Luke FitzHenry. Perfectly trained, he assimilated each item of +experience with an insatiable greed for knowledge--and it was all +maritime knowledge. He was a sailor and nothing else. But it is +already something--as they say in France--to be a good sailor. + +Luke FitzHenry was a man of middle height, sturdy, with broad shoulders +and a slow step. His clean-shaven face was a long oval, with +pessimistic, brooding eyes--eyes that saw everything except the small +modicum of good which is in all human things, and to this they were +persistently blind. Taking into consideration the small, set mouth, it +was eminently a pugnacious face--a face that might easily degenerate to +the coarseness of passion in the trough of a losing fight. But, +fortunately, Luke's lines were cast upon the great waters, and he who +fights the sea must learn to conquer, not by passionate effort, but by +consistent, cool resolve. Those who worked with him feared him, and in +so doing learnt the habit of his ways. The steersman, with one eye on +the binnacle, knew always where to find him with the other; for Luke +hardly moved during his entire watch on deck. He took his station at +the starboard end of the narrow bridge when he came on duty, and from +that spot he rarely moved. These little things betray a man, if one +only has the patience to piece them together. + +Those who go down to the sea in ships, and even those who take their +pleasure on the great water, know the relative merits of the man who +goes to his post and stays there, and of him who is all over the ship +and restless. + +Luke was standing now like a statue--black and gleaming amid the +universal grey of the winter night, and his deep eyes, cat-like, +pierced the surrounding gloom. + +Here was a man militant. A man who must needs be fighting something, +and Fate, with unusual foresight, had placed him in a position to fight +Nature. Luke FitzHenry rather revelled in a night such as this--the +gloom, the horror, and the patent danger of it suited his morose, +combative nature. He loved danger and difficulty with the subtle form +of love which a fighting man experiences for a relentless foe. + +From light to light he pushed his intrepid way through the darkness and +the bewildering intricacies of the Downs, and in due time, in the full +sunlight of the next day, the Croonah sidled alongside the quay in the +Tilbury Dock. The passengers, with their new lives before them, +stumbled ashore, already forgetting the men who, smoke-begrimed and +weary, had carried these lives within their hands during the last month +or more. They crowded down the gangway and left Luke to go to his +cabin. + +There were two letters lying on the little table. One from Fitz at +Mahon, the other in a handwriting which Luke had almost forgotten. He +turned it over with the subtle smile of a man who has a grudge against +women. But he opened it before the other. + +"DEAR LUKE,--I am glad to hear from Fitz that you are making your way +in the Merchant Service. He tells me that your steamer, the Croonah, +has quite a reputation on the Indian route, and your fellow-officers +are all gentlemen. I shall be pleased to see you to dinner the first +evening you have at your disposal. I dine at seven-thirty.--Believe +me, yours very truly, MARIAN HARRINGTON. + +"P.S.--I shall deem it a favour if you will come in dress clothes, as I +have visitors." + +And, strange to say, it was the feminine stab in the postscript that +settled the matter. Luke sat down and wrote out a telegram at once, +accepting Mrs. Harrington's invitation for the same evening. + +When he rang the bell of the great house in Grosvenor Gardens at +precisely half-past seven that evening, he was conscious of a certain +sense of elation. He was quite sure of himself. + +He thought that the large drawing-room was empty when the butler +ushered him into it, and some seconds elapsed before he discerned the +form of a young lady in a deep chair near the fire. + +The girl turned her head and rose from the chair with a smile and a +certain grace of manner which seemed in some indefinite way to have +been put on with her evening dress. For a moment Luke gazed at her, +taken aback. Then he bowed gravely, and she burst into a merry laugh. + +"How funny!" she cried. "You do not know me?" + +"No-o-o," he answered, searching his mind. For he was a passenger +sailor, and many men and women crossed his path during the year. + +She came forward with a coquettish little laugh and placed herself +beneath the gas, inviting his inspection, sure of herself, confident in +her dressmaker. + +She was small and very upright, with a peculiarly confident carriage of +the head, which might indicate determination or, possibly, a mere +resolution to get her money's worth. Her hair, perfectly dressed, was +of the colour of a slow-worm. She called it fair. Her enemies said it +reminded them of snakes. Her eyes were of a darker shade of ashen +grey, verging on hazel. Her mouth was mobile, with thin lips and an +expressive corner--the left-hand corner--and at this moment it +suggested pert inquiry. Some people thought she had an expressive +face, but then some people are singularly superficial in their mode of +observation. There was really no power of expressing any feeling in +the small, delicately cut face. It all lay in the mouth, in the +left-hand corner thereof. + +"Well?" she said, and Luke's wonder gradually faded into admiration. + +"I give it up," he answered. + +She shrugged her shoulders in pretended disgust. + +"You are not polite," she said, with a glance at his stalwart person +which might have indicated that there were atoning merits. "I must say +you are not polite, Luke. I do not think I will tell you. It would be +still more humiliating to learn that you have forgotten my existence." + +"You cannot be Agatha!" he exclaimed. + +"Can I not? It happens that I AM Agatha Ingham-Baker--at your service!" + +She swept him a low curtsey and sailed away to the mantelpiece, thereby +giving him the benefit of the exquisite fit of her dress. She stood +with one arm on the mantel-shelf, looking back at him over her +shoulder, summing him up with a little introspective nod. + +"I should like to know why I cannot be Agatha," she asked, with that +keen feminine scent for a personality which leads to the uttering of so +much nonsense, and the brewing of so much mischief. + +"I never thought--" he began. + +"Yes?" + +He laughed and refused to go any farther, although she certainly made +the way easy for him. + +"In fact," she said mockingly, "you are disappointed. You never +expected me to turn out such a horrid--" + +"You know it isn't that," he interrupted, with a flash of his gloomy +eyes. + +"Not now," she said quietly, glancing towards the door. "I hear Mrs. +Harrington coming downstairs. You can tell me afterwards." + +Luke turned on his heel and greeted Mrs. Harrington with quite a +pleasant smile, which did not belong to her by rights, but to the girl +behind him. + +Fitz had been away for two years. Mrs. Harrington in making overtures +of peace to Luke had been prompted by the one consistent motive of her +life, self-gratification. She was tired of the obsequious society of +persons like the Ingham-Bakers, whom she mentally set down as +parasites. There is a weariness of the flesh that comes to rich women +uncontrolled. They weary of their own power. Tyranny palls. Mrs. +Harrington was longing to be thwarted by some one stronger than +herself. The FitzHenrys even in their boyhood had, by their sturdy +independence, their simple, seamanlike self-assertion, touched some +chord in this lone woman's heart which would not vibrate to cringing +fingers. + +She had sent for Luke because Fitz was away. She wanted to be +thwarted. She would have liked to be bullied. And also there was that +subtle longing for the voice, the free gesture, the hearty manliness of +one whose home is on the sea. + +As Luke turned to greet her with the rare smile on his face he was +marvellously like Fitz. He was well dressed. There was not the +slightest doubt that this was a gentleman. Nay, more, he looked +distinguished. And above all, he carried himself like a sailor. So +the reconciliation was sudden and therefore complete. A reconciliation +to be complete must be sudden. It is too delicate a thing to bear +handling. + +Luke had come intending to curse. He began to feel like staying to +bless. He was quite genial and pleasant, greeting Mrs. Ingham-Baker as +an old friend, and thereby distinctly upsetting that lady's mental +equilibrium. She had endeavoured to prevent this meeting, because she +thought it was not fair to Fitz. She noted the approval with which +Mrs. Harrington's keen eyes rested on the young sailor, and endeavoured +somewhat obviously to draw Agatha's attention to it by frowns and +heavily significant nods, which her dutiful daughter ignored. + +Mrs. Harrington glanced impatiently at the clock. + +"That stupid Count is late," she said. + +"Is the Count de Lloseta coming?" asked Mrs. Ingham-Baker eagerly. + +From the strictly impartial standpoint of a mother she felt sure that +the Count admired Agatha. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Harrington, with a cynical smile. + +And Mrs. Ingham-Baker, heedless of the sarcasm, was already engaged in +an exhaustive examination of Agatha's dress. She crossed the room and +delicately rectified some microscopic disorder of the snake-like hair. +With a final glance up and down, she crossed her arms at her waist and +looked complacently towards the door. + +The Count came in, and failed to realise the hope that apparently +buoyed Mrs. Ingham-Baker's maternal heart. He did not strike an +attitude or cover his dazzled eyes when they rested on Agatha. He +merely came forward with his gravest smile and uttered the pleasant +fictions appropriate to the occasion. Mrs. Ingham-Baker was marked in +her gracious reception of the Spaniard, and the hostess watched her +effusions with a queer little smile. + +At dinner Mrs. Ingham-Baker was opposite to the Count, who seemed +preoccupied and somewhat absent-minded. Her attention was divided +between an anticipatory appreciation of Mrs. Harrington's cook and an +evident admiration for her own daughter. + +"Agatha was just saying," observed the stout lady between the candle +shades, "that we had not seen the Count de Lloseta for quite a long +time. Only yesterday, was it not, dear?" + +Agatha acquiesced. + +"The loss," answered the Count, "is mine. But it is more than made +good by the news that my small absence was noted. I have been abroad." + +Mrs. Harrington at the end of the table looked up sharply, and a few +drops of soup fell from her upraised spoon with a splash. + +"In Spain?" she asked. + +"In Spain." + + + +CHAPTER IX. CUT FOR PARTNERS. + + Beware equally of a sudden friend and a slow enemy. + +A wise man had said of Cipriani de Lloseta that had he not been a Count +he would have been a great musician. He had that singular facility +with any instrument which is sometimes given to musical persons in +recompense for voicelessness. The Count spoke like one who could sing, +but his throat was delicate, and so the world lost a great singer. Of +most instruments he spoke with a half-concealed contempt. But of the +violin he said nothing. He was not a man to turn the conversational +overflow upon self-evident facts. + +He invariably brought his violin to Grosvenor Gardens when Mrs. +Harrington invited him, in her commanding way, to dine. It amused Mrs. +Harrington to accompany his instrument on the piano. Her music was of +the accompanying order. It was heartless and correct. Some of us, by +the way, have friends of this same order, and, like Mrs. Harrington's +music, they are not in themselves either interesting or pleasant. + +The piano stood in the inner drawing-room, and thither the Count and +Mrs. Harrington repaired when the gentlemen had joined the ladies. In +the larger drawing-room Luke was fortunate enough to secure a seat near +to Agatha--quite near, and a long way from Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +digestively asleep in an armchair. + +He did not exactly know how this arrangement was accomplished--it +seemed to come. Possibly Agatha knew. + +Mrs. Harrington struck a keynote and began playing the prelude of a +piece well known to them both. + +"Why did you not tell me that you were going to Spain?" she asked +somewhat tersely, under cover of her own chords. + +"Had I known that it would interest you--" murmured De Lloseta, +tightening his bow. There was a singular gleam in his eye. The gleam +that one sees in the eye of a dog which has been thrashed, telling the +wise that one day the dog will turn. + +"I am always interested," said the grey lady slowly, "in Spain--and +even in Mallorca." + +She used the Spanish name of the island with the soft roll in the +throat that English people rarely acquire. He was prepared for it, +standing with raised bow, looking past her iron-grey head to the music. +She glanced back over her shoulder into his face with the cruel +cat-like love of torture that some people possess. Far away in the +distant wisdom of Providence it had been decreed that this woman should +have no child less clever than herself to tease into hopelessness. + +The Spaniard laid his magic bow to the strings, leaving her to follow. +He tucked the violin against his collar with a little caressing motion +of his chin, and in a few moments he seemed to forget all else than the +voice of the instrument. There are a few musicians who can give to a +violin the power of speech. They can make the instrument tell some +story--not a cheery tale, but rather like the story that dogs tell us +sometimes--a story which seems to have a sequence of its own, and to be +quite intelligible to its teller; but to us it is only comprehensible +in part, like a tale that is told dramatically in a tongue unknown. + +The Count stood up and played with no fine frenzy, no rolling eyes, no +swaying form; for such are the signs of a hopeless effort, hung out by +the man who has heard the story and tries in vain to tell it himself. + +Even Agatha was outdone, for Luke drifted off into absent-mindedness, +and after a little effort she left him to return at his own time. She +listened to the music herself, but it did not seem to touch her. For +sound ascends, and this was already above Agatha Ingham-Baker's head. +The piece over, Mrs. Harrington selected another. + +"You did not go across to Mallorca?" she inquired, in a voice that did +not reach the other room. "No," he answered, "I did not go across to +Mallorca." + +He stepped back a pace to move a chair which was too near to him, and +the movement made it impossible for her to continue the conversation +without raising her voice. She countered at once by rising and laying +the music aside. + +"I am too tired for more," she said. "You must ask Agatha to accompany +you. She plays beautifully. I have it from her mother!" + +Mrs. Harrington stood for a moment looking into the other room. Luke +and Agatha were talking together with some animation. + +"I have been very busy lately," she said conversationally. "Perhaps +you have failed to notice that I have had this room redecorated?" + +He looked round the apartments with a smile, which somehow conveyed a +colossal contempt. "Very charming," he said. + +"It was done by a good man and cost a round sum." She paused, looking +at him with a mocking glance. "In fact, I am rather in need of money. +My balance at the bank is not so large as I could wish." + +The Count's dark eyes rested on her face with the small gleam in their +depths which has already been noted. + +"I am not good at money matters," he said. "But, so far as I +recollect, you have already exceeded our--" + +"Possibly." + +"And, unless my memory plays me false, there was a distinct promise +that this should not occur again. Perhaps a lady's promise--" + +"Possibly." + +The Count contented himself with a derisive laugh beneath his breath, +and waited for her to speak again. This she did as she moved towards +the other room. + +"I think five hundred pounds would suffice--at present. Agatha," she +continued, raising her voice, "come and play the Count's accompaniment. +He finds fault with me to-night." + +"No. I only suggested a little piu lento! You take it too fast." + +"Ah! Well, I want to talk to Luke. Come, Agatha." + +"I tremble at the thought of my own temerity," said Miss Ingham-Baker, +as she seated herself on a music-stool with a great rustle of silks and +considerable play of her white arms. + +"Are you bold?" inquired the Count, with impenetrable suavity. + +"I am--to attempt your accompaniments. I expect to be found fault +with." + +"It will at all events be a novelty," he answered, setting the music in +order. + +The Spaniard opened the music-book and indicated the page. Agatha +dashed at it with characteristic confidence, and the voice of the +violin came singing softly into the melody. It was a better +performance than the last. Agatha's playing was much less correct, but +as she went on she forgot herself, and she put something into the +accompaniment which Mrs. Harrington had left out. It was not time, +neither was it a stricter attention to the composer's instructions. It +was only a possibility, after all. + +In the other room Mrs. Ingham-Baker slumbered still. Mrs. Harrington, +unmoved in her grey silk dress, was talking with her usual +incisiveness, and Luke was listening gravely. When the piece was done, +Mrs. Harrington said over her shoulder-- "Go on. You get on splendidly +together." + +And she returned to her conversation with Luke. + +The Count looked through his music. + +"How devoted she is to her nephews!" said Agatha, tapping the ivory +keyboard with a dainty finger. + +"Yes." + +"And apparently to both alike." + +There was a little flicker beneath the Count's lowered eyelids. + +"Apparently so," he answered, with assumed hesitation. + +Agatha continued playfully, tapping the ivory notes with her middle +finger--the others being gracefully curled. + +"You speak as if you doubted the impartiality." + +"I am happy to say I always doubt a woman's impartiality." + +She laughed and drew the stool nearer to the piano. It would have been +easier to drift away into the conversational channel of vague +generality which he opened up. He waited with some curiosity. + +"Do you think there is a preference?" she said, falling into his small +trap. + +"Ah! There you ask me something that is beyond my poor powers of +discrimination. Mrs. Harrington does not wear her feelings on her +sleeve. She is difficult." + +"Very," admitted Agatha, with a little sigh. + +"I am naturally interested in the FitzHenrys," she went on after a +little pause, with baffling frankness. "You see, we were children +together." + +"So I understand. I too am interested in them--merely because I like +them." + +"I am afraid," continued Agatha, tentatively turning the pages of the +music which he had set before her, speaking as if she was only half +thinking of what she was saying--"I am afraid that Mrs. Harrington is +the sort of person to do an injustice. She almost told my mother that +she intended to leave all her money to one of them." + +Again that little flicker of the Count's patient eyelids. + +"Indeed!" he said. "To which one?" + +Agatha shrugged her shoulders and began playing. "That is not so much +the question. It is the principle--the injustice--that one objects to." + +"Of course," murmured De Lloseta, with a little nod. "Of course." + +They went on playing, and in the other room Mrs. Harrington talked to +Luke. Mrs. Ingham-Baker appeared to slumber, but her friend and +hostess suspected her of listening. She therefore raised her voice at +intervals, knowing the exquisite torture of unsatisfied curiosity, and +Mrs. Ingham-Baker heard the word "Fitz," and the magic syllables +"money," more than once, but no connecting phrase to soothe her aching +mental palate. + +"And is your life a hard one?" Mrs. Harrington was asking. She had +been leading up to this question for some time--inviting his +confidence, seeking the extent of her own power. A woman is not +content with possessing power; she wishes to see the evidence of it in +the lives of others. + +"No," answered Luke, unconsciously disappointing her; "I cannot say +that it is." + +He was strictly, sternly on his guard. There was not the faintest +possibility of his ever forgiving this woman. + +"And you are getting on in your career?" + +"Yes, thank you." + +Mrs. Harrington's grey eyes rested on his face searchingly. + +"Perhaps I could help you," she said, "with my small influence, or--or +by other means." + +"Thank you," he said again without anger, serene in his complete +independence. + +Mrs. Harrington frowned. A dream passed through her mind--a great +desire. What if she could crush this man's pride? For his six years' +silence had never ceased to gall her. What if she could humble him so +completely that he would come asking the help she so carelessly offered? + +With a woman's instinct she hit upon the only possible means of +attaining this end. She did not pause to argue that a nature such as +Luke's would never ask anything for itself--that it is precisely such +as he who have no pride when they ask for another, sacrificing even +that for that other's sake. + +Following her own thoughts, Mrs. Harrington looked pensively into the +room where Agatha was sitting. The girl was playing, with a little +frown of concentration. The wonderful music close to her ear was busy +arousing that small possibility. Agatha did not know that any one was +looking at her. The two pink shades of the piano candles cast a +becoming light upon her face and form. + +Mrs. Harrington's eyes came surreptitiously round. Luke also was +looking at Agatha. And a queer little smile hovered across Mrs. +Harrington's lips. The dream was assuming more tangible proportions. +Mrs. Harrington began to see her way; already her inordinate love of +power was at work. She could not admit even to herself that Luke +FitzHenry had escaped her. Women never know when they have had enough. + +"How long are you to be in London?" she asked, with a sudden kindness. + +"Only a fortnight." + +"Well, you must often come and see me. I shall have the Ingham-Bakers +staying with me a few weeks longer. It is dull for poor Agatha with +only two old women in the house. Come to lunch to-morrow, and we can +do something in the afternoon." + +"Thank you very much," said Luke. + +"You will come?" + +"I should like nothing better." + +And so the music went on--and the game. Some played a losing game from +the beginning, and others played without quite knowing the stake. Some +held to certain rules, while others made the rules as they went +along--as children do--ignorant of the tears that must inevitably +follow. But Fate placed all the best cards in Mrs. Harrington's hand. + +Luke and the Count Cipriani de Lloseta went out of the house together. +They walked side by side for some yards while a watchful hansom +followed. + +"Can I give you a lift?" said De Lloseta at length. "I am going down +to the Peregrinator's." + +"Thanks, no. I shall go straight to my rooms. I have not had my +clothes off for three nights." + +"Ah, you sailors! I am going down to have my half-hour over a book to +compose my mind." + +"Do you read much?" + +De Lloseta called the cab with a jerk of his head. Before stepping +into it he looked keenly into his companion's face. + +"Yes, a good deal. I read somewhere, lately, that it is never wise to +accept favours from a woman; she will always have more than her money's +worth. Good-night." + +And he drove away. + + + +CHAPTER X. THE GAME OPENS. + + Ce qu'on dit a l'etre a qui on dit tout n'est pas la moitie de +ce qu'on lui cache. + +Agatha sent her maid to bed and sat down before her bedroom fire to +brush her hair. + +Miss Ingham-Baker had, only four years earlier, left a fashionable +South Coast boarding-school fully educated for the battle of life. +There seem to be two classes of young ladies' boarding-schools. In the +one they are educated with a view of faring well in this world, in the +other the teaching mostly bears upon matters connected with the next. +In the last-mentioned class of establishment the young people get up +early and have very little material food to eat. So Mrs. Ingham-Baker +wisely sent her daughter to the worldly school. This astute lady knew +that girls who get up very early to attend public worship in the dim +hours, and have poor meals during the day, do not as a rule make good +matches. They have no time to do their hair properly, and are not +urged so much thereto as to punctuality at compline, or whatever the +service may be. And it is thus that the little habits are acquired, +and the little habits make the woman, therefore the little habits make +the match. Quod erat demonstrandum. + +So Agatha was sent to a worldly school, where they promenaded in the +King's Road, and were taught at an early age to recognise the glance of +admiration when they saw it. They were brought up to desire nice +clothes, and to wear the same stylishly. On Sunday they wore bonnets, +and promenaded with additional enthusiasm. Their youthful backs were +straightened out by some process which the writer, not having been +educated at a girls' school, cannot be expected to detail. They were +given excellent meals at healthy hours, and the reprehensible habits of +the lark were treated with contumely. They were given to understand +that it was good to be smart always, and even smarter at church. +Religious fervour, if it ran to limpness of dress, or form, or mind, +was punishable according to law. A wholesome spirit of competition was +encouraged, not in the taking of many prizes, the attending of many +services, or the acquirement of much Euclid, but in dress, smartness, +and the accomplishments. + +"My girls always marry!" Miss Jones was wont to say with a complacent +smile, and mothers advertised it. + +Agatha had been an apt pupil. She came away from Miss Jones a finished +article. Miss Jones had indeed looked in vain for Agatha's name in +that right-hand column of the Morning Post where fashionable +arrangements are noted, and in the first column of the Times, where +further social events have precedence. But that was entirely Agatha's +fault. She came, and she saw, but she had not hitherto seen anything +worth conquering. So many of her school friends had married on the +impulse of the moment for mere sentimental reasons, remaining as awful +and harassed warnings in suburban retreats where rents are moderate and +the census on the flow. If there was one thing Miss Jones despised +more than love in a cottage, it was that intangible commodity in a +suburban villa. + +Agatha, in a word, meant to do well for herself, and she was dimly +grateful to her mother for having foreseen this situation and provided +for it by a suitable education. + +She was probably thinking over the matter while she brushed her hair, +for she was deeply absorbed. There was a knock at the door--a timid, +deprecatory knock. + +"Oh, come in!" cried Agatha. + +The door opened and disclosed Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, in +a ludicrous purple dressing-gown. + +"May I come and warm myself at your fire, dear?" she inquired humbly; +"my own is so low." + +"That," said Agatha, "is because you are afraid of the servants." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker closed the door and came towards the fire with +surreptitious steps. It would not be truthful to say that she came on +tiptoe, her build not warranting that mode of progression. Agatha +watched her without surprise. Mrs. Ingham-Baker always moved like that +in her dressing-gown. Like many ladies, she put on stealth with that +garment. + +"How beautifully the Count plays!" said the mother. + +"Beautifully!" answered Agatha. + +And neither was thinking of Cipriani de Lloseta. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker gave a little sigh, and contemplated her wool-work +bedroom slippers with an affection which their appearance certainly did +not warrant. There was a suggestion of bygone defeats in sigh and +attitude--defeats borne with the resignation that followeth on habit. + +"I don't believe," she said, "that he will ever marry again." + +The girl tossed her pretty head. + +"I shouldn't think any one would have him!" + +She was not of the campaigners who admit defeat. Mrs. Ingham-Baker +sighed again, and put out the other slipper. + +"He must be very rich!--a palace in Barcelona--a palace!" + +"Other people have castles in Spain," replied Agatha, without any of +that filial respect which our grandmothers were pleased to affect. +There was nothing old-fashioned or effete about Agatha--she was, on the +contrary, essentially modern. + +The elder lady did not catch the allusion, and dived deep into thought. +She supposed that Agatha had met and danced with other rich Spaniards, +and could have any one of them by the mere raising of her little +finger. Her attitude towards her daughter was that of an old +campaigner who, having done well in a bygone time, has the good sense +to recognise the deeper science of a modern warfare, being quite +content with a small command in the rear. + +To carry out the simile, she now gathered from this conversational +reconnaissance that the younger and abler general at the front was +about to alter the object of attack. She had, in fact, come in not to +warm, but to inform herself. + +"Mrs. Harrington seemed to take to Luke," said Agatha, behind her hair. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, proceeding carefully, for she was +well in hand--"wonderfully so! Poor Fitz seems to stand a very good +chance of being cut out." + +"Fitz will have to look after himself," opined the young lady. "Did +she say anything to you after I came to bed? I came away on purpose." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced towards the door, and drew her dressing-gown +more closely round her. + +"WELL," she began volubly, "of course I said what a nice fellow Luke +was, so manly and simple, and all that. And she quite agreed with me. +I said that perhaps he would get on after all and not bring disgrace +upon all her kindness." + +"What do you mean by THAT?" inquired Agatha. + +"I don't know, my dear, but I said it. And she said she hoped so. Then +I asked her if she knew what his wages or salary, or whatever they are +called, amounted to, and what his prospects are. She said she knew +nothing about his salary, but that his prospects were quite a different +matter. I pretended I did not know what she meant. So she gave a +little sigh and said that one could not expect to live for ever. I +said that I was sure I wished some people could, and she smiled in a +funny way." + +"You do not seem to have done it very well," the younger and more +scientific campaigner observed coldly. + +"Oh, but it was all right, Agatha dear. I understand her so well. And +I said I was sure that Luke would deserve anything he got; that of +course it was different for Fitz, because his life is all set out +straight before him. And she said I was quite right." + +The report was finished, and Agatha sat for some moments with the brush +on her lap looking into the fire with the deep thoughtfulness of a cool +tactician. + +"I am SURE he was struck with you," said the mother fervently. + +After all she was only fit for a very small command very far in the +rear. She never saw the singular light in Agatha's eyes. + +"Do you think so?" said the girl, half dreamily. + +"I am sure of it." + +Agatha began brushing her hair again. + +"What makes you think so?" she inquired through the snaky canopy. + +"He never took his eyes off you when you were playing the Count's +accompaniment." + +The girl suddenly rose and went to the dressing-table. The candles +there were lighted, one on each side of the mirror. Agatha saw that +her mother was still admiring her bedroom slippers. Then she looked at +the reflection of her own face with the smooth hair hanging straight +down over either shoulder. She gazed long and curiously as if seeking +something in the pleasant reflection. + +"Did she say anything more about Fitz?" she asked suddenly, with an +obvious change of the subject which Mrs. Ingham-Baker did not attempt +to understand. She was not a subtle woman. + +"Nothing." + +Agatha came back and sat down. + +"And you are quite sure she said exactly what you have told me, about +not expecting to live for ever." + +"Quite." + +Then followed a long silence. A belated cab rattled past beneath the +windows. There was apparently a cowl on the chimney connected with +Agatha's room, for at intervals a faint groaning sound came, apparently +from the fireplace. + +Agatha leant forward with her chin on her two hands, her elbows on her +knees. Her hair hung almost to the ground. She was looking into the +coals with thoughtful eyes. The elder tactician waited in respectful +silence. + +"Suppose--" said the girl suddenly, and stopped. + +"Yes, my darling." + +"Suppose we accept the Danefords' invitation?" + +"To go to Malta?" + +"Yes, to go to Malta." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell into a puzzled, harassed reverie. This modern +warfare was so complicated. The younger, keener tactician did not seem +to demand an answer to her supposition. She proceeded to follow out +the train of her own thoughts in as complete an absorption as if she +had been alone in the room. + +"The voyage," she said, "would be a pleasant change if we selected a +good boat." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker reflected for a moment. + +"We might go in the Croonah with Luke," she then observed timidly. + +"Ye-es." + +And after a little while Mrs. Ingham-Baker rose and bade her daughter +good-night. + +Agatha remained before the fire in the low chair with her face resting +on her two hands, and who can tell all that she was thinking? For the +thoughts of youth are very quick. They are different from the thoughts +of maturity, inasmuch as they rise higher into happiness and descend +deeper into misery. Agatha Ingham-Baker knew that she had her own life +to shape, with only such blundering, well-meant assistance as her +mother could give her. She had found out that the world cannot pause +to help the stricken, or to give a hand to the fallen, but that it +always has leisure to cringe and make way for the successful. + +Other girls had been successful. Why should not she? And if--and if-- + +The next morning at breakfast Mrs. Ingham-Baker took an opportunity of +asking Mrs. Harrington if she knew Malta. + +"Malta," answered the grey lady, "is a sort of Nursery India. I have +known girls marry at Malta, but I have known more who were obliged to +go to India." + +"That," answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, "is exactly what I am afraid of." + +"Having to go on to India?" inquired Mrs. Harrington, looking over her +letters. + +"No. I am afraid that Malta is not quite the place one would like to +take one's daughter to." + +"That depends, I should imagine, upon the views one may have respecting +one's daughter," answered the lady of the house carelessly. + +At this moment Agatha came in looking fresh and smart in a tweed dress. +There was something about her that made people turn in the streets to +look at her again. For years she had noted this with much +satisfaction. But she was beginning to get a little tired of the +homage of the pavement. Those who turned to glance a second time never +came back to offer her a heart and a fortune. She was perhaps +beginning faintly to suspect that which many of us know--namely, that +she who has the admiration of many rarely has the love of one; and if +by chance she gets this, she never knows its value and rarely keeps it. + +"I was just asking Mrs. Harrington about Malta, dear," exclaimed Mrs. +Ingham-Baker. "It is a nice place, is it not, Marian?" + +"I believe it is." + +"And somehow I quite want to go there. I can't think why," said Mrs. +Ingham-Baker volubly. "It would be so nice to get a little sunshine +after these grey skies, would it not, dear?" + +Agatha gave a little shiver as she sat down. + +"It would be very nice to feel really warm," she said. "But there is +the horrid sea voyage." + +"I dare say you would enjoy that very much after the first two days," +put in Mrs. Harrington. + +"Especially if we select a nice large boat--one of those with two +funnels?" put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "Now I wonder what boat we could +go by?" + +"Luke's," suggested Mrs. Harrington, with cynical curtness. There was +a subtle suggestion of finality in her tone, a tiniest note of +weariness which almost said-- + +"Now we have reached our goal." + +"I suppose," said Mrs. Ingham-Baker doubtfully, "that it is really a +fine vessel?" + +"So I am told." + +"I really expect," put in Agatha carelessly, "that one steamer is as +good as another." + +Mrs. Harrington turned on her like suave lightning. + +"But one boat is not so well officered as another, my dear!" she said. + +Agatha--not to be brow-beaten, keen as the older fencer--looked Mrs. +Harrington straight in the face. + +"You mean Luke," she said. "Of course I dare say he is a good officer. +But one always feels doubtful about trusting one's friends--does one +not?" + +"One does," answered Mrs. Harrington, turning to her letters. + + + +CHAPTER XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA. + + All such things touch secret strings + For heavy hearts to bear. + +"And you don't seem to care." + +Agatha smiled a little inward smile of triumph. + +"Don't I?" she answered, with a sidelong glance beneath her lashes. + +Luke stared straight in front of him with set lips. He looked a +dangerous man to trifle with, and what woman can keep her hands out of +such danger as this? + +They were walking backwards and forwards on the broad promenade deck of +the Croonah, and the Croonah was gliding through the grey waters of the +Atlantic. To their left lay the coast of Portugal smiling in the +sunshine. To their right the orb of day himself, lowering cloudless to +the horizon. Ahead, bleak and lonely, lay the dread Burlings. The +maligned Bay of Biscay lay behind, and already a large number of the +passengers had plucked up spirit to leave the cabin stairs, crawling on +deck to lie supine in long chairs and talk hopefully of calmer days to +come. + +Agatha had proved herself to be a good sailor. She walked beside Luke +FitzHenry with her usual dainty firmness of step and confidence of +carriage. Luke himself--in uniform--looked sternly in earnest. + +They had been talking of Gibraltar, where the Croonah was to touch the +next morning, and Luke had just told Agatha that he could not go ashore +with her and Mrs. Ingham-Baker. + +"Don't I?" the girl reiterated with a little sigh. + +"Well, it does not sound like it." + +"The truth is," said Agatha, "that I have an inward conviction that it +would only be more trouble than it is worth." + +"What would be more trouble than it is worth?" + +"Going ashore." + +"Then you will not go?" he asked eagerly. + +"I think not," she answered, with demure downcast eyes. + +And Luke FitzHenry was the happiest man on board the Croonah. There +was no mistaking her meaning. Luke, who knew himself to be a +pessimist--a man who persistently looked for ill-fortune--felt that her +meaning could not well be other than that she preferred remaining on +board because he could not go ashore. + +The dinner bell rang out over the quiet decks, and, with a familiar +little nod, Agatha turned away from her companion. + +The next morning saw the Croonah speeding past Trafalgar's heights. +There was a whistling breeze from the west; and over the mountains of +Tarifa and the far gloomy fastness of Ceuta hung clouds and squalls. +The sea, lashed to white flecks, raced through the straits, and every +now and then a sharp shower darkened the face of the waters. There was +something forbidding and mysterious in the scene, something dark and +foreboding over the coast-line of Africa. All eyes were fixed on the +Rock, now slowly appearing from behind the hills that hide Algeciras. + +Luke was on duty on the bridge, motionless at his post. It was a +simple matter to these mariners to make for the anchorage of Gibraltar, +and Luke was thinking of Agatha. He was recalling a thousand little +incidents which came back with a sudden warm thrill into his heart, the +chilled, stern heart of a disappointed man. He was recollecting words +that she had said, silences which she had kept, glances which she had +given him. And all told him the same thing. All went to the core of +his passionate, self-consuming heart. + +The bay now lay before him, dotted here and there by close-reefed +sails. A few steamers lay at anchor, and, beyond the old Mole, black +coal hulks peacefully stripped of rigging. Suddenly Luke lifted the +lid of the small box affixed to the rail in front of him and sought his +glasses. For some seconds he looked through the binoculars fixedly in +the direction of the Mole. Then he moved towards the captain. + +"That is the Kittiwake," he said. + +"Thought it looked like her!" replied the captain, intent on his own +affairs. + +Luke went back to his post. The Kittiwake! And he was not glad. It +was that that puzzled him. He was not glad. He was going to see Fitz +after many years, and twins are different from other brothers. They +usually see more of each other all through life. They are necessary to +each other. Fitz and Luke had always corresponded as regularly as +their roaming lives allowed. But for three years they had never met. + +Luke stood with beating heart, his eyes fixed on the trim +rakish-looking little gunboat lying at anchor immediately off the Mole. +He was suddenly breathless. His light oil-skins oppressed him. There +was a vague feeling within him that he had only begun to live within +the last two weeks--all before that had been merely existence. And now +he was living too quickly, without time to define his feelings. But the +sensations were real enough. It does not take long to acquire a +feeling. + +After all he was not glad. His attention was required for a few +moments to carry out an order, and he returned to his thought. He did +not, however, think it out. He only knew that if Agatha had not been +on board the Croonah he would have been breathlessly impatient to see +his brother. Therefore he did not want Agatha and Fitz to meet. And +yet Fitz was quite different from other men. There was no harm in +Fitz, and surely he could be trusted to see Agatha for a few hours +without falling in love with her, without making Agatha love him. + +Yet--Fitz had always succeeded where he, Luke, had failed. Fitz had +always the good things of life. It was all luck. It had been luck +from the very beginning. Another order required the second officer's +full mind and attention. There were a thousand matters to be attended +to, for the Croonah was enormous, unwieldy. + +In the execution of his duties Luke began presently to forget himself. +He did not attempt to define his thoughts. He did not even reflect +that he knew so little of his brother that this meeting could not +possibly cause him this sudden uneasiness, this foreboding care, from +THAT side of the question. He did not fear for Fitz to meet Agatha, he +really dreaded Agatha seeing Fitz. + +The Croonah moved into her anchorage with that gentle strength which in +a large steamer seems to indicate that she is thinking about it and +doing it all herself. For in these days there is no shouting, no call +of boatswain's whistle; and the ordinary observer hardly notices the +quiet deus ex machina, the man on the bridge. + +Hardly had the anchor splashed home with a rattle of cable that +vibrated through the ship, when a small white boat shot out from behind +the smart Kittiwake, impelled by the short and regular beat of ten +oars. There was a man seated in the stern enveloped in a large black +boat cloak--for Gibraltar harbour is choppy when the westerly breezes +blow--a man who looked the Croonah up and down with a curious searching +eye. The boat shot alongside the vast steamer--the bowman neatly +catching a rope that was thrown to him--and the officer clambered up +the swaying gangway. + +He pushed his way gently through the passengers, the cloak flying +partially open as he did so and displaying Her Majesty's uniform. He +treated all these people with that patient tolerance which belongs to +the mariner when dealing with landsmen. They were so many sheep penned +up in a conveyance. Well-dressed sheep, he admitted tacitly by the +withdrawal of his dripping cloak from their contact, but he treated +them in the bulk, failing to notice one more than another. He utterly +failed to observe Agatha Ingham-Baker, dainty and fresh in blue serge +and a pert sailor hat. She knew him at once, and his want of +observation was set down in her mind against him. She did not want him +to recognise her. Not at all. She merely wanted him to look at her, +and then to look again--to throw a passing crumb of admiration to her +greedy vanity, which lived on such daily food. + +Fitz, intent on his errand, pushed his way towards the steps leading up +through the awning to the bridge. He seemed to know by some sailor +instinct where to find it. He paused at the foot of the iron steps to +give an order to the man who followed at his heel, and the attitude was +Luke's. The onlookers saw at a glance who this must be. The +resemblance was startling. There was merely Luke FitzHenry over again, +somewhat fairer, a little taller, but the same man. + +The captain gave a sudden bluff laugh when Fitz emerged on the little +spidery bridge far above the deck. + +"No doubt who you are, sir," he said, holding out his hand. + +Then he stepped aside, and the two brothers met. They said nothing, +merely shaking hands, and Luke's eyes involuntarily went to the smart, +simple uniform half hidden by the cloak. Fitz saw the glance and drew +his cloak hastily round him. It was unfortunate. + +And this was their meeting after three years. + +"By George!" exclaimed Fitz, after a momentary pause, "she IS a fine +ship!" + +Luke rested his hands on the white painted rail--almost a caress to the +great steamer--and followed the direction of his brother's glance, + +"Yes," he admitted slowly, "yes, she is a good boat." + +And then his deep eyes wandered involuntarily towards the tiny +Kittiwake--smart, man-of-war-like at her anchorage--and a sudden sharp +sigh broke from his lips. He had not got over it yet. He never would. + +"So you have got away," he went on, "from Mahon at last?" + +"Yes," answered Fitz. + +"I should think you have had enough of Minorca to last you the rest of +your life," said Luke, looking abruptly down at the quarrelling boatmen +and the tangle of tossing craft beneath them. + +"It is not such a bad place as all that," replied Fitz. "I--I rather +like it." + +There was a little pause, and quite suddenly Luke said-- + +"The Ingham-Bakers are on board." + +It would almost seem that these twin minds followed each other into the +same train of thought. Fitz frowned with an air of reflectiveness. + +"The Ingham-Bakers," he said. "Who are they?" + +Luke gave a little laugh which almost expressed a sudden relief. + +"Don't you remember?" he said. "She is a friend of Mrs. Harrington's, +and--and there is Agatha, her daughter." + +"I remember--stout. Not the daughter, the old woman, I mean. Oh--yes. +Where are they going?" + +"To Malta." + +It was perfectly obvious, even to Luke, that the Ingham-Bakers' +immediate or projective destination was a matter of the utmost +indifference to Fitz, who was more interested in the Croonah than in +her passengers. + +They were both conscious of an indefinite feeling of disappointment. +This meeting after years of absence was not as it should be. Something +seemed to stand between them--a shadow, a myth, a tiny distinction. +Luke, with characteristic pessimism, saw it first--felt its chill, +intangible presence before his less subtle-minded brother. Then Fitz +saw it, and, as was his habit, he went at it unhesitatingly + +"Gad!" he explained, "I am glad to see you, old chap. Long time, isn't +it, since we saw each other? You must come back with me, and have +lunch or something. The men will be awfully glad to make your +acquaintance. You can look over the ship, though she is not much to +look at, you know! Not up to this. She is a fine ship, Luke! What +can she steam?" + +"She can do her twenty," answered the second officer of the Croonah, +indifferently. + +"Yes, she looks it. Well, can you get away now?" + +Luke shook his head. + +"No," he answered almost ungraciously, "I can't leave the ship." + +"What! Not to come and look over the Kittiwake?" Fitz's face fell +visibly. He did not seem to be able to realise that any one should be +equal to relinquishing without a murmur the opportunity of looking over +the Kittiwake. + +"No, I am afraid not. We have our discipline too, you know. Besides, +we are rather like railway guards. We must keep up to time. We shall +be under way by two o'clock." + +Fitz pressed the point no further. He had been brought up to +discipline since childhood--moreover, he was rather clever in a simple +way, and he had found out that it would be no pleasure but a pain to +Luke to board a ship flying the white ensign. + +"Can I stay on board to lunch with you?" he asked easily. "Goodness +only knows when we shall run against each other again. It was the +merest chance. We only got in last night. I was just going ashore to +report when we saw the old Croonah come pounding in. That"--he paused +and drew his cloak closer--"is why I am in my war-paint! We are going +straight home." + +"Stay by all means," said Luke. + +Fitz nodded. + +"I suppose," he added as an afterthought, "that I ought to pay my +respects to Mrs. Ingham-Baker?" + +Luke's face cleared suddenly. Fitz had evidently forgotten about +Agatha. + +"I will ask them to lunch with us in my cabin," he said. + +And presently they left the bridge. + +In due course Fitz was presented to the Ingham-Bakers, and Agatha was +very gracious. Fitz looked at her a good deal. Simply because she +made him. She directed all her conversation and eke her bright eyes in +his direction. He listened, and when necessary he laughed a jolly +resounding laugh. How could she tell that he was drawing comparisons +all the while? It is the simple-minded men who puzzle women most. +Whenever Luke's face clouded she swept away the gathering gloom with +some small familiar attention--some reference to him in her +conversation with Fitz which somehow brought him nearer and set Fitz +further off. + +Suddenly, on hearing that Fitz hoped to be in England within a week, +Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell heavily into conversation. + +"I am afraid," she said, "that you will find our dear Mrs. Harrington +more difficult to get on with than ever. In fact--he, he!--I almost +feel inclined to advise you not to try. But I suppose you will not be +much in London?" + +Fitz looked at her with clear, keen blue eyes. + +"I expect to be there some time," he answered. "I hope to stay with +Mrs. Harrington." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced at Agatha, and returned somewhat hastily to +her galantine of veal. + +Agatha was drumming on the table with her fingers. + + + +CHAPTER XII. A SHUFFLE. + + To love is good, no doubt, but you love best + A calm safe life, with wealth and ease and rest. + +The Croonah ran round Europa Point into fine weather, and the wise old +captain--who felt the pulse of the saloon with unerring touch--deemed +it expedient to pin upon the board the notice of a ball to be given on +the following night. There was considerable worldly knowledge in this +proceeding. The passengers still had the air of Europe in their lungs, +the energy of Europe in their limbs. Nothing pulls a ship full of +people together so effectually as a ball. Nothing gives such absorbing +employment to the female mind which would otherwise get into hopeless +mischief. Besides they had been at sea five days, and the captain knew +that more than one ingenuous maiden, sitting in thoughtful idleness +about the decks, was lost in vague forebodings as to the creases in her +dresses ruthlessly packed away in the hold. + +The passengers were, in fact, finding their sea-legs, which, from the +captain's point of view, meant that the inner men and the outer women +would now require and receive a daily increasing attention. So he said +a word to the head cook, and to the fourth officer he muttered-- + +"Let the women have their trunks!" + +When, on the evening of the ball, Agatha appeared at the door of her +mother's cabin, that good lady's face fell. + +"What, dear? Your old black!" + +"Yes, dear, my old black," replied the dutiful daughter. She was +arranging a small bouquet of violets in the front of her dress--a +bouquet she had found in her cabin when she went to dress. Luke had, +no doubt, sent ashore for them at Gibraltar--and there was something of +the unknown, the vaguely possible, in his manner of placing them on her +tiny dressing-table, without a word of explanation, which appealed to +her jaded imagination. + +There was some suggestion of recklessness about Agatha, which her +mother almost detected--something which had never been suggested in the +subtler element of London drawing-room. The girl spoke in a short, +sharp way which was new to the much-snubbed rear-commander. Agatha +still had this when Luke asked her for a dance. + +"Yes," she answered curtly, handing him the card and avoiding his eyes. + +He stepped back to take advantage of the light of a swinging hurricane +lamp, and leant against the awning which had been closed in all round. + +"How many may I have?" he asked. + +She continued to look anywhere except in his direction. Then quite +suddenly she gave a little laugh. + +"All." + +"What?" he added, with a catch in his breath. + +"You may have them all." + +There was a pause; then Agatha turned with a half-mocking smile, and +looked at him. For the first time in her life she was really +frightened. She had never seen passion in a man's face before. It was +the one thing she had never encountered in the daily round of social +effort in London. Not an evil passion, but the strong passion of love, +which is as rare in human beings as is genius. He was standing in a +conventional attitude, holding her programme--and that which took the +girl's breath away lay in his eyes alone. + +She could not meet his look, for she felt suddenly quite puny and small +and powerless. She realised in that flash of thought that there was a +whole side of life of which she had never suspected the existence. +After all, she was learning the lesson that millions of women have to +learn before they quite realise what life is. + +She smiled nervously, and looked hard at the little card in his strong, +still hands--wondering what she had done. She saw him write his name +opposite five or six dances. Then he handed her the card, and left her +with a grave bow--left her without a word of explanation, to take his +silence and explain it if she could. That sense of the unknown in him, +which appealed so strongly to her, seemed to rise and envelop her in a +maze of thought and imagination which was bewildering in its +intensity--thrilling with a new life. + +When he came back later to claim his first dance, he was quietly +polite, and nothing else. They danced until the music stopped, and +Agatha knew that she had met her match in this as in other matters. + +The dancers trooped out to the dimly-lighted deck, while the +quartermaster raised the awning to allow the fresh air to circulate. +Luke and Agatha went with the rest, her hand resting unsteadily on his +sleeve. She had never felt unsteady like this before. She was +conscious, probably for the first time in her life, of a strange, +creeping fear. She was distinctly afraid of the first words that her +partner would say when they were alone. Spread out over the broad deck +the many passengers seemed but a few. It was almost solitude--and +Agatha was afraid of solitude with Luke. Yet she had selected a dress +which she knew would appeal to him. She had dressed for him--which +means something from a woman's point of view. She had welcomed this +ball with a certain reckless throb of excitement, not for its own sake, +but for Luke's. The unerring instinct of her vanity had not played her +false. She had succeeded, and now she was afraid of her success. +There is a subtle fear in all success, and an indefinite responsibility. + +Luke knew the ship. He led the way to a deserted corner of the deck, +with a deliberation which set Agatha's heart beating. + +"What did you mean when you said I could have all the dances?" asked +Luke slowly. His eyes gleamed deeply as he looked down at her. And +Agatha had no answer ready. + +She stood before him with downcast eyes--like a chidden child who has +been meddling with danger. + +And suddenly his arms were round her. She gave a little gasp, but made +no attempt to escape from him. This was all so different, so new to +her. There was something in the strong salt air blowing over them +which seemed to purify the world and raise them above the sordid cares +thereof. There was something simple and strong and primitive in this +man--at home on his own element, all filled with the strength of the +ocean--mastering her, claiming her as if by force. + +"What did you mean?" he asked again. + +She pushed him away, and turning stood beside him with her two hands +resting on the rail, her back turned towards him. + +"Oh, Luke," she whispered at length, "I can't be poor--I CAN'T--I +can't. You do not know what it is. It has always been such a +struggle--there is no rest in it." + +It is said that women can raise men above the world. How often do they +bring them down to it when they are raising themselves! + +And Luke's love was large enough to accept her as she was. + +"And if I were not poor?" he asked, without any of the sullen pride +that was his. + +She answered nothing, and he read her silence aright. + +"I will become rich," he said, "somehow. I do not care how. I will, I +will--Agatha!" + +She did not dare to meet his eyes. + +"Come," she said. "Come--let us go back." + +They danced together again, but Agatha refused to sit anywhere but +beneath the awning. While they were dancing they did not speak. He +never took his eyes off her, and she never looked at him. + +Then, just as he was, with a pilot jacket exchanged for his dress coat, +Luke had to go on duty on the bridge. While he stood there, far above +the lighted decks, alone at his post in the dark, keen and watchful, +still as a statue, the sound of the dance music rose up and enveloped +him like the echo of a happy dream. + +Presently the music ceased, and the weary dancers went below, leaving +Luke FitzHenry to his own thoughts. + +All the world seemed to be asleep except these two men--one motionless +on the bridge, the other alert in the dimly lighted wheelhouse. The +Croonah herself seemed to slumber with the regular beating of a great +restless heart far down in her iron being. + +The dawn was now creeping up into the eastern sky, touching the face of +the waters with a soft, pearly light. A few straight streaks of cloud +became faintly outlined. The moon looked yellow and deathlike. + +Luke stood watching the rise of a new day, and with it there seemed to +be rising within him a new life. + +Beneath his feet, in her dainty cabin, Agatha Ingham-Baker saw that +dawn also. She was standing with her arms folded on the upper berth +breast high. She had been standing there an hour. She was alone in +the cabin, for Luke had secured separate rooms for the two ladies. + +Agatha had not moved since she came down from the ball. She did not +seem to be thinking of going to bed. The large square port-hole was +open, and the cool breeze fluttered the lace of her dress, stirring the +dead violets at her breast. + +Her finely cut features were set with a look of strong determination. +"I can't--I can't be poor," she was repeating to herself with a +mechanical monotony. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. A CHOICE. + + 'Tis better far to love and be poor, + Than be rich with an empty heart. + +Mrs. Harrington was sitting in the great drawing-room in Grosvenor +Gardens, alone. The butler was fuming and cleaning plate in his +pantry. The maid was weeping in the workroom. Mrs. Harrington had had +a busy afternoon. + +"'Tis always thus when she's alone in the house," the cook had said, +with a grandiosity of style borrowed from the Family Herald. It is +easy for the cook to be grandiose when the butler and the lady's-maid +are in trouble. Thus philosophy walketh in at the back door. + +Mrs. Harrington's sharp grey face twitched at times with a certain +restlessness which was hers when she had no one at hand to bully. She +could not concentrate her attention on the newspaper she held in her +hands, and at intervals her eyes wandered over the room in search of +something to find fault with. She made the mistake common to persons +under such circumstances--she forgot to look in the mirror. Mrs. +Harrington was tired of herself. She wished someone would call. At +the same time she felt a cordial dislike to all her friends. + +It was a hopelessly grey afternoon early in December, and every one was +out of London. Mrs. Harrington had a certain circle of +friends--middle-aged or elderly women, rich like herself, lonely like +herself--whom she despised. They all rather disliked each other, these +women, but they visited nevertheless. They dined together seriously; +keeping in mind the cook, and watchful over the wine. But the majority +of these ladies had gone away for the winter. The Riviera was created +for such. + +Mrs. Harrington, however, never went abroad in the winter. She said +that she had travelled too much when she was younger--in the lifetime +of her husband--to care about it now. The Honourable George Henry +Harrington had, in fact, lived abroad for financial reasons, and the +name was not of sweet savour in the nostrils of hotel-keepers. The +married life referred to occasionally in cold tones by the Honourable +Mrs. Harrington had been of that order which is curtly called "cat and +dog," and likewise "hand to mouth." + +Therefore Mrs. Harrington avoided the Continent. She could easily, of +her affluence, have paid certain large debts which she knew to be +outstanding, but she held a theory that dead men owe nothing. And with +this theory she lubricated an easy-going conscience. + +The mistress of the large house in Grosvenor Gardens was wondering +discontentedly what she was going to do with herself until tea-time, +when she heard the sound of a bell ringing far down in the basement. +Despite the grand drawing-room, despite the rich rustle of her grey +silk dress, this great lady peeped from behind the curtain, and saw a +hansom cab. + +A few minutes later the door was thrown open by the angry butler. + +"Miss Challoner--Captain Bontnor." + +Eve came in, and at her heels Captain Bontnor, who sheered off as it +were from the butler, and gave him a wide berth. + +Mrs. Harrington could be gracious when she liked. She liked now, and +she would have kissed her visitor had that young lady shown any desire +for such an honour. But there was a faint reflex of Spanish ceremony +in Eve Challoner, of which she was probably unaware. A few years ago +it would not have been noticeable, but to-day we are +hail-fellow-well-met even with ladies--which is a mistake, on the part +of the ladies. + +"So you received my letter, my dear," said Mrs. Harrington. + +"Yes," replied Eve. "This is my uncle--Captain Bontnor." + +Mrs. Harrington had the bad taste to raise her eyebrows +infinitesimally, and Captain Bontnor saw it. + +"How do you do?" said Mrs. Harrington, with a stiff bow. + +"I am quite well, thank you, marm," replied the sailor, with more +aplomb than Eve had yet seen him display. + +Without waiting to hear this satisfactory intelligence, Mrs. Harrington +turned to Eve again. She evidently intended to ignore Captain Bontnor +systematically and completely. + +"You know," she said, "I am related to your father--" + +"By marriage," put in Captain Bontnor, with simple bluntness. He was +brushing his hat with a large pocket-handkerchief. + +"And I have pleasant recollections of his kindness in past years. I +stayed with him at the Casa d'Erraha more than once. I was staying +there when--well, some years ago. I think you had better come and live +with me until your poor father's affairs have been put in order." + +Captain Bontnor raised his head and ceased his operations on the dusty +hat. His keen old eyes, full of opposition, were fixed on Eve's face. +He was quite ready to be rude again, but women know how to avoid these +shallow places better than men, with a policy which is not always +expedient perhaps. + +"Thank you," replied Eve. "Thank you very much, but my uncle has +kindly offered me a home." + +Mrs. Harrington's grey face suggested a scorn which she apparently did +not think it worth while to conceal from a person who wiped the inside +of his hat with his pocket-handkerchief in a lady's presence. + +"But," she said coldly, "I should think that your uncle cannot fail to +see the superior advantages of the offer I am now making you, from a +social point of view, if from no other." + +"I do see them advantages, marm," said the captain bluntly. He looked +at Eve with something dog-like peering from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. + +"Of course," continued Mrs. Harrington, ignoring the confession, "you +have been brought up as a lady, and are accustomed to refinement, and +in some degree to luxury." + +"You needn't make it any plainer, marm," blurted out Captain Bontnor. +"I don't need you to tell me that my niece is above me. I don't set up +for bein' anything nor what I am. There's not much of the gentleman +about me. But--" + +He paused, and half turned towards Eve. + +"But, 'cording to my lights, I'm seeking to do my duty towards the +orphan child of my sister Amelia Ann." + +"Not overlooking the fact, I suppose, that the orphan child of your +sister Amelia Ann has a very fair income of her own." + +Captain Bontnor smiled blandly, and smoothed his hat with his sleeve. + +"Not overlooking that fact, marm," he said, "if you choose to take it +so." + +Mrs. Harrington turned to Eve again with a faint reflex of her +overbearing manner towards the Ingham-Bakers and other persons who +found it expedient to submit. + +"You will see at a glance," she said, "that it is impossible for you to +live with Captain Bontnor." + +"I have already accepted his kind offer," returned the girl. "Thank +you, nevertheless." + +"But," said Mrs. Harrington, "that was before you knew that I was ready +to make a home for you." + +Captain Bontnor had turned away. He blew his nose so loudly that Mrs. +Harrington frowned. There was something trumpet-like and defiant in +the sound. Opposition had ever a strange effect on this spoilt woman. +She liked it, as serving to enhance the value of the wish which she +rarely failed to gratify in the end. + +"You must remember your position," she continued. "These are very +democratic days, when silly people think that all men are equal. A +lady is nevertheless still a lady, and a gentleman a gentleman, though +one does not often meet them. I wish you to come and live with me." + +Eve's dark eyes flashed suddenly. She glanced at her uncle, and said +nothing. + +"A girl with money is a ready dupe to designing persons," added Mrs. +Harrington. + +"I am saved that danger, for I have no money," replied Eve. + +"Nonsense, child! I know the value of land in Mallorca. I see already +that you are being deceived." + +She glanced significantly towards the captain, who was again smiling +blandly. + +"The matter has been fully gone into," explained Eve, "by competent +persons. The Val d'Erraha does not belong to me. It was held by my +father only on 'rotas'--the Minorcan form of lease--and it has now been +returned to the proprietor." + +Mrs. Harrington's keen face dropped. She prided herself upon being a +woman of business, and as such had always taken a deep interest in the +affairs of other people. It is to be presumed that women have a larger +mental grasp than men. They crave for more business when they are +business-like, and thus by easy steps descend to mere officiousness. + +Eve's story was so very simple and, to the ears of one who had known +her father, so extremely likely, that Mrs. Harrington had for the +moment nothing to say. She knew the working of the singular system on +which land is to this day held in tenure in Majorca and Minorca, and +there was no reason to suppose that there was any mistake or deception +respecting the estate of the Val d'Erraha. + +A dramatist of considerable talent, who is not sufficiently studied in +these modern times, has said that a man in his time plays many parts. +He left it to be understood that a woman plays only one. The business +woman is the business woman all through her life--she is never the +charitable lady, even for a moment. + +Mrs. Harrington had wished to have the bringing out of a beautiful +heiress. She had no desire to support a penniless orphan. The matter +had, in her mind, taken the usual form of a contract in black and +white. Mrs. Harrington would supply position and a suitable home--Eve +was to have paid for her own dresses--chosen by the elder +contractor--and to have filled gracefully the gratifying, if hollow, +position of a young person of means looking for a husband. + +Mrs. Harrington's business habits had, in fact, kept her fully alive to +the advantages likely to accrue to herself; and the small fact that Eve +was penniless reduced these advantages to a mythical reward in the +hereafter. And business people have not time to think of the hereafter. + +It is possible that simple old Captain Bontnor in part divined these +thoughts in the set grey eyes, the grey wrinkled face. + +"You'll understand, marm," he said, "that my niece will not be in a +position to live the sort o' life"--he paused, and looked round the +vast room, quite without admiration--"the sort o' life you're livin' +here. She couldn't keep up the position." + +"It would not be for long," said Mrs. Harrington, already weighing an +alternative plan. She looked critically at Eve, noting, with the +appraising eye of a middle-aged woman of the world, the grace of her +straight young form, the unusual beauty of her face. "If you could +manage to allow her sufficient to dress suitably for one season, I dare +say she would make a suitable marriage." + +Eve turned on her with a flash of bright dark eyes. "Thank you; I do +not want to make a suitable marriage." + +Captain Bontnor laid his hand on her arm. + +"My dear," he said, "don't take any heed of her. She doesn't know any +better. I have heard tell of such women, but"--he looked round the +room--"I did not look to meet with one in a house like this. I did not +know they called themselves ladies." + +Mrs. Harrington gasped. She lived in a world where people think such +things as these, but do not say them. Captain Bontnor, on the other +hand, had not yet encountered a person of whom he was so much afraid as +to conceal a hostile opinion, should he harbour such. + +He was patting Eve's gloved hand as if she had been physically hurt, +and Eve smiled down into his sympathetic old face. It is a singular +fact that utter worldliness in a woman seems to hurt women less than it +does men. + +Mrs. Harrington, with frigid dignity, ignored Captain Bontnor, and +addressed herself exclusively to Eve. + +"You must be good enough to remember," she said, "that I can scarcely +have other motives than those of kindness." + +A woman is so conscious of the weak links in her chain of argument, +that she usually examines them publicly. + +"I do remember that," replied Eve, rather softened by the grey +loneliness of this woman's life--a loneliness which seemed to be +sitting on all the empty chairs--"and I am very grateful to you. I +think, perhaps, my uncle misunderstood you. But--" + +"Yes--but--" + +"Under the circumstances, I think it will be wiser for me to accept his +kind offer, and make my home with him. I hope to be able to find some +work which will enable me to--to help somewhat towards the household +expenses." + +Mrs. Harrington shrugged her shoulders. + +"As you like," she said. "After a few months of a governess's life +perhaps you may reconsider your decision. I know--" + +She was going to say that she knew what it was, but she recollected +herself in time. + +"I know," she said instead, "girls who have lived such lives." + +With the air of Spain Eve Challoner seemed to have inhaled some of the +Spanish pride, which is as a stone wall against which charity and pity +may alike beat in vain. From her superior height the girl looked down +on the keen-faced little woman. + +"I am not in a position to choose," she said. "I am prepared for some +small hardships." + +Mrs. Harrington turned to ring the bell. With the sudden caprice which +her money had enabled her to cultivate, she had taken a liking to Eve. + +"You will have some tea?" she said. + +Eve turned to thank her, and suddenly her heart leaped to her throat. +She caught her breath, and did not answer for a moment. + +"Thank you," she said; and her eyes stole back to the mantelpiece, +where a large photograph of Fitz seemed to watch her with a quiet, +thoughtful smile. + +The whole room appeared to be different after that. Mrs. Harrington +seemed to be a different woman--the world seemed suddenly to be a +smaller place and less lonely. + +During the remainder of the short visit they talked of indifferent +topics, while Captain Bontnor remained silent. Mrs. Harrington's +caprice grew stronger, and before tea was over she said-- + +"My dear, if you will not come and live with me, at all events make use +of me. Your uncle will, no doubt, have to make some small changes in +his household. I propose that you stay with me a week or ten days, +until he is ready for you." + +This with a slight conciliatory bow towards Captain Bontnor, who stared +remorselessly at the clock. + +"Thank you; I should very much like to," said Eve, mindful of the +mantelpiece. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. A QUATRE. + + There is so much that no one knows, + So much unreached that none suppose. + +"I want you to put on a nice dress to-night. I have two friends coming +to dine." + +Eve looked up from the book she was reading, and Mrs. Harrington +tempered her curt manner of expressing her wishes with a rare smile. +She often did this for Eve's benefit, almost unconsciously. In some +indefinite way she was rather afraid of this girl. + +"I will do my best," answered Eve, her mind only half weaned from the +pages. + +She had been ten days in the house, and the somewhat luxurious comfort +of it appealed to a faintly developed love of peace and ease which had +been filtered into her soul with the air of a Southern land. She had +found it easier to get on with Mrs. Harrington than she at first +anticipated. Her nature, which was essentially womanly, had in reality +long craved for the intimate sympathy and intercourse which only +another woman could supply. There was something indolent and restful +in the very atmosphere of the house that supplied a distinct want in +the motherless girl's life. There were a number of vague possibilities +of trouble in the world, half perceived, half divined by Eve; which +possibilities Mrs. Harrington seemed capable of meeting and fending off. + +It was all indefinite and misty, but Eve felt at rest, and, as it were, +under protection, in the house of this hard, cold woman of the world. + +"It can only be a black one," the girl answered. + +"Yes; but people don't know what a black dress is until they have seen +one that has been made in Spain." + +Eve did not return at once to her book. She was, in fact, thinking +about her dress--being in no way superior to such matters. + +When she came down into the drawing-room, an hour later, she found +awaiting her there the two men about whom she thought most. + +Cipriani de Lloseta and Fitz were standing on the hearthrug together. +Mrs. Harrington had not yet come down. They came forward together, the +Count taking her hand first, with his courteous bow. Fitz followed, +shaking hands in silence, with that simplicity which she had learned to +look for and to like in him. + +"I wonder," said Eve, "why Mrs. Harrington did not tell me that you +were the two friends she expected to dinner?" + +The Count smiled darkly. + +"Perhaps our hostess does not know that we have met before--" he began; +and stopped suddenly when the door opened, and the rustle of Mrs. +Harrington's silk dress heralded her coming. + +Her quick eyes flashed over them with a comprehensive appreciation of +the situation. + +"You all seem to know each other," she said sharply. "I knew that Fitz +had been of some service to you at D'Erraha; but I was not aware that +you knew the Count de Lloseta." + +"The Count de Lloseta was very kind to me at Barcelona--on a matter of +business," explained Eve innocently. + +Mrs. Harrington turned upon the Spaniard quickly, but nevertheless too +late to catch the warning frown which he had directed towards Eve. +Mrs. Harrington looked keenly into his face, which was blandly +imperturbable. + +"Then you are the owner of D'Erraha?" + +"I am." + +Mrs. Harrington gave a strange little laugh. + +"What a rich man you are!" she said. "Come! Let us go to dinner." + +She took the Count's arm, and led the way to the dining-room. She was +visibly absent-minded at first, as if pondering over something which +had come as a surprise to her. Then she woke from her reverie, and, +turning to Fitz, said-- + +"And what do you think of the Baleares?" + +"I like them," returned Fitz curtly. + +He thought it was bad taste thus to turn the conversation upon a +subject which could only be painful to Eve. He only thought of Eve, +and therefore did not notice the patient endurance of the Count's face. + +De Lloseta was taking his soup with a slow concentration of his +attention upon its flavour, as if trying not to hear the conversation. +Mrs. Harrington looked sharply at him, and in doing so failed to +intercept a glance, exchanged by Fitz and Eve across the table. + +"Why are you here?" Fitz seemed to be asking. + +And Eve reassured him by a little smile. + +"There is one advantage in your long exile at Mahon," pursued the +hostess inexorably. "It must have been economical. You could not have +wanted money there." + +Fitz laughed. + +"Hardly so Arcadian as that," he said. + +The Count looked up. + +"I suppose," he said, "that the port where one does not want money is +yet to be discovered?" + +Mrs. Harrington, sipping her sherry, glanced at the speaker. + +"Surely," she said lightly, "you are talking of what you know +absolutely nothing." + +"Pardon me"--without looking up. + +Mrs. Harrington laughed. + +"Ah," she said, "we three know too much about you to believe that. Now, +what can a lone man like you want with money?" + +"A lone man may happen to be saddled with a name of--well, of some +repute--an expensive luxury." + +"And you think that a great name is worth spending a fortune upon, like +a garden, merely to keep it up?" + +"I do." + +"You think it worth all that?" + +The dark, inscrutable eyes were raised deliberately to her face. + +"Assuredly you must know that I do," he said. + +Mrs. Harrington laughed, and changed the subject. She knew this man's +face well, and her knowledge told her that he was at the end of his +patience. + +"So you saw Luke at Gibraltar?" she said, turning to Fitz. + +"Yes, for a short time. I had never seen the Croonah before. She is a +fine ship." + +"So I understand. So fine, indeed, that two friends of mine, the +Ingham-Bakers, were induced to go to Malta in her. There is no limit +now to feminine enterprise. Mothers are wonderful, and their daughters +no less so. N'est-ce pas, Senor?" + +"All ladies are wonderful!" said the Count, with a grave bow. "They +are as the good God made them." + +"I don't agree with you there," snapped Mrs. Harrington. "So you saw +the Ingham-Bakers also, Fitz?" + +"Yes; they lunched with us." + +"And Agatha was very pleasant, no doubt?" + +"Very." + +"She always is--to men. The Count admires her greatly. She makes him +do so." + +"She has an easy task," put in De Lloseta quietly. It almost seemed +that there was some feeling about Agatha between these two people. + +"You know," Mrs. Harrington went on, addressing herself to Fitz, "that +Luke and I have made it up. We are friends now." + +Fitz did not answer at once. His face clouded over. Seen thus in +anger, it was almost a hard face, older and somewhat worn. He raised +his eyes, and they as suddenly softened, for Eve's eyes had met them, +and she seemed to understand. + +"I am not inclined to discuss Luke," he said quietly. + +"My dear, I did not propose doing so," answered Mrs. Harrington, and +her voice was so humble and conciliatory that De Lloseta looked up from +his plate, from one face to the other. + +That Mrs. Harrington should accept this reproof thus humbly seemed to +come as a surprise to them all, except Fitz, who went on eating his +dinner with a singular composure. + +It would appear that Mrs. Harrington had been put out of temper by some +small incident at the beginning of the dinner, and, like a spoilt +child, proceeded to vent her displeasure on all and sundry. In the same +way she would no doubt have continued, unless spoken sharply to, as +Fitz had spoken. + +For now her manner quite changed, and the rest of the meal passed +pleasantly enough. Mrs. Harrington now devoted herself to her guests, +and as carefully avoided dangerous subjects as she had hitherto +appeared to seek them. + +After dinner she asked the Count to tune his violin, while she herself +prepared to play his accompaniment. + +Fitz lighted the candles and set the music ready with a certain +neatness of hand rarely acquired by landsmen, and then returned to the +smaller drawing-room, where Eve was seated by the fire, needlework in +hand. + +He stood for a moment leaning against the mantelpiece. Perhaps he was +waiting for her to speak. Perhaps he did not realise how much there +was in his long, silent gaze. + +"How long have you been here?" he asked, when the music began. + +"Ten days," she answered, without looking up. + +"But you are not going to live here?"--with some misgiving. + +"Oh no. I am going to live with my uncle in Suffolk." + +He moved away a few steps to pick up a fallen newspaper. Presently he +came back to her, resuming his former position at the corner of the +mantelpiece. + +It was Eve who spoke next--smoothing out her silken trifle of +needlework and looking at it critically. + +"I never thanked you," she said, "for all your kindness to me at +D'Erraha. You were a friend in need." + +It was quite different from what it had been at D'Erraha. Possibly it +was as different as were the atmospheres of the two places. Eve seemed +to have something of London in the reserve of her manner--the easy +insincerity of her speech. She was no longer a girl untainted by +worldliness--sincere, frank, and open. + +Fitz was rather taken aback. + +"Oh," he answered, "I could not do much. There was really nothing that +I could do except to stand by in case I might be wanted." + +Eve took up her needle again. + +"But," she said, "that is already something. It is often a great +comfort, especially to women, to know that there is some one 'standing +by,' as you call it, in case they are wanted." + +She gave a little laugh, and then suddenly became quite grave. The +recollection of a conversation they had had at D'Erraha had flashed +across her memory, as recollections do--at the wrong time. The +conversation she remembered was recorded at the time--it was almost +word for word with this, but quite different. + +Fitz was looking at her with his impenetrable simplicity. + +"Will you oblige me," he said, "by continuing to look upon me in that +light?" + +She had bent her head rather far over her work as he spoke, and as he +said the last five words her breath seemed to come with a little catch, +as if she had pricked her finger. + +The musicians were just finishing a brilliant performance, and before +answering Fitz she looked round into the other room, nodded, smiled, +and thanked them. Then she turned to him, still speaking in the light +and rather indifferent tone which was so new to him, and said-- + +"Thank you very much, but of course I have my uncle. How--how long +will you be--staying on shore? You deserve a long leave, do you not?" + +"Yes, I suppose I do," said Fitz absently. He had evidently listened +more to the voice than the words. He forgot to answer the question. +But she repeated it. + +"How long do you get?" she asked, hopelessly conversational. + +"About three weeks." + +"Is that all? Ah! here is tea. I wonder whether I ought to offer to +pour it out!" + +But Mrs. Harrington left the piano, and said that her sight was failing +her. She had had enough music. + +During the rest of the evening Fitz took one or two opportunities of +looking at Eve to discover, if he could, what the difference was that +he found in her. He had left a girl in Majorca--he found a woman in +London. That was the whole difference; but he did not succeed in +reducing it to so many words. He had passed most of his life at sea +among men. He had not, therefore, had much opportunity of acquiring +that doubtful knowledge--the knowledge of women--the only item, by the +way, which men will never include among the sciences of existence. +Already they know more about the stars than they do about women. Even +if Fitz had possessed this knowledge he would not have turned it to +account. The wisest fail to do that. We only make use of our knowledge +of women in the study of those women with whom other men have to do. + +"Fitz has grown rather dull and stupid," said Mrs. Harrington, when the +two guests had taken their leave. + +Eve was folding up her work, and did not answer. + +"Was he like that in Mallorca?" continued the grey lady. + +"Oh--I think so. He was very quiet always." + + + +CHAPTER XV. DON QUIXOTE. + + They also serve who only stand and wait. + +"Come down to my club and have a cigar!" + +The Count stood under a yellow lamp enveloped in his fur-lined coat, +looking with heavy, deep-browed eyes at his young companion. + +Fitz paused. The Count had been kind to Eve. Fitz had noticed his +manner towards the girl. He liked Cipriani de Lloseta--as many +did--without knowing why. + +"Thanks," he said, "I should like to." + +The Count's club was a small and a very select one. It was a club with +a literary tendency. The porter who took charge of their coats had the +air of a person who read the heavier monthly reviews. He looked upon +Fitz, as a man of outdoor tastes, with some misgiving. + +The Count led the way up to the luxurious silent smoking-room, where a +few foreign novels and a host of newspapers littered the tables. + +As they entered the room a man looked up from his paper with some +interest. He was a peculiar-looking man, with a keen face, streaked by +suffering--a face that was always ready to wince. This man was a +humorist, but he looked as if his own life had been a tragedy. He +continued to look at De Lloseta and Fitz with a quiet scrutiny which +was somewhat remarkable. It suggested the scrutiny of a woman who is +taking notes of another's dress. + +More particularly perhaps he watched the Count, and the keen eyes had a +reflective look, as if they were handing that which they saw, back to +the brain behind them for purpose of storage. + +The Count met his eyes and nodded gravely. With a little nod and a +sudden pleasant smile the other returned to the perusal of his evening +paper. + +Cipriani de Lloseta drew forward a deep chair, and with a courteous +gesture invited Fitz to be seated. He took a similar chair himself, +and then leant forward, cigar-case in hand. + +"You know Mallorca," he said. + +Fitz took a cigar. + +"Yes," he answered, turning and looking into the Count's face with a +certain honest interest. He was thinking of what Eve had said about +this man. "Yes--I know Mallorca." + +The Count struck a match and lighted his cigar with the air of a +connoisseur. + +"I am always glad," he said conversationally, "to meet any one who +knows Mallorca. It--was my home. Perhaps you knew?" + +And through the blue smoke the quick dark eyes flashed a glance. + +"I saw your name--on the map," returned Fitz. + +The Count gave a little Spanish deprecatory nod and wave of the hand, +indicating that it was no fault of his that an historical name should +have attached itself to him. + +"Do you take whisky--and soda?" inquired the Count. + +"Thanks." + +De Lloseta called the waiter and gave the order with a slight touch of +imperiousness which was one of the few attributes that stamped him as a +Spaniard. The feudal taint was still running in his veins. + +"Tell me," he went on, turning to Fitz again, "what you know of the +island--what parts of it--and what you did there." + +In some ways Fitz was rather a simple person. + +"Oh!" he answered unconsciously. "I went to D'Erraha mostly. I used +to sail across from Ciudadela to Soller--along the coast, you know." + +"And from Soller?" + +"From Soller I rode by the Valdemosa road, and then across the mountain +and through that narrow valley up to the Val d'Erraha." + +The Count was smoking thoughtfully. + +"And you were happy there?" he said. + +Fitz looked pensively into his long tumbler. + +"Yes." + +"I also," said the Count. Then he seemed to remember his duties as +host. "Is that cigar all right?" he asked. + +"I think it is the best I have ever smoked," replied Fitz quietly; and +the Count smiled. + +The two men sat there in a long silence--each thinking his own +thoughts. They were just the sort of men to do it. No other but +Cipriani de Lloseta would have sat with that perfect composure, wrapt +in an impenetrable Spanish silence, providing with grave dignity such a +very poor evening's entertainment. And Fitz seemed quite content. He +leant back, gravely smoking the good cigar. There seemed to be some +point of complete sympathy between them--possibly the little sunlit +island of the Mediterranean where they had both been happy. + +The poem of a man's life is very deeply hidden, and civilisation is the +covert. The immediate outcome of civilisation is reserve and--nous +voila. Are we not increasing our educational facilities with a blind +insistence day by day? One wonders what three generations of cheap +education will do for the world. Already a middle-aged man can note +the slackening of the human tie. Railway directors, and other persons +whose pockets benefit by the advance of civilisation, talk a vast deal +of rubbish about bringing together the peoples of the world. You can +connect them, but you cannot bring them together. Moreover, a +connection is sometimes a point of divergence. In human affairs it is +more often so than otherwise. + +True, a generation lay between these two men, but it was not that that +tied their tongues. It was partially the fact that Cipriani de Lloseta +had moved with the times--had learnt, perhaps, too well, to acquire +that reserve which is daily becoming more noticeable among men. + +Nevertheless, it was he who spoke first. + +"I asked you to come and smoke a cigar with me for a purpose," he said. + +Fitz nodded. + +"Yes," he answered; "I thought so." + +A shadowy smile acknowledged this simple statement of a simple fact. +The Count leant forward on his seat, resting his somewhat hollow cheek +on his hand and his elbow on the arm of his chair. + +"Some years ago," he said, "before you were born, I passed through +a--well, a bad time. One of those times, I take it, when a man finds +out the difference between a friend and an acquaintance. The +circumstances would not interest you. They are essentially personal. +Some men, and many women--I am not cynical, that is the last resource +of one who has himself to blame, I am merely stating a fact--many women +turned their backs upon me. There was, however, one man--an +Englishman--who held to me with that unflinching courage of his own +opinion which makes an Englishman what he is. I accepted nothing from +him at the time. In fact, he could do nothing for me. I think he +understood. An Englishman and a Spaniard have much in common. He is +dead now. It was Challoner." + +Fitz nodded. The Count changed his position slightly. + +"I want you to use what influence you have with Miss Challoner. She is +proud." + +Fitz made no attempt to disclaim the implied influence. + +"Yes," he said; "I know." + +And he looked at the end of his cigar with a deep interest. The man +who loves a proud woman loves her pride. He is also a happy man, +because her pride will kill her vanity, and it is a woman's vanity that +spoils a husband's love. + +"It would be a great satisfaction to me," the Count went on, "to pay +off in some small degree the debt of gratitude which I never even +acknowledged to Challoner. Eve"--he paused, and repeated the name with +a certain sense of enjoyment--"Eve is not fully equipped with worldly +wisdom. Thank God, for I hate a worldly-wise woman. She is hardly old +enough or--plain enough to fight her own battles." + +Fitz gave a sudden, sharp sigh, which made the Count pause for a moment. + +"You also have received kindness from Challoner," went on the elder +man, after a short silence. + +Fitz nodded comprehensively. + +"And, like myself," the Count continued, rather quickly, "you are +naturally interested in his daughter, and sorry for her in her great +change of circumstances. Now, it has occurred to me that together we +might do something towards helping her. You know her better than I do. +I only know that she is proud." + +"Very much to her credit," put in Fitz, looking fixedly at his own +boots. + +"Entirely so. And I respect her for it. Unfortunately, assistance +could hardly come from you--a young man. Whereas, I might be her +grandfather." + +He looked up with a smile--keen, black-haired, lithe of frame--a young +man in appearance. + +"We might help each other," he added, "you and I, quite alone. Captain +Bontnor is a very worthy old fellow, but--" and he shrugged his +shoulders. "We cannot leave her to the wayward charity of a capricious +woman!" he added, with sudden bluntness. + +He looked rather wonderingly at Fitz, who did not respond to this +suggestion, as he had expected him to do. The coalition seemed so +natural and so eminently practical, and yet the sailor sat coldly +listening to each proposition as it fell from his companion's lips, +weighing it, sifting it with a judicial, indifferent apathy. + +The Count de Lloseta threw himself back in his chair, and awaited, with +all the gravity of his race, the pleasure of his companion. At length +Fitz spoke, rather deliberately. + +"I think," he said, "you mistake the footing upon which I stand with +respect to Miss Challoner. I shall be most happy to do all in my +power; but I tell you frankly that it does not amount to much. I am +indebted to her indirectly for some very pleasant visits to D'Erraha; +her father was very kind to me. Hardly sufficient to warrant anything +that would look like interference on my part." + +The Count was too discreet a man to press the point any further. + +"All this unfortunate difficulty would have been easily averted had I +been less stupid. I shall never cease to regret it." + +He spoke conversationally, flicking the end of his cigar neatly into +the fire, and without looking at Fitz. + +"I never foresaw the natural tendency of lawyers to complicate the +affairs of life. My man in Palma was unfortunately zealous." + +Fitz nodded. + +"Yes," he said, "I was there." + +Cipriani de Lloseta glanced at him sharply. + +"I am glad of that," he said. "It was very stupid of me. I ought to +have telegraphed to him to hold his tongue." + +"But Miss Challoner could not have accepted the Val d'Erraha as a +present?" + +"Oh yes, she could, if she had not known. These little things are only +a matter of sentiment." + +Fitz leant forward, looking into the Count's face without attempting to +conceal his surprise. + +"Do you mean to say you would have given it to her?" he asked. + +"No; I should have paid it to her in settlement of a debt which I owed +to her father." + +The Count moved rather uneasily in his chair. His eyes fell before his +companion's steady gaze. + +"Another matter of sentiment," suggested Fitz. + +De Lloseta shrugged his shoulders. + +"If you will." + +They lapsed into silence again. The Count was puzzled by Fitz, as Fitz +in his turn had been puzzled earlier in the evening by Eve. It was +merely the old story of woman the incomprehensible, and man the +superior--the lord of the universe--puzzled, completely mystified, made +supremely miserable or quite happy by her caprice of a moment. + +It was a small thing that stood between these two men, preventing them +from frankly co-operating in the scheme which both had at heart. It +was nothing but the tone of a girl's voice, the studied silence of a +girl's eyes, which had once been eloquent. + +It was getting late. A discreet clock on the mantelpiece declared the +hour of midnight in deliberate cathedral chime. Fitz looked up, but he +did not move. He liked Cipriani de Lloseta. He had been prepared to +do so, and now he had gone further than he had intended. He wanted him +to go on talking about Eve, for he thirsted in his dumbly enduring way +for more details of her life. But he would not revert to the subject. +Rather than that he would go on enduring. + +While they were sitting thus in silence, the only other occupant of the +room--the man with the pain-drawn face--rose from his seat, helping his +legs with unsteady hands upon either arm of the chair. He threw the +paper down carelessly on the table, and came across the room towards +the Count de Lloseta. He was a surprisingly tall man when he stood up; +for in his chair he seemed to sink into himself. His hair was +grey--rather long and straggly--his eyes hazel, looking through +spectacles wildly. His cheeks were very hollow, his chin square and +bony. Here was a man of keen nerves and quick to suffer. + +"Well," he said to Lloseta, "I haven't seen you for some time." + +"I've been away." + +The tall man looked down at him with the singular scrutiny already +mentioned. + +"Spain?" + +"Spain." + +He turned away with a little nod, but stopped before he had gone many +paces. + +"And when are you going to write those sketches of Spanish life?" he +asked, with a cheery society laugh, which sounded rather incongruous. +"Never, I suppose. Well, the loss is mine. Good-night, Lloseta." + +He went away without looking back. + +"Do you know who that is?" the Count asked Fitz when the door was +closed. + +Fitz had risen, with his eye on the clock. + +"No. But I seem to know his face." + +The Count looked up with a smile. + +"You ought to. That was John Craik." + + + +CHAPTER XVI. BROKEN. + + The Powers + Behind the world that make our griefs our gains. + +The small town of Somarsh, in Suffolk, consists of one street running +up from the so-called harbour. At one end is the railway-station; at +the other the harbour and the sea, and that is Somarsh. There are +records that in days gone by--in the days of east coast +prosperity--there was a Mayor of Somarsh, or Southmarsh, as it was then +written. But Ichabod! + +All Somarsh was in the street one morning after Fitz had gone to sea +again, and those of the women who were not talking loudly were weeping +softly. The boats were not in yet, but the weather was fine, and the +still, saffron sea was dotted with brown sails. There was nothing +wrong with the boats. + +No; the trouble was on shore, as it mostly is. It came not from the +sea, but from men. It was pinned upon the door of Merton's Bank in the +High Street. Its form was unintelligible, for the wording of the +notice was mostly outside the Suffolk vocabulary. There was something +written in a clerkly hand about the withdrawal of "financial facilities +necessitating a stoppage of payment pending reconstruction." + +But the people in the street were saying that Merton's was "broke." The +constable said so, and he was a recognised authority on matters +pertaining to dry land and the law. The door was locked on the inside, +the shutters were up, the blinds down, as if mourning the death of a +good East county credit. + +"And them a drivin' behind their two horses," said one old +weather-beaten fisherman, who was suspected of voting on the wrong side +at electioneering time. + +Some shook their heads, but the word went no farther, for the man who +does his business on the great waters has a vast respect for ancient +institutions. And Merton's had been a good bank for many generations. + +"P'raps," said an old woman who had nothing to lose--for the sea had +even kept her corpses from her--"p'raps what they say 'bout +reconstruction may be all right. But here comes the capt'n." + +The crowd turned like one man and watched the advent of Captain Bontnor. + +The old man was dressed in his best pilot cloth suit. He had worn it +quite recklessly for the last month, ever since Eve had come to live +with him. He had been interrupted in his morning walk--his +quarter-deck tramp--forty times the length of his own railing in front +of Malabar Cottage. The postman bringing letters for Eve, had told him +that there was trouble down in the town, and that he would likely be +wanted. + +When he saw where the crowd was stationed he caught his breath. + +"No," he said aloud to himself, "no, it can't be Merton's." + +And when he joined the townspeople they saw that his sunburnt, rugged +face was grey as ashes. + +"Mates," he said, "what is it?" + +"Merton's is broke--Merton's is broke!" they answered, clearing a way +for him to read the notice for himself. In Somarsh Captain Bontnor was +considered quite a scholar. As such he might, perhaps, have deciphered +the clerkly handwriting in a shorter time than he now required, but on +the east coast a reputation is not easily shaken. + +They waited for the verdict in silence. After five minutes he turned +round and his face gave some of them a shock. His kindly blue eyes had +a painfully puzzled, incompetent look, which had often come across them +in Barcelona and in London. But in Somarsh only Eve was familiar with +it. + +"Yes, mates," he said, falling back into his old seafaring vernacular, +forgetful of his best suit, "yes, shipmates, as far as I rightly +understand it, the bank's broken. And--and there's some of us that's +ruined men." + +He stood for a moment looking straight in front of him--looking very +old and not quite fit for life's battle. Then he moved away. + +"I'll just go and tell my niece," he said. + +They watched him stump away--sturdy, unbroken, upright--still a man. + +"It's a hard end to a hard life," said the old woman who had suggested +hope; and being only human, they fell to discussing the event from the +point at which it affected their own lives. + +Malabar Cottage stood at the top end of the High Street--almost by +itself--looking out over the little green plot of common land, where +the coastguard flagpost stands towards the sea. It was a low-roofed, +solidly built cottage--once a coastguard station, but superseded in the +heyday of east coast smuggling by a larger station further up the hill. +There was a little garden in front, which the captain kept himself, +growing such old-fashioned flowers as were content with his ignorant +handling. The white jasmine ran riot over the portico. + +Eve had apparently received a letter of some importance, for she was +standing at the gate waiting for him. She ran out hatless to see him +on his quarter-deck, and to her surprise found him not. She soon saw +him coming, however, and to beguile the time fell to reading her letter +a second time, with a little frown, as if the caligraphy gave her +trouble. + +She did not look up until he was quite close. + +"Uncle," she cried, "what is the matter?" + +He gave a smile, which was painfully out of place on his bluff +features--it was wan and twisted. + +"Nothing, my dearie; nothing." + +He fumbled at the gate, and she had to find the latch for him. + +"Just come below--I mean indoors, my dear. I've had some news. I dare +say it will be all right--but just at first, you understand, it is a +little--keen." + +He bustled through the porch, and Eve followed him. She watched him +hang up his old straw hat, standing on tiptoe with a grunt, as was his +wont. + +"I must unship that peg and put it a bit lower," he said, as he had +said a hundred times before. + +Then he went into the little dining-room and sat somewhat heavily down, +with his two hands resting on his knees. He looked puzzled. + +"Truth is, my dear," he said breathlessly, "I don't seem to take to +this long-shore life. I--I rather think of going back to sea. There's +plenty will give me a ship. And I want you to keep this cottage nice +for me, dearie, against my coming home." + +He paused, looking round the room with a poor simulation of interest at +the quaint ornaments and curiosities which he had brought home from +different parts of the world. He looked at the ceiling and the +carpet--anywhere, in fact, except at Eve. Then he pushed his fingers +through his thick grey hair, making it stand on end in a ludicrous +manner. + +"I've got all my bits of things collected here--just bits of +things--oh, dear!--oh, dear--Eve, my child, I wonder why the Almighty's +gone and done this?" + +Eve was already sitting on the arm of his chair, stroking back his hair +with her tender fingers. + +"What is it, uncle?" she asked. "Tell me." + +"Merton's," he answered. "Merton's, and them so safe!" + +"Is it only money?" cried Eve. "Is that all?" + +"Yes," he answered rather wearily, "that's all. But it's money that's +took me fifty-five years to make." + +"And had you it all in Merton's Bank?" + +"Yes, dearie, all." + +"But are you sure they have failed--that there is no mistake?" + +"Quite sure. I've read it myself pinned on the door, and the shutters +up, like a thing you read of in the newspapers. No, it's right. +There's not often a mistake about bad news." + +Eve bent over him very tenderly and kissed him. He was holding her +hand between his, patting it gently with his rough, weather-beaten +fingers. He was looking straight in front of him with that painful +look of helplessness which had earned him the friendship of Lord +Seahampton in Barcelona. + +"But," said the girl at length, "you cannot go to sea again." + +She knew that he would never get a ship, for his seamanship, like all +other things that were his, was hopelessly superannuated. He was not +fit to be trusted with a ship--no owner would dream of it, no crew +would sail under him. + +"There's men," said the captain humbly, "who learnt their seamanship +from me--who sailed under me--p'raps one of them would give me a berth +as first mate or even second mate under him--for a shipmate they would +do it." + +Captain Bontnor had fallen behind the times even in his sentiments. He +did not know that in these days of short voyages, of Seamen's Unions, +and Firemen's Friendlies and Stokers' Guilds, a shipmate is no longer a +special friend--the tie is broken, as are many other ties, by the +advance of education. + +Then the old man pulled himself together, and smiled bravely at his +niece. + +"It is not for myself that I'm worrying," he said, "but for you. I +don't quite see my way clear yet. It's sort of sharp and sudden. I +cannot get the poor Mertons out of my head--people that have been +accustomed to their carriages and all. It's hard for them! You see, +what they say is that their financial facilities have been withdrawn, +and I dare say nobody is to blame. It is just what they call the hand +of God, in a bill of lading--just the hand of God." + +"Yes, dear," answered Eve. "And now I am going to serve out a glass of +sherry; you want it after your quick walk. That is what you did at +sea, you served it out, did you not?" + +"He, he! yes, dearie; that is it." + +His rugged hand shook as he drank the wine. + +"Only," he went on, after wiping his moustache vigorously with a red +pocket-handkerchief--"only it was rum, dearie--rum, you know, for heavy +weather. It puts heart into the men." + +His face suddenly clouded over again. + +"And we've run into heavy weather, haven't we? Just the hand of God." + +"Finish the glass," said Eve, and she stood over him while he drank the +wine. + +"And now," she went on, "listen to me. I have had a very important +letter, which could hardly have come at a more opportune moment. In +fact, I think we may call it also . . . what they say in a bill of +lading." + +She opened the letter, as if about to read it aloud, and on glancing +through she seemed to change her mind. + +"It is from Mrs. Harrington," she said. "It is a very kind letter." + +She looked at her uncle, whose face had suddenly hardened. He seemed +to be schooling himself to hear something unpleasant. + +"Ay!" he muttered, "ay! I suppose she'll get her way now. I suppose I +can't hope to keep you now. She'll get you--she'll get you." + +"Then I think you are a very mean old man!" exclaimed Eve. "I don't +believe you are a sailor at all. You are what you call a land-lubber, +if you think that I am the sort of person to accept your kindness when +you are prosperous, and then--and then when heavy weather comes to go +away and leave you." + +The old man smiled rather wanly, and fumbled with the red +pocket-handkerchief. + +"As it happens, Mrs. Harrington does not ask me to go and stay with +her--she asks me--" She paused and laid her hand on his shoulder +gently. "She asks me--to accept money." + +Captain Bontnor sat upright. + +"Ay-y-y," he said, "charity." + +"Yes," said Eve quietly, "charity; and I'm going to accept it." + +Captain Bontnor scratched his head. His manners were not, as has +already been stated, remarkable for artificiality or superficial +refinement. He screwed up his features as if he were swallowing +something nasty. + +"Read me the letter," he said. + +Eve opened the missive again, and looked at it. + +"She puts it very nicely," she said. "She asks if you will permit me +to accept a dress allowance from a rich woman who does not always spend +her money discreetly." + +It must be admitted that Mrs. Harrington's nice way of putting it lost +nothing by its transmission through Eve's lips. + +Thus poor Charity creeps in wherever she can shelter. She is not +proud. She does not ask to be accepted for her own sake; though Heaven +knows she frequently is. She masquerades in any costume--she accepts +the humiliation of any disguise. She is ready to be cast down before +swine, or raised high before the eyes of fools. She is used as a tool +or a stepping-stone--the humble handmaid of the tuft-hunter and the +toady. She is dragged through the mire of the slums to the dwellings +of the wealthy and idle. She is hounded up and down the world--the +plaything of Fashion, the trap of the unwary, the washerwoman of the +unclean who wish to try the paths of virtue--for a change. And she is +still Charity, and she lives strong and pure in herself. It has been +decreed that we shall ever have the poor beside us, and so long shall +we also possess those who live on them. + +Charity begetteth charity, and it was for Charity's sake that Eve +Challoner took the bitter bread to herself, and accepted Mrs. +Harrington's offer. + +Her own pride lay between her and this woman whom she knew to be +capricious, uncertain, lacking the quality of justice. Her duty +towards Captain Bontnor lay between her and high Heaven. + +So Eve Challoner learnt her first lesson in that school where we all +are called to study sooner or later--the school of Adversity; where +some of us pass creditably, whilst others are ploughed, and a few--a +very few--take honours. + + + + +BOOK THE SECOND. + + + + +CHAPTER I. BITS OF LIFE. + + Some far-off touch + Of greatness, to know well I am not great. + +The local house-agent anticipated no difficulty in letting Malabar +Cottage, furnished, at a good weekly rental; and in due course a dreamy +clergyman, with a wife who was anything but dreamy, came and saw and +hired. The wide-awake wife was so interested in Eve that she forgot to +settle several details which came to her mind afterwards. Her +curiosity was so aroused that the special cupidity belonging to the +wife of the dreamy clergyman was for the moment allayed, and she forgot +to drive a hard bargain. + +Moreover, Eve's manner was not exactly encouraging to the would-be +bargainer. A stupendous ignorance of the tricks of furnished +house-letting, combined with a certain lofty contempt for details, +acquired in Spain, where such contempt is thoroughly understood, +completely baffled the clergyman's wife. She concluded that Eve was a +very stupid and ignorant girl, a poor housekeeper, and an incompetent +woman of the world; and yet she was afraid of her, simply because she +did not understand her. Jews, poor men's wives, and other persons who +live by haggling, have a subtle fear of those who will not haggle. + +So Malabar Cottage was let; and in due time the sad day arrived when +Captain Bontnor had to bid farewell to his "bits of things." These +"bits of things" were in reality bits of his life--and a human life is +not so long nor so interesting an affair that we can afford lightly to +break off any portion, to throw it away, or even to let it out on hire. + +Captain Bontnor wandered rather disconsolately round the rooms after +breakfast, and as Eve was with him he gave her a short inventory of +these pieces of his life. + +"That there harpoon," he said, pointing to a rusty relic on the wall +above the mantelpiece, "was given to me by the finest whaling captain +that ever found his way into the North water. When I first went to sea +I thought I'd like to be a whaler; but two voyages settled that fancy. +I'm told they shoot their harpoons out of a gun nowadays--poor sport +that! And there's no sport like whalin'. Two thousand pounds at one +end of a line and your own life at the other--that's finer sport than +these Cockney partridge-shooters know of. + +"And that's my seal-pick--many a seal have I killed with that. That +there's the portrait of the True Love, three-masted schooner, built at +Littlehampton by Harvey. Sailed second mate, first mate, and master in +her, I did. Then she was sold; and a lubber went and--and threw her on +the Kentish Knock in a south-easterly gale. She was a pretty ship! I +felt the loss as if she'd been my sweetheart--the pretty little True +Love! + +"That string of shells was given to me by a shipmate--old Charlie +Sams--to bring home for his wife. He picked 'em up on the beach above +James Town. Took yellow Jack, he did, and died in my arms--and he only +had the shells to send to his young wife and a bit of a baby he was +always botherin' and talkin' about. I did two cross voyages, and one +of them round the Horn, before I got home, and I couldn't find the +woman, she having moved. So when I left the sea, I just hung them up +in case she happened to come along by chance and see them with his +portrait underneath. That's Charlie Sams--a bit brown and faded. She +won't come along now, I suppose. It is a matter of fifty-five years +since Charlie died." + +As he wandered round the house, so he wandered on in his reminiscences, +until Eve led him out of the front door. He took his hat from the peg +which he had been intending to unship and refix at a lower level for +the last fifteen years, and followed her meekly into the garden. He +paused to pick up some yellow jasmine leaves which had withered in the +warmth of the May sun and fallen on the doorstep. Then he looked back +longingly. + +"You see," said Eve cheerfully, "it is only for a few months. We can +always let it in the summer like this, and live luxuriously on our rent +in the winter." + +He threw back his shoulders and smiled bravely, trying to banish the +thought of his "bits of things." + +"Yes, dearie, it's only for a few months--only for a few months." + +And they both knew that they could not hope to live in Malabar Cottage +again--not, at all events, on the rent paid by the clergyman's wife. + +They had taken lodgings in a small house near the harbour, which, as +Eve pointed out, was much more convenient for the shops; and, besides, +they could now buy their fish out of the boats. This last theory she +propounded with a grave assumption of housekeeping knowledge which did +not fail to impress Captain Bontnor. + +The whole town knew of the captain's misfortune, and half the citizens +of Somarsh shared in it. Only those who had saved nothing lost +nothing, for Merton's was the only bank on the coast; and more than one +old fisherman--bent with rheumatism, crippled by the hardships of a +life spent half in the water, half on it--saw his savings--the fruit of +long toilsome years--go to pay the London tradesmen a part of what +young Merton owed them. It was the old, oft-repeated tale of +over-education. A country banker's son sent to public school and +university to be educated out of country banking and into nothing else. + +Captain Bontnor was quite penniless. During his long life he had saved +nearly four thousand pounds, and this sum he had placed on deposit with +the Somarsh bankers, living very comfortably on the interest. The +whole of this was absorbed--a mere drop in the financial ocean. + +Mrs. Harrington had asked Eve to accept a dress allowance of forty +pounds a year, and Eve accepted--for her uncle. Besides this she had a +little ready money--the result of the sale of the contents of the Casa +d'Erraha. A person who looked like a butler or a major-domo had gone +over from Barcelona to Palma to attend this sale; and the local buyers +laughed immoderately at him in their sleeves. He was, they opined, a +mule--he did not know the value of things, and paid double for all he +bought. + +But the proceeds of the sale did not amount to much. Eve knew that +something must be done. The money would soon be exhausted, and they +could not live on the dress allowance. Since the failure of the bank, +Captain Bontnor's mental grasp had seemed less reliable than ever, and +Eve had kept these things to herself. + +The captain's one servant--an aged female--who ruined his digestion and +neglected her dusting, was prevailed upon to return to her people, and +Eve and her uncle settled down to their restricted life in the lodgings +which were so conveniently near the fishing harbour. + +The captain was too old to break off his habits of life, so he walked +his quarter-deck tramp, backwards and forwards beneath the window on +the clean pavement of the High Street, which broadened out to the +harbour. He went down to meet the boats, where he was ever a welcome +onlooker, and he never came back without fish for which no payment had +been taken. + +He usually met the postman when he was keeping his watch on +deck--beneath the little bay-window--and if there was a letter for Eve, +he would pause in front of the house, and hand it through the open sash. + +He did this one morning after they had been in the lodgings a month, +and he had not added two turns to the regulation forty before Eve +called to him. He bustled in at the door, hung his old straw hat on a +peg, which was likewise too high, and went into the little parlour. As +he was smoking, he stood in the doorway, for he had not yet got over +his immense respect for the niece who was above him. + +"Yes, dearie?" he said. "What to do now?" + +Eve was standing near the window, holding a letter in her hand. + +"Listen!" she said, and spreading out her elbows she read grandly-- + +"'MADAM,--I like your Spanish Notes and Sketches; but I cannot put in +number one until I see number two. Send me more, or, better still, if +convenient, when you are next in town, do me the honour of calling +here.--Yours very truly--' + +"Now listen, uncle." + +"Yes, dear!" + + "'Yours very truly, + "'JOHN CRAIK.'" + +"Lor!" ejaculated Captain Bontnor, "the gentleman that writes." + +Eve handed him the letter, which he held, awestruck, with the tip of +his thumb and finger. + +"He doesn't write very well--he, he!" he added, with a chuckle. "I'm +afraid it's no good my trying to read it without my glasses." + +He blinked at the crabbed spidery caligraphy, and handed the letter +back. + +"It is signed John Craik, but Providence held the pen," said Eve. "If +this letter had not come I should have had to leave you, uncle. I +should have had to go and be a governess. And I do not want to leave +you." + +The old man's eyes filled suddenly, as old eyes sometimes will. He +stuffed his pipe into his pocket and took her two hands in his, patting +them tenderly. + +He did not speak for some time, but stood blinking back the tears. + +"Then God bless John Craik!" he said. "God bless him." + +They sat down to talk this thing over, forgetful of the captain's pipe, +which burnt a hole in the lining of his coat. There was so much to be +discussed. Eve had written a certain number of short essays--painfully +conscious all the while of their simplicity and faultiness. She did +not know that so long as a person has his subject at his finger-ends, +simplicity is rather to be commended than otherwise. It is the +half-informed who are verbose. She had written simply of the simple +life which she knew so well. She had depicted Spanish daily life from +the keenly instinctive standpoint of a woman's observation; and only a +week before she had sent a single essay--marked number one--to the +editor of the Commentator, John Craik. + +She had written for money, and made no disguise of her motive. Here +was no literary lady with all the recognised adjuncts except the +literature. She did not write in order that she might talk of having +written. She did not talk in such flowing periods and with such +overbearing wisdom that insincere friends in sheer weariness were +called upon to suggest that she should and could write. + +In sending her first small attempt to John Craik she had not forwarded +therewith a long explanatory letter, which reticence had made him read +the manuscript. + +Eve read the great man's letter a second time, while the captain +scratched his head and watched her. + +"And," he said meekly, "what do you think of doing?" + +Eve looked up with a happy smile. + +"What he tells me," she answered. "Oh, I am so glad, uncle; I cannot +tell you how glad I am." + +The captain shuffled awkwardly on his feet. + +"I'm more than glad," he said. "I'm sorter proud." + +He pulled down his coat and walked to the window. + +"Yes," he said, looking out into the street. "That's it. I'm proud. +It's a great gift--writin'. A great gift." + +Eve laughed. + +"Oh!" she answered. "I'm afraid that I have no gift. It is a very, +very minute talent. That is all. I always liked books, but I have not +the gift for writing them." + +Captain Bontnor never thought Eve was a great authoress. In his simple +way this man had a vast deal of discrimination, as simple people often +have. It is the oversubtle man who makes the most egregious mistakes, +because most of us have not time to be subtle. He never suspected Eve +of being a great authoress, and he never attributed to her any desire +to attain that doubtful pinnacle of fame. But he saw very plainly the +immense advantage to be gathered in this time from her talent. In his +simplicity he hoped that something would turn up for him to do, in a +world which has no pity nor charity for that which is old, effete, and +out of fashion. + +"Yes," he said, after deep thought, "we must do what he tells us. +There's no harm in that." + +Eve laughed. + +"I thought," she said, "that we understood pride in Spain and Mallorca; +but I have never met such a proud caballero as you." + +She was standing behind him where he stood, looking grimly out of the +window, her two hands resting on his broad shoulders. + +"I suppose," she went on, "that you have once or twice humbled your +pride so much as to accept a ship when it was offered you. You said +that there are plenty who would give you a command now. John Craik is +giving me a ship, that is all." + +The captain nodded. + +"Yes," he said, "that's it, that's it. You've got your first ship." + + + +CHAPTER II. A COMPACT. + + Prends moy tel que je suy. + +The tendency of the age is to peep behind the scenes. The world is +growing old, and human nature is nearly worn through; we are beginning +to see the bare bones of it. But a strange survival of youthfulness is +that remarkable fascination of the unseen--the desire to get behind the +scenes and see the powder for ourselves. If a man makes his livelihood +by lifting horses and other heavy objects from the earth, we +immediately wish to know details of his private life, and an obliging +journalist interviews him. If another write a book, we immediately +wish to know how he does it, where, when, and why. We also like to see +his portrait on the fly-leaf--or HE likes to see it there. + +Eve Challoner was lamentably behind the spirit of the age in that she +did not know how she wrote a series of articles destined to attain +renown. But as she never went out to meet the interviewer, he never +came to her. She fell into a habit of going out for long walks by +herself, and in the course of these peregrinations she naturally +acquired the custom of thinking about her writing. + +During these long walks Captain Bontnor remained at home alone, or +joined a knot of fellow-mariners on the green in front of the +reading-room. When Eve came home with her mind full of matter to be +set down on paper he discreetly went to keep his watch on +deck--backwards and forwards on the pavement in front of the window. +At each turn the old sailor paused to cast his eyes over the whole +horizon, after the manner of mariners, as if he were steering Somarsh +across the North Sea. + +Thus uncle and niece glided imperceptibly into that mode of life which +is called humdrum, and which some wise people consider the best mode of +getting through existence. Sketch number two was written, rewritten, +liked, hated, and finally sent to John Craik, with a letter explaining +that the writer lived in Suffolk, and could not for the moment make it +convenient to go to London. John Craik was a busy man. He made no +answer, and in a few days the proof of sketch number one arrived, with +a little printed notice of instructions as to correcting and returning. +Of all fleeting glamours that of the proof-sheet is assuredly lightest +on the wing, and Eve duly hated her own works in print, as we all do +hate our first triumphs. Afterwards we get resigned--much as we grow +resigned to the face we see in the looking-glass. + +At this time Captain Bontnor conceived the idea that it was incumbent +upon him to take up seriously, though late in life, the higher walks of +literature. + +"Now," he said to Eve one evening, when the first proof had been almost +wept over, "now, dearie, what author would you recommend to a man who +has a natural likin' for reading, but owing to the circumstances of his +life has had no opportunity of cultivatin' his taste?" + +"Well, uncle, a good deal would depend upon his inclination--whether he +liked poetry or fiction, or serious reading." + +"Of course, of course," acceded Captain Bontnor, pressing the tobacco +into his pipe with his thumb; "I am taking that into consideration. +There's all sorts to be had now, ain't there--poetry and fiction and +novels? I am not sure that the style would matter much, so long--so +long as the print was nice and clear." + +Eve duly gave her opinion without pressing the question too closely, +and while she was out on her long walks Captain Bontnor laboriously +cultivated his neglected taste. He sat in the window-seat with much +gravity, and more than made up in application for the youthful +quickness which he lacked. He resolutely refused to look up from his +book when he heard the alternate thud and stump which announced the +passage down to the harbour of his particular crony, Mark Standon, +whose other leg had been buried at sea. He kept the dictionary beside +him, and when the writer used a word of sonorous ring and obscure +meaning he gravely looked it out. + +The first time that Mr. Standon saw his friend thus engaged he stood on +the pavement and expressed his surprise with more force than elegance; +whereupon Captain Bontnor went out and explained to him exactly how it +stood. So marked was the old sailor's influence on the social affairs +at Somarsh that there was a notable revival of literary taste and +discussion at the corner of the Lifeboat House, where the local +intellect assembled. + +Captain Bontnor was engaged one day in the study of an author called +Dickens, to whose works he had not yet found time to devote his full +attention, when a strange footstep on the pavement made him look up. It +certainly was not Standon's halting gait, and a lack of iron nail +certified to the fact that it was no Somarsh man. The captain looked +over his spectacles and saw Cipriani de Lloseta studying the numbers on +the doors as he came down the quiet little street. + +The sight gave the old sailor rather a shock. He abandoned the study +of Mr. Dickens and took off his spectacles. Then he scratched his +head--always an ominous sign. His first instinct was to go and open +the door; then he remembered that the new-comer was a nobleman who +lived in a palace, and that he himself was indirectly a gentleman, +inasmuch as he lived in the same house as a lady--his niece. So he sat +still and allowed the landlady to open the door. + +When Cipriani de Lloseta was ushered into the tiny room he found the +captain half-bowing on the hearthrug. + +"Captain Bontnor," he said, with all the charm of manner which was his, +"this is a pleasure." + +The captain shook hands, and with the rough hospitality of the cabin +drew forward his own armchair, which the Count took at once. + +"When last we met," he said, "I had the privilege of receiving you at +my house in Barcelona--a poor dark place in a narrow street. Now here +you have a sea-view." + +"But this is not my house," said Captain Bontnor, feeling unaccountably +at ease with this nobleman. "Malabar Cottage is farther up the hill. +I've got all my bits of things up there." + +"Indeed. It would have given me pleasure to see them. I learnt from a +mutual--friend, Mrs. Harrington, of your change of address." + +Captain Bontnor looked at him keenly; and who shall say that the rough +old man did not appreciate the refined tact of his visitor? + +"I've had losses," he said. + +The Count nodded shortly. He was drawing off his gloves. + +"I do not know," he said conversationally, "if it has been your +experience, but for myself I have found that reverses of fortune are +not without some small consolation. They prove the friendship of one's +friends." + +The captain reflected. + +"Yes," he said, "you're right, Mr.--I mean Count--and--and brings the +good out of women." + +"Women!" the Count repeated gravely. "You refer to Miss Challoner--I +see signs of her presence in this room. Is she out?" + +"Yes--I am afraid she is." He glanced nervously at the clock. "She is +not likely to be in for an hour and more yet." + +"I am sorry," said the Count; "but also I am rather glad. I shall thus +have an opportunity of asking your opinion upon one or two +matters--between men of the world, you know." + +"I am afraid my opinion is not of much value, sir, except it's about +schooners--I always sailed in schooners." + +The Count nodded gravely. + +"In my country," he said, "we usually go in for brigs; they find them +easier to handle. But you know Mallorca--you have seen for yourself." + +The captain was not listening; he was looking at the modest +lodging-house sideboard. + +"I was wondering," he explained, with a transparent simplicity which +was perhaps as good as that which is called good breeding, "whether you +would take a glass of sherry wine." + +"I should like nothing better," said the Count. "It will give me +pleasure to take a glass of wine with you." + +Quietly, imperceptibly, De Lloseta set Captain Bontnor at his ease, and +at the same time he mastered him. They spoke of indifferent +topics--topics which, however, were well within the captain's knowledge +of the world. Then suddenly the Count laid aside the social mask which +he wore with such consummate ease. + +"I came down to Somarsh," he said, "because I am deeply distressed at +your reverse of fortune. I came to see you, captain, because when I +had the pleasure of meeting you at Barcelona I saw you to be a just +man, and one to whom one could speak openly. I am a rich man--you +understand. Need I say more?" + +Captain Bontnor blinked uncertainly. + +"No," he answered, "I'm thinkin' it isn't necessary." + +"Not between men of the world," urged Cipriani de Lloseta. "It is not +for your sake. I would not insult you in such a way. It is for Eve. +For a woman's sake a man may easily sacrifice his pride." + +The captain nodded and glanced at the clock. He had not fully realised +until that moment how dependent he was upon his niece. + +"You know," continued the Count, following up his advantage, "all the +somewhat peculiar circumstances of the case. Do you think there is any +chance of Eve's reconsidering her decision?" + +The captain shook his head. + +"No," he answered bluntly, "I don't. Since she came back from +London--" he paused. + +"Yes, since she came back from London?" suggested the Count. + +"She seems more determined than ever." + +The Count was looking at him keenly. + +"Then," he said, "you also have noticed a change." + +Captain Bontnor shuffled in his seat and likewise in his speech. + +"I suppose," he said, "that she has grown into a woman. Adversity's +done it." + +"Yes," said the Count, "your observations seem to me to be correct. I +had the pleasure of seeing her once or twice when she was staying at +Mrs. Harrington's; but I did not refer to the question raised at my +house in Barcelona, because I noticed the change to which you allude. +Instead, I attempted to gain the co-operation and assistance of a +mutual friend, Henry FitzHenry." + +Cipriani de Lloseta paused and looked at his companion, who in turn +gazed stolidly at the fire. + +"And I received a rebuff," added the Count. He waited for some little +time, but Captain Bontnor had no comment to offer, so De Lloseta went +on: "Challoner was one of my best friends. I do not feel disposed to +let the matter drop, more especially now that you have been compelled +to leave Malabar Cottage. I propose entreating Miss Challoner to +reconsider her decision. Will you help me?" + +"Yes," answered Captain Bontnor, "I will." + +"Then tell me if Eve has accepted assistance from Mrs. Harrington?" + +"Yes, she has." + +The Count swore softly in Spanish. + +"I am sorry for that," he said aloud. "I am superstitious. I have a +theory that Mrs. Harrington's money is apt to be a curse to those upon +whom it is bestowed." + +"Mrs. Harrington's no friend of mine," said Captain Bontnor; and De +Lloseta, who was looking out of the window, smiled somewhat grimly. + +"Perhaps," he said after a little pause, "perhaps you will allow me to +claim the privilege which you deny to her?" + +"Yes," answered Captain Bontnor awkwardly; "yes, if you care to." + +"Thanks. I see Miss Challoner--Eve--coming. I count on your +assistance." + +Eve paused on the threshold in astonishment at the sight of the Count +de Lloseta and her uncle in grave discourse over a glass of sherry. + +"You!" she said. "You here!" + +And he wondered why she suddenly lost colour. + +"I," he answered, "I--here to pay my respects." + +Eve gave a little gasp of relief. For a moment she was off her +guard--with a dangerous man watching her. + +"I thought you had bad news," she said. + +And Cipriani de Lloseta knew that this was a woman whose heart was at +sea. + +"No," he answered; "I merely came to quarrel." + +He drew forward a chair, and Eve sat down. + +"We shall always quarrel," he went on, "unless you are kind. Let us +begin at once and get it over, because I want to stay to lunch. Will +you reconsider your decision with respect to the Val d'Erraha?" + +Eve shook her head and looked at her uncle. + +"No," she answered; "I cannot do that. Not now." + +"Some day?" he suggested. + +"Not now," repeated the girl; and, looking up, her face suddenly became +grave, as if reflecting the expression in the dark Spanish eyes bent +upon her. + +"You are cruel!" he said. + +"I am young--" + +"Is it not the same thing?" + +"And I can work," added Eve. + +"Yes," he said. "But in my old-fashioned way I am prejudiced against a +lady working. In the days of women's rights ladies are apt to forget +the charm of white hands." + +Eve made no answer. + +"Then it is not peace?" + +"No," she answered, with a smile; "not yet." + +She was standing beside Captain Bontnor, with her hand on his shoulder. + +"Uncle and I," she added, "are not beaten yet." + +Cipriani de Lloseta smiled darkly. + +"Will you promise me one thing," he said; "that when you are beaten you +will come to me before you go to any one else?" + +"Yes," answered Eve, "I think we can promise that." + + + +CHAPTER III. BAFFLED. + + He conquers who awaits the end. + +Fortune fixed her wayward fancy on the first sketch that Eve +contributed to the Commentator. Wayward, indeed, for Eve herself knew +that it was not good, and in the lettered quiet of the editorial +sanctum John Craik smiled querulously to himself. John Craik had a +supreme contempt for the public taste, but he knew exactly what it +wanted. He was like a chef smiling over his made dishes. He did not +care for the flavour himself, but his palate was subtle enough to +detect the sweet or bitter that tickled his master's tongue. He served +the public faithfully, with a twisted, cynic smile behind his +spectacles--for John Craik had a family to feed. He knew that Eve's +work was only partially good--true woman's work that might cease to +flow at any moment. But he detected the undeniable originality of it, +and the public palate likes a novel flavour. + +So deeply versed was he in worldly knowledge, so thoroughly had he +gauged the critic, the journalist, and the public, that before he +unfolded a newspaper he could usually foresee the length, the nature, +and the literary merit of the criticism. He knew that the tendency of +the age is to acquire as much knowledge as possible in a short time. +He looked upon the world as a huge kindergarten, and the Commentator as +its school-book. It was good that the world's knowledge of its own +geography should be extended, but the world must not be allowed to +detect the authority of the usher's voice. There are a lot of people +who, like women at a remnant sale, go about the paths of literature +picking up scraps which do not match, and never can be of the slightest +use. It was John Craik's business to set out his remnant counter to +catch these wandering gleaners, and Eve sent him her wares by a lucky +chance at the moment when he wanted them. + +The editor of the Commentator was sitting in his deep chair before the +fire one morning about eleven o'clock, when the clerk, whose business +it was to tell glib lies about his chief, brought him a card. + +"Lloseta," said Craik aloud to himself. "Ask him to come up." + +"The man who ought to have written the Spanish sketches," he commented, +when the clerk had left. + +The Count came into the room with a certain ease of manner subtly +indicative of the fact that it was not the first time that he had +visited it. He shook hands and waited until the clerk had closed the +door. + +There was a copy of the month's Commentator on the table. De Lloseta +took it up and opened it at the first page. + +"Who wrote that?" he asked, holding out the magazine. + +Craik laughed--a sudden boyish laugh--but he held his sides the while. + +"You not only beard the lion in his den, but you ask him to tell you +the tricks of his trade," he said. "Sit down, all the same. You don't +mind my pipe, do you?" + +The Spaniard sat down and sought a cigarette-case in his waistcoat +pocket with a deliberation that made his companion fidget in his chair. + +"You asked me to write those sketches," said the Count pleasantly. "I +delayed and you gave the order to some one else. Assuredly I have a +certain right to ask who my supplanter is." + +"None whatever, my dear Lloseta. I did not give the order for those +sketches--they came." + +"From whom?" + +"Ah!" + +"You will not tell me?" + +"My dear man, I cannot. The smell of printing ink is not good for a +man's morals. Leave me my unsullied honour." + +The Count had lighted his cigarette. He looked keenly at his +companion's deeply-lined face, and the blue smoke floated between them. + +"There are not many people who could have written that article," he +said. "For the few English who know Spain like that are known to the +natives. And no Spaniard would have dared to write it." + +John Craik laughed, and while he was laughing his eyes were grave and +full of keen observation. + +"Then you admit that it is true," he said. + +"Yes," answered the Count; "it is true--all of it. The writer knows my +country as few Englishmen--or WOMEN know it." + +John Craik was leaning back in his deep chair an emaciated, +pain-stricken form. His calm grey eyes met the quick glance, and did +not fall nor waver. + +"Then you will not tell me?" + +"No. But why are you so anxious to know?" + +The Count smoked for a few seconds in silence. + +"I will tell you," he said suddenly, "in confidence." + +Craik nodded, and settled himself again in his chair. He was a very +fidgety man. + +"It is not the first article that I care about," explained De Lloseta. +"It is that which is behind it. This"--he laid his hand on the +page--"is my own country, the north and east of Spain, the wildest part +of the Peninsula, the home of the Catalonians, who have always been the +leaders in strife and warfare. It is the country from whence my family +has its source. All that is written about Catalonia or the Baleares +must necessarily refer in part to me and mine. This writer may know +too much." + +"I think," said John Craik, "that I can guarantee that if the writer +does know too much, the Commentator shall not be the channel through +which the knowledge will reach the public." + +"Thanks; but--can you guarantee it? Can you guarantee that the public +interest, being aroused by these articles, may not ask for further +details, which details might easily be given elsewhere, in something +less--respectable--than the Commentator?" + +"My dear sir, one would think you had a crime on your conscience." + +Cipriani de Lloseta smiled--such a smile as John Craik had never seen +before. + +"I have many," he answered. "Who has not?" + +"Yes; they accumulate as life goes on, do they not?" + +"What I fear," went on De Lloseta, "is the idle gossip which obtains in +England under the pleasant title of 'Society Notes,' 'Boudoir Chat,' +and other new-fangled vulgarities. In Spain we have not that." + +"Then Spain is the Promised Land." + +"Your Society journalists may talk of the English nobility, though the +aristocracy that fills the 'Society Notes' is almost invariably the +aristocracy of yesterday. But I want to keep the Spanish families out +of it if possible--the names that were there before printing was +invented." + +"Printing and education are too cheap nowadays," said John Craik. "They +are both dangerous instruments in the hands of fools, and it is the +fool who goes to the cheap market. But you need not be afraid of the +Society papers. It is only those who wish to be advertised who find +themselves there." + +De Lloseta's thoughts had gone back to the Commentator. He picked up +the magazine and was looking over the pages of the Spanish article. + +"It is clever," he said. "It is very clever." + +Craik nodded, after the manner of one who had formed his own opinion +and intended to abide by it. He was a gentle-mannered man in the +ordinary intercourse of life, but on the battlefield of letters he was +a veritable Coeur-de-Lion. He quailed before no man. + +"You know," said the Count, "there are only two persons who could have +written this--and they are women. If it is the one, I fear nothing; if +the other, I fear everything." + +"Then," said John Craik, shuffling in his chair, "fear nothing." + +De Lloseta looked at him sharply. + +"I could force you to tell a lie by mentioning the name of the woman +who wrote this," he said. + +"Then don't!" said John Craik. "I lie beautifully!" + +"No, I will not. But I will ask you to do something for me instead: +let me read the proofs of these as they are printed." + +For exactly two seconds John Craik pondered. + +"I shall be happy to do that," he said. "I will let you know when the +proof is ready. You must come here and read it in this room." + +Cipriani de Lloseta rose from his seat. + +"Thank you," he said, holding out his hand. "I will not keep you from +your work. You are doing a better action than you are aware of." + +He took the frail fingers in his grasp for a second and turned to go. +Before the door closed behind him John Craik was at work again. + +So Eve Challoner's work passed through Cipriani de Lloseta's hand, and +that nobleman came into her life from another point. It would seem +that in whichsoever direction she turned, the Mallorcan was waiting for +her with his grave persistence, his kindly determination to watch over +her, to exercise that manly control over her life which is really the +chief factor of feminine happiness on earth--if women only knew it. +For all through Nature there are qualities given to the male for the +sole advantage of the female, and the beasts of the forest rise up in +silent protest against the nonsense that is talked to-day of woman's +place in the world. We may consider the beasts of the field to +advantage, for through all the chances and changes of education, of +female emancipation, and the subjection of the weaker sort of man, +there will continue to run to the end of time the one grand principle +that the male is there to protect the female and the female to care for +her young. + +Cipriani de Lloseta thus late in life seemed to have found an object. +Eve Challoner, while bringing back the past with a flood of +recollections--for she seemed to carry the air of Mallorca with +her--had so far brought him to the present that for the first time +since thirty years and more he began to be interested in the life that +was around him. + +He suspected--nay, he almost knew--that Eve had written the article in +the Commentator which had attracted so much attention. John Craik had +to a certain extent baffled him. He had called on the editor of the +great periodical in the hope of gleaning some detail--some little scrap +of information which would confirm his suspicion--but he had come away +with nothing of value excepting the promise that the printed matter +should pass through his hands before it reached the public. + +Even if he was mistaken, and this proved after all to be the work of +Mrs. Harrington, the fact of the proof being offered to his scrutiny +was in itself an important safeguard. This, however, was only a +secondary possibility. He knew that Eve had written this thing, and he +wished to have the opportunity of correcting one or two small mistakes +which he anticipated, and which he felt that he himself alone could +rectify. + +In the meantime John Craik was scribbling a letter to Eve in his minute +caligraphy. + +"DEAR MADAM" (he wrote), "Your first article is, I am glad to say, +attracting considerable attention. It is absolutely necessary that I +should see you, with a view of laying down plans for further +contributions. Please let me know how this can be arranged. Yours +truly, + "JOHN CRAIK." + +And at the same time another man, to whom all these things were of +paramount importance--to whom all that touched Eve's life was as if it +touched his own--was reading the Commentator. Fitz, on his way home +from the Mediterranean, to fill the post of navigating-lieutenant to a +new ironclad at that time fitting out at Chatham, bought the +Commentator from an enterprising newsagent given to maritime venture in +Plymouth harbour. The big steamer only stayed long enough to discharge +her mails, and Fitz being a sailor did not go ashore. Instead, he sat +on a long chair on deck and read the Commentator. He naturally +concluded that at last Cipriani de Lloseta had acceded to John Craik's +wish. + +The Ingham-Bakers had come home from Malta and were at this time +staying with Mrs. Harrington in London. Agatha had of late taken to +reading the newspapers somewhat exhaustively. She read such columns as +are usually passed over by the majority of womankind--such as naval +intelligence and those uninteresting details of maritime affairs +printed in small type, and stated to emanate from Lloyd's, wherever +that vague source may be. + +From these neglected corners of the Morning Post Agatha Ingham-Baker +had duly learnt that Henry FitzHenry had been appointed +navigating-lieutenant to the Terrific, lying at Chatham, which would +necessitate his leaving the Kittiwake at Gibraltar and returning to +England at once. She also read that the Indian liner Croonah had +sailed from Malta for Gibraltar and London, with two hundred and five +passengers and twenty-six thousand pounds in specie. + +And John Craik had written to Eve to come to London, where she had a +permanent invitation to stay with Mrs. Harrington. + +From over the wide world these people seemed to be drifting together +like leaves upon a pond--borne hither and thither by some unseen +current, swirled suddenly by a passing breath--at the mercy of wind and +weather and chance, each occupied in his or her small daily life, +looking no further ahead than the next day or the next week. And yet +they were drifting surely and steadily towards each other, driven by +the undercurrent of Fate, against which the strongest will may beat +itself in vain. + + + +CHAPTER IV. FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER. + + Let thine eyes look right on. + +"How handsome Fitz looks in his uniform!" Mrs. Ingham-Baker said, with +that touch of nervous apprehension which usually affected all original +remarks addressed by her to Mrs. Harrington. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker had been to Malta and back, but the wonders of the +deep had failed to make a wiser woman of her. If one wishes to gain +anything by seeing the world, it is best to go and look at it early in +life. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Harrington, with a glance in the direction of +Agatha, the only other occupant of the drawing-room--"yes; he is a +good-looking young fellow." + +Agatha was reading the Globe, sitting upright and stiff, for she was +wearing a new ball-dress. + +"I think," went on Mrs. Ingham-Baker volubly, "that I have never seen a +naval uniform before--in a room close at hand, you know. Of course, on +board the Croonah the officers wore a sort of uniform, but they had not +a sword." + +Agatha turned over her newspaper impatiently. Mrs. Harrington was +listening with an air of the keenest interest, which might have been +sarcastic. + +"Poor Luke had not quite so much gold braid--" + +Agatha looked up, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker collapsed. + +"I should think," she added, after some nervous shufflings in her seat, +"that a sword is a great nuisance. Should you not think so, Marion +dear?" + +"I do not know," replied Mrs. Harrington; "I never wore one." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker laughed eagerly at herself, after the manner of +persons who cannot afford to keep up a decent self-respect. + +"But I always rather think," she went on, with an apprehensive glance +towards her daughter, "that a sword is out of place in a drawing-room, +or--or anywhere where there are carpets, you know." + +"I thought you had never seen one before," put in Agatha, without +looking up from her newspaper. "In a room--close at hand, you know." + +"No--no, of course not; but I knew, dear, that they were worn. Of +course, in warfare it is different." + +"In warfare," said Mrs. Harrington patiently, "they are usually +supposed to come in rather handy." + +"Yes--he-he!" acquiesced Mrs. Ingham-Baker, adjusting a bracelet on her +arm with something approaching complacency. She thought she began to +see daylight through the conversational maze in which--with the best +intentions--she had involved herself. "But I was only thinking that +for a lady's drawing-room I think I like Luke's quiet black clothes +just as much." + +"I am glad of that," said Mrs. Harrington; "because I expect you will +see several other men in the same dress this evening." + +Mrs. Harrington had got up a party to go to the great naval ball of the +season--a charity ball. Her party consisted of the Ingham-Bakers and +the FitzHenrys, and for the first time for eight years the twin +brothers met in the house in Grosvenor Gardens. They were at this +moment in the dining-room together, where they had been left by their +hostess with a kindly injunction to finish the port wine, duly +tempered--as was all Mrs. Harrington's kindness--by instructions not to +smoke. + +Agatha's feelings were rather mixed, so, like a wise young woman of the +world, she read the evening paper with great assiduity and refused to +think. + +The evening had been one of comparisons. Fitz and Luke had come +together, for they were sharing rooms in Jermyn Street. Fitz, smart, +upright, essentially a naval officer and an unquestionable gentleman. +Luke, a trifle browner, more weather-beaten, with a faint, subtle +suggestion of a rougher life. Fitz, easy, good-natured, calmly sure of +himself--utterly without self-consciousness. Luke, conscious of +inferior grade, not quite at ease, jealously on the alert for the +comparison. + +And Agatha had known from the first moment that in the eyes of the +world--and Mrs. Harrington looked through those eyes--there was no +comparison. Fitz carried all before him. All except Agatha. The girl +was puzzled. Luke could not be compared with Fitz, and the whole world +did not compare with Luke. She was fully awake to the contradiction, +and she could not reconcile her facts. She had been very properly +brought up at the Brighton Boarding School, receiving a good, +practical, modern, nineteenth-century education--a curriculum of solid +facts culled from the latest school books, from which Love had very +properly been omitted. + +And now, as she pretended to read the Globe Agatha was puzzling vaguely +and numbly over the contradictions that come into human existence with +the small adjunct called love. She was wondering how it was that she +saw Luke's faults and the thousand ways in which he was inferior to his +brother, and yet that with all these to stay him up Fitz did not +compare with Luke. After all, there must have been some small defect +in the education which she had received, for instead of thinking these +futile things she ought to have been attempting to discover--as was her +mother at that moment--which of the two brothers seemed more likely to +inherit Mrs. Harrington's money. + +Agatha's thoughts went back to the moment on the deck of the Croonah, +when the sea breeze swept over her and Luke, and the strength of it, +the simple, open force, seemed to be part and parcel of him--of the +strong arms around her in which she was content to lie quiescent. She +wondered for a moment whether it had all been true. + +For Agatha Ingham-Baker was essentially human and womanly, in that she +was, and ever would be, a creature of possibilities. She took up her +long gloves and began slowly to draw them on. They were quite new, and +she smoothed them with a distinct satisfaction, under which there +brooded the sense of a new possibility. In all her calculations of +life--and these had been many--she had never thought of the possibility +of misery. She buttoned the gloves, she drew them cunningly up over +her rounded arms, and she wondered whether she was going to be a +miserable woman all her life. She saw herself suddenly with those +inward eyes which are sometimes vouchsafed to us momentarily, and she +saw Misery--in its best dress. + +She looked up as Fitz and Luke came into the room. Luke's eyes were +only for her. Fitz, with the unconcealed absorption which was often +his, absolutely ignored her presence. And the little incident roused +something contradictory in Agatha--something evil and, alas! feminine. +She awoke to the very matter-of-factness of the present moment, and she +determined to make a conquest of Fitz. + +Agatha was not quite on her guard, and Mrs. Harrington's cold grey eyes +were alert. It had once been this lady's intention to use Agatha as a +means of subjecting Luke to her own capricious will--Agatha being the +alternative means where money had failed. She had almost forgotten +this when Luke came into the room with eyes only for Agatha--and the +girl was looking at Fitz. + +"I suppose, Agatha," said Mrs. Harrington, "you will not be at a loss +for partners to-night? You will know plenty of dancing men?" + +"Oh, I suppose so," replied Agatha indifferently. She turned over her +newspaper and retreated, as it were, behind her first line of +defence--the sure line of audacious silence. + +"The usual throng?" + +"The usual throng," answered Agatha imperturbably. + +Luke was biting his nails impatiently. His jealousy was patent to any +woman. Fitz was talking to Mrs. Ingham-Baker. + +"I should advise you young men to secure your dances now," continued +Mrs. Harrington, with her usual fatal persistence. "Once Agatha gets +into the room she will be snapped up." + +Fitz turned round with his good-natured smile--the smile that indicates +a polite attention to an indifferent conversation--and Mrs. +Ingham-Baker was free to thrust in her awkward oar. She splashed in. + +"Oh, I am sure she will not let herself be snapped up to-night; will +you, dear?" + +"That, no doubt, depends upon the snapper," put in Mrs. Harrington, +looking--perhaps by accident--at Fitz. "Fitz," she went on, "come here +and tell me all about your new ship. I hope you are proud--I am. I am +often laughed at for a garrulous old woman when I begin talking of you!" + +She glanced aside at Mrs. Ingham-Baker, who was beaming on Fitz, as the +simple-hearted beam on the rising sun. + +"Yes," said the stout lady, "we are all so delighted. Agatha was only +saying yesterday that your success was wonderful. She was quite +excited about it." + +The fond mother looked invitingly towards her daughter with a smile +that said as plainly as words-- + +"There you are! I have cleared the stage for you--step in and score a +point." + +But Agatha did not respond. + +"I suppose it is a steamer," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker eagerly. "A +steam man-of-war." + +"Yes," replied Fitz, with perfect gravity, "a steam man-of-war." + +"The Horrible--or the Terrible, is it not?" + +"The Terrific." + +There was an account of the new war-ship in the evening paper which +Agatha had laid aside, and Fitz was impolitely glancing at this while +he spoke. The journal gave the names of the officers. Fitz was +wondering whether Eve Challoner ever saw the Globe. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker became lost in a maternal fit of admiration. She was +looking at Agatha with her head on one side. At intervals she glanced +towards Fitz--an inviting glance, as if to draw his attention to the +fact that one of Nature's most perfect productions was waiting to +gladden his vision. + +"Look!" that little glance seemed to say. "Look at Agatha. IS she not +lovely?" + +But Fitz was still wondering whether Eve was in the habit of reading +the Globe. He often wondered thus about her daily habits, trying to +picture, in his ignorant masculine way, the hours and minutes of a +girl's daily existence. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker could not stand this waste of his time and Agatha's +dress. + +"What do you think of the frock?" she asked Mrs. Harrington, in a +whisper which was audible to every one in the room. + +"It is very pretty," replied the hostess, who happened to be in a good +humour. Dress possessed a small corner of her cold heart. It was one +of very few weaknesses. It was almost a redeeming point in a too +man-like character. Her own dresses were always perfect, usually of +the richest silk--and grey. Hence she was known as the Grey Lady, and +only a few--for Society has neither time nor capacity for +thought--wondered whether the colour had penetrated to her soul. + +The two now became engaged in a technical conversation, which was only +interrupted by the arrival of tea. Luke and Agatha were talking about +Malta. She was telling him that their friends in Valetta had invited +them to go again next year, and the Croonah was mentioned. + +While the hostess was attending to the teapot, Mrs. Ingham-Baker took +the opportunity of disturbing Fitz--of stirring him up, so to speak, +and making him look at Agatha. + +"Do you think you would have recognised your old playmate if you had +met her accidentally--to-night, for instance, at the ball?" she asked. + +Again the inviting glance toward her daughter, to which Fitz naturally +responded. It was too obvious to ignore. + +"No; I do not think so," he replied, going back in his mind to the +recollection of a thin-legged little girl with lank hair. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker's proud eyes rested complacently on her offspring. + +"Do you like her dress?" she asked in a whisper--only audible to him. +But Agatha knew the gist of it. The arm and shoulder nearest to them +gave a little jerk of self-consciousness. + +"Very pretty," replied Fitz; and Mrs. Ingham-Baker stored the remark +away for future use. For all she knew--or all she wanted to know--it +might refer to Agatha's self. + +"I am afraid I shall lose her, you know--horribly afraid," whispered +Mrs. Ingham-Baker, knowing the value of competition in all things. + +Fitz looked genuinely sympathetic, and glanced at Agatha again, +wondering what disease had marked her for its own. Mrs. Ingham-Baker +thought fit to explain indirectly, as was her wont. + +"She is very much admired," she said under her breath, with a sigh and +a lugubrious shake of the head. + +"Oh," murmured Fitz, with a smile. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker. She heaved a sigh, observed a +decent pause, and then added, "Does it surprise you?" + +"Not in the least. It is most natural." + +"You think so--really?" + +"Of course I do," answered Fitz. + +There was another little pause, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker then said, in a +tone of friendly confidence-- + +"I advise you to secure your dances early. She will be engaged three +deep in a very short time--a lot of mere boys she does not want to +dance with." + +Fitz thanked her fervently, and went to help Mrs. Harrington. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker sat back in her chair, well pleased with herself. +Like many of her kind, she began the social campaign with the initial +error of underrating her natural foes--young men. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE TEAR ON THE SWORD. + + But over all things brooding slept + The quiet sense of something lost. + +Agatha was singularly uncertain of herself. If it had not been for her +education--at the Brighton school they had taught her that tears are +not only idle, but also harmful to the complexion--she would have felt +inclined to weep. + +There was something wrong about the world this evening, and she did not +know what it was. Little things irritated her--such as the creak of +Mrs. Harrington's rich silk dress as that lady breathed. Agatha almost +hated Fitz, without knowing why. She wanted Luke to come and speak to +her, and yet the necessity of limiting their conversation to mere +social platitudes made her hope that he would not do so. + +At length she rose to go and make her last preparations for the ball. +The old habit was so strong upon her that unconsciously she gave a +little swing of the hips to throw her skirt out--to show herself to the +greatest advantage in the perfect dress. There was a tiny suggestion +of the thoroughbred horse in the paddock--as there always is in the +attitude of some young persons, though they would not be grateful were +one to tell them of it--a certain bridling, a sleek step, and a +lamentably obvious search for the eye of admiration. Fitz opened the +door for her, and she gave him a glance as she passed him--a +preliminary shot to find the range, as it were--to note which way the +wind blew. + +In the dimly-lighted hall Agatha suddenly became aware of a hot +sensation in the eyelids. The temperature of the tear of vexation is a +high one. As she passed towards the staircase, her glance was +attracted by a sword, bright of hilt, dark of sheath. Fitz's sword, +lying with his white gloves on the table, where he had laid them on +coming into the house. The footman had drawn the blade an inch or so +from the sheath--to look at the chasing--to handle the steel that deals +in warfare with all the curiosity of one whose business lies among the +knives of peace. + +Agatha paused and looked at the tokens of Fitz's calling. She thought +of Luke, who had no sword. And the hot unwonted tear fell on the blade. + +All the evening Mrs. Harrington had been marked in her attention to +Fitz. It was quite obvious that he was--for the moment, at all +events--the favoured nephew. And Mrs. Ingham-Baker noted these things. + +"My dear," she whispered to Agatha, when they were waiting in the hall +for their hostess, "it is Fitz, of course. I can see that with half an +eye." + +Agatha shrugged her shoulders in a rude manner, suggesting almost that +her mother was deprived of more reliable means of observation than the +moiety mentioned. + +"What is Fitz?" she asked, with weary patience. + +"Well, I can only tell you that she has called him 'dear' twice this +evening, and I have never heard her do the same to Luke." + +"A lot Luke cares!" muttered Agatha scornfully, and her mother, whose +sense of logic did not run to the perception that Luke's feelings were +beside the question, discreetly collapsed into her voluminous wraps. + +She was, however, quite accustomed to be treated thus with contumely, +and then later to see her suggestions acted upon--a feminine +consolation which men would do well to take unto themselves. As soon +as they entered the ball-room, Mrs. Ingham-Baker, with that +supernatural perspicacity which is sometimes found in stupid mothers, +saw that Agatha was refusing her usual partners. She noted her +daughter's tactics with mingled awe and admiration, both of which +tributes were certainly deserved. She saw Agatha look straight through +one man at the decorations on the wall behind; she saw her greet an +amorous youth of tender years with a semi-maternal air of protection +which at once blighted his hopes, cured his passion, and made him +abandon the craving for a dance. Agatha was evidently reserving +herself and her programme for some special purposes, and she did it +with a skill bred of long experience. + +Luke was the first to come and ask for a dance--nay, he demanded it. + +"Do you remember the last time we danced together?" he asked, as he +wrote on her card. + +"Yes," she replied, in a voice which committed her to nothing. She did +not look at him, but past him; to where Fitz was talking to Mrs. +Harrington. + +But he was not content with that. He retained the card and stood in +front of her, waiting with suppressed passion in every muscle, waiting +for her to meet his eyes. + +At last, almost against her will, she did, and for one brief moment she +was supremely happy. It was only, however, for a moment. Sent, +apparently, by a very practical Providence to save her from herself, a +young man blustered good-naturedly through the crowd and planted +himself before her with a cheery aplomb which seemed to indicate his +supposition that in bringing her his presence he brought the desire of +her heart and the brightest moment of the evening. + +"Well, Agatha," he said, in that loud voice which, with all due +deference, usually marks the Harrovian, "how many have you got for me? +No rot now! I want my share, you know, eh?" + +Heedless of Luke's scowling presence, he held out his hand, encased in +a very tight glove, asking with a good-natured jerk of the head for her +programme. + +"Is your wife here?" asked Agatha, smilingly relinquishing her card. + +"Wife be blowed!" he answered heartily. "Why so formal? Of course +she's here, carrying on with all the young 'uns as usual. She's as fit +as paint. But she won't like to be called stiff names. Why don't you +call her Maggie?" + +Agatha smiled and did not explain. She doubtless had a good reason for +the unusually formal inquiry, and she glanced at Luke to see that his +brow had cleared. + +Then suddenly some instinct, coming she knew not whence, and leading to +consequences affecting their three lives, made her introduce the two +men. + +"Mr. Carr," she said, "Mr. FitzHenry. You may be able to get each +other partners. Besides, you have an interest in common." + +The two men bowed. + +"Are you a sailor?" inquired Luke, almost pleasantly. With Willie Carr +it was difficult to be stiff and formal. + +"Not I; but I'm interested in shipping--not the navy, you +know--merchant service. I'm something in the City, like the young man +on the omnibus, eh?" + +"I'm in the merchant service," answered Luke. + +"Ah! What ship?" + +"The Croonah." + +"Croonah," repeated Carr, hastily scribbling his name on Agatha's +programme. "Fine ship; I know her well by name. Know 'em all on +paper, you know. I'm an insurance man--what they call a +doctor--Lloyd's and all that; missing ships, overdue steamers, hedging +and dodging, and the inner walks of marine insurance--that's yours +truly. Croonah's a big value, _I_ know." + +He looked up keenly over Agatha's engagement card. The look was not +quite in keeping with his bluff and open manners. Moreover, a man who +is, so to speak, not in keeping with himself is one who requires +watching. + +"Yes, she is a fine ship," answered Luke, with a momentary thought of +the Terrific. + +"Tell me," went on Carr, confidentially plucking Luke's sleeve, "when +she is going to the bottom, and I'll do a line for you--make your +fortune for you. You'd not be the first man who has come to me, with +his hair hardly dry, for a cheque." + +Luke laughed and went away in answer to Mrs. Harrington's beckoning +finger. + +Fitz was coming towards Agatha and her companion. + +"Holloa!" exclaimed Carr, "I'm blowed if here is not a second edition +of the same man." + +"His brother," explained Agatha, who saw Fitz coming, although she was +apparently looking the other way. + +"Royal Navy," muttered Carr. + +"Yes." + +"Then I'm off. Can't get on with Royal Navy men, somehow." + +With a jovial nod and something remarkably near a wink, Willie Carr +left her, shouldering his way through the crowd with that good-natured +boisterousness of manner which is accepted by the world for honesty. + +Agatha was looking the other way when Fitz came to her, and he was +forced to touch her and repeat his desire to be accorded a dance before +she became aware of his proximity. + +"Certainly," she answered rather carelessly, "if you want one. +I--"--she paused with infinite skill and looked down at her own +dress--"I thought I had displeased you." + +Fitz looked slightly surprised. + +"What an absurd thing to think!" he said rather lamely. + +She glanced up with pert coquetry. + +"Then it was only oblivion or indifference." + +"What was only oblivion or indifference?" he asked, still smiling as he +compared cards. + +"Your very obvious delay in coming," she answered. "Considering that +we have known each other since we were children, it is only natural +that I should want to dance with you." + +"Considering that we have known each other since we were children," he +said, repeating her words and tone, "may I have a third?" + +"Yes," with a frank nod. "And"--she paused, and looking round saw Luke +going away in the opposite direction with Mrs. Harrington--"and will +you take me to have some coffee now? I am engaged for this dance, but +no matter." + +Fitz gave her his arm and turned to hitch his sword higher. He made +sure that the blade was well home, shutting in the little red spot of +gathering rust--a tear. + +When they had at length passed through the eager crowd and found a +resting-place in a smaller room, Agatha looked up at Fitz as he handed +her her coffee, and did not pretend to hide the admiration with which +she regarded him. + +"You know," she said, "you are a great favourite with Mrs. Harrington." + +"She is always very kind to me." + +Fitz was a difficult person to gossip with by reason of his quiet +directness of manner. He had a way of abruptly finishing his speech +without the usual lowering of the voice. And it is just that small +drop of half a tone that invites further confidence. In such small +matters as these lies the secret of conversational success, and by such +trivial tricks of the tongue we are daily and hourly deceived. The man +or the woman who lowers the tone at the end of speech defers to the +listener's opinion, and usually receives it. The manner with which +Fitz broke off led his listener to believe that he was not attending to +the conversation. Agatha therefore baited her hook more heavily. + +"Like many women, she thinks that sailors are superior to the rest of +mankind," she said, with just enough lightness of tone to be converted +into a screen if necessary. But she heaved a little sigh before she +drank her coffee. + +Fitz had not decided whether all this referred to himself or to Luke. +He hoped that Agatha had, so to speak, brought her guns to bear upon +him, because of himself he was sure, of Luke he was doubtful. As a +matter of curiosity he pursued the conversation. + +"And you," he said, "look upon such mistaken persons with the mingled +pity and contempt that they deserve?" + +"No," she answered, with audacious calmness, as she rose and passed +before him; "for I think the same." + +She cleverly deprived him of the opportunity of answering, and pushed +her way through the crowd alone, allowing him to follow. + +Before she danced with him again, she danced with Luke, and her humour +seemed to have undergone a change. + +There are some men who, like salmon, never go back. They push on, and +that which they have gained they hold to though it cost them their +lives. Luke FitzHenry was one of these, and Agatha found that in the +London ball-room she could take back nothing that she had given on +board the Croonah. Luke, it is to be presumed, had old-fashioned +theories which have fallen into disuse in these practical modern days +wherein we flirt for one night only, for a day, for a week, according +to convenience. He could not lay aside the voyage to Malta and that +which occurred then as a matter of the past; and Agatha, surprised and +at a loss, did not seem to know how to make him do so. + +She learnt with a new wonder that the rest of this ball--namely, that +part of his programme which did not refer to her, the dances he was to +dance with partners other than herself--counted as nothing. For him +this ball was merely herself. There was not another woman in the +room--for him. He told her this and other things. Moreover, the sound +of it was quite new to her. For the modern young man does not make +serious love to such women as Agatha Ingham-Baker. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY. + + La discretion d'un homme est d'autant plus grande qu'on lui +demande davantage. + +"I want you to ask me to dinner!" + +The Count de Lloseta bowed as he made this remark, and looked at his +companion with a smile. + +At times Mrs. Harrington gave way to a momentary panic in respect to +Cipriani de Lloseta--when she was not feeling very well, perhaps. Her +situation seemed to be somewhat that of a commander holding an +impregnable position against a cunning foe. For every position of such +a nature is impenetrable only so long as it can meet and defy each new +engine of warfare that is brought against it. And one day the fatal +engine is invented. + +Mrs. Harrington looked into his face with a flicker in her drawn grey +eyes. Then she gave a little laugh which was not quite free from +uneasiness. + +"Why?" she asked sardonically. "Have you fallen in love with some one +at last?" + +She knew that this taunt would hurt him. Besides, she liked to throw +it at the memory of a woman whom she had hated--Cipriani de Lloseta's +dead wife. + +"I should like to be of your party to-night," he said quietly. + +She gave another scornful laugh, with that ring of malice in it which +thrills in the voice of some elderly women when they speak of young +girls. + +"Eve is to be of our party to-night," she said. "Ah--that would be too +absurd--a new Adam! You! But, mind you, Agatha will be here too. You +will have to be careful how you play your cards, Don Juan! However, we +dine at eight, and I shall be glad to see you." + +De Lloseta took up his hat and stick. With Mrs. Harrington, and with +no one else perhaps in London, he still observed the stiff Spanish +manner. He bowed without offering to shake hands, and left her. + +Mrs. Harrington--cold, calculating, essentially worldly--looked at the +closed door with deep speculation in her eyes. They were hard eyes, +such as are only to be seen in a woman's face; for an old man has +usually picked up a little charity somewhere on the road through life. + +Then she looked at a hundred-pound note which he had tossed across the +table to her with a silent Catalonian contempt earlier in the +proceedings. + +"I thought he was rather easy to manage," she said, examining the note. +"I thought he wanted something. He has paid this--for his dinner." + +The Count moreover appeared to consider the entertainment cheap at the +price, if his manner was to be relied upon. For he entered the +drawing-room at eight o'clock the same evening with an unusually +pleasant air of anticipatory enjoyment. He shook hands quite gaily +with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, who bridled stoutly, and thought that he was a +very distinguished-looking man despite his dark airs. He received +Agatha's careless nod and shake of the hand with a murmured politeness; +with Eve he shook hands in silence. Then he turned rather suddenly +upon Fitz and held out his hand gravely. + +"I congratulate you," he said. "When I last had the pleasure of seeing +you, I did not suspect that I was entertaining a great man +unawares--you were too humble." + +Fitz involuntarily glanced towards Eve, knowing that the speaker had a +second meaning. Eve was watching the Count rather curiously, as if +wondering how he would greet Fitz. Every one in the room was looking +at the Count de Lloseta; for this quiet-spoken Spaniard was a distinct +factor in the life of each one of them. + +They fell to talking of commonplace matters, and presently Mrs. +Harrington rustled in. The servants were only awaiting her arrival to +announce that dinner was ready. + +She looked round. + +"We are short of men," she said. "We miss Luke, do we not?" + +She looked straight at Agatha, who returned her stare with audacious +imperturbability. It was only Luke's presence that unsteadied her. +When he was away, she could hold her own against the world. + +"I have never seen Luke," said Eve to the Count, who had been commanded +to offer her his arm. "I am so sorry to have missed him." + +Agatha, who was in front, beneath them on the stairs, turned and looked +up at her with a strange smile. She either did not heed the Count, or +she undervalued his powers of observation. + +"You would undoubtedly have liked him," said the Spaniard. + +At the table there was considerable arranging of the seats, and finally +De Lloseta was placed at one side with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, while the two +girls sat side by side opposite to them. + +Fitz was at the foot of the table. + +In the course of conversation the Spaniard leant across and said to +Agatha-- + +"Have you seen this month's Commentator, Miss Ingham-Baker?" + +An unaccountable silence fell upon the assembled guests. Eve +Challoner's face turned quite white. Her eyes were lowered to her +plate. No one looked at her except the Count, and his glance was +momentary. + +"Yes--and of course I have read the Spanish sketch. I suppose every +one in London has! It makes me want to go to Spain." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker bridled and glanced at the Spaniard. Agatha might be +a countess yet--a foreign one, but still a countess. Fitz was looking +at De Lloseta. He naturally concluded that it was he who had written +the article. He was still watching his face when the Spaniard turned +to him and said-- + +"And you, Fitz? You know something about the matter too!" + +And Eve Challoner betrayed herself completely. No one happened to be +looking at her except Cipriani de Lloseta, and he saw that not only had +she written the celebrated articles, but that she loved Fitz. Fitz's +opinion was the only one worth hearing. In her anxiety to hear it, she +quite forgot to guard her secret. + +"Yes," answered Fitz, wondering what De Lloseta was leading up to. "I +have read them both, of course. I hope there are more. The man knows +what he is writing about." + +"He does," said the Count, smiling across the table at Eve. + +The girl was moistening her lips, which seemed suddenly to have become +dry and feverish. Her hands were trembling. She had evidently been +terribly afraid of the opinion so innocently asked by the Spaniard. + +De Lloseta changed the subject at once. He had found out all that he +wanted to know, and more. He had no intention of forcing a confidence +upon Eve. + +The burthen of the conversation fell upon his shoulders. Fitz, no +great talker at any time, was markedly quiet. He had nothing to offer +for the general delectation. His remarks upon all subjects mooted were +laconic and valueless. The duties as temporary host occupied him for +the moment, and his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. His attitude +towards Eve had been friendly, but rather reserved. There was no +suggestion of sulkiness, but on the other hand he had failed to take +advantage of one or two opportunities which she had given him of +referring to the past and to any mutual obligations or common interests +they had had therein. It happened that Agatha had heard her give him +these openings, and had noticed his lack of enterprise. + +Agatha Ingham-Baker had long before conceived a strange +suspicion--namely, that Eve and Fitz loved each other. She had +absolutely nothing to base her suspicions upon, not so much even as the +gossips of Majorca. And nevertheless her suspicions throve, as such +do, and grew into conviction. + +Agatha had come down early to the drawing-room on purpose to establish +her right over Fitz. She found De Lloseta in the hall, and he followed +her into the room. Whenever she attempted to demonstrate her right to +the attention of the only young man present by one of those little +glances or words with which women hurt each other, De Lloseta seemed to +step in, intercepting with his dark smile. At dinner, when Fitz was +absent-minded, Agatha managed to show the others that she alone could +follow him into the land of his reflections and call him back from +thence. But on several occasions, when she was about to turn to him +with a smile which was especially reserved for certain young men under +certain circumstances, Cipriani de Lloseta spoke to her and spoilt the +small manoeuvre. + +Eve saw it all. She saw more than the acute Spaniard. Firstly, +because she was a woman. Secondly, because she loved Fitz. Thirdly, +because the inken curse was hers in a small degree, and people who +dabble in ink often wade deep into human nature. + + + +CHAPTER VII. A VOYAGE. + + And hence one master passion in the breast, + Like Aaron's serpent, swallows all the rest. + +Life is, after all, a matter of habit. In those families where rapid +consumption is hereditary, the succeeding generations seem to get into +the habit of dying early. They take it, without complaint, as a matter +of course. Sailors and other persons who lead a rough and hazardous +life seem also to acquire this philosophy of existence. Luke FitzHenry +went to sea again on the day appointed for the Croonah to leave London, +without so much as a snarl at Fate. + +It was a great wrench to him to leave Agatha again so soon, in the +first full force of his passion. But he left her almost happily. His +love for her was rising up and filling his whole existence. And it is +not those lives that are frittered away in a thousand pastimes that are +happy. It is the strong life wholly absorbed by one great interest, be +it love or be it merely money-making. + +Luke had hitherto been rather an aimless man. He was a brilliant +sailor, not because he set himself to the task, but merely because +seamanship was born in him, together with a dogged steadiness of nerve +and a complete fearlessness. It was so easy to be a good sailor that +he had not even the satisfaction of having to make an effort. His +heart was empty. He had indeed the sea, but his love of it was +unconscious. Away from it, he was ill at ease; on its breast, he was +not actively happy--he was merely at home. But he had no career. He +had no great prize to aim for, and his combative nature required one. +He had no career to make, for he was already near the summit of the +humble ladder on which Fate had set his feet. + +Then came Agatha, and the empty heart was filled with a dangerous +suddenness. + +The pain which this parting caused him had something of pleasure in it. +There are some men and many women who doubt love unless it bring actual +pain with it. Luke had always mistrusted fate, and had love brought +happiness with it he would probably have doubted its genuineness. He +hugged all his doubts, his jealousies, his passionate thoughts to +himself. He had nothing to cling to. Agatha had never told him that +she loved him. But she was for him so entirely apart from all other +women that it seemed necessary that he also should not be as other men +for her. Not much for a lover to live upon during four or five months! + +Agatha had given him a photograph of herself--a fashionable picture in +an affected pose in evening dress--but she had absolutely refused to +write. This photograph Luke put into a frame, and as soon as the +Croonah was out of dock he hung it up in his little cabin. His servant +saw it and recognised the fair passenger of a former voyage, but he +knew his place and his master too well to offer any comment. + +Unlike the ordinary young man, whose thoughts are lightly turned to +love, Luke was no worse a sailor for his self-absorption. All his +care, all his keen, fearless judgment were required; for the Croonah +ran through a misty channel into a boisterous Atlantic. + +He stood motionless at his post, as was his wont, keen and alert for +the moment, but living in the past. He saw again Mrs. Harrington's +drawing-room as he had last seen it, with Agatha sitting in a low chair +near the fire, while Mrs. Harrington wrote at her desk, and Mrs. +Ingham-Baker read the Times. + +"I have come," he remembered saying, "to bid you good-bye." + +He heard again the rustle of Mrs. Ingham-Baker's newspaper, and again +he saw the look in Agatha's eyes as they met his. He would remember +that look to the end of his life; he was living on it now. Agatha, in +her rather high-pitched society tones, was the first to speak. + +"If I were a sailor," she said, "I would never say good-bye. It is +better to drop in and pay a call; at the end one might casually mention +the words." + +"Oh! we grow accustomed to it," Luke answered. + +"Do you?" the girl inquired, with an enigmatical smile, and her answer +was in his eyes. She did not want him to grow accustomed to saying +farewell to her. + +Luke FitzHenry was not inclined to sociability--the stronger sort of +man rarely is. On board the Croonah he was usually considered morose +and self absorbed. He did his duty, and in this was second to no man +on board; but he was content to get the passengers to their +destination, looking upon the Croonah as a mere conveyance for a +certain number of chattering, gossiping, mischief-making live-stock. +He utterly failed in his social duties; he did not cultivate the art of +making his ship a sort of floating "hydro". + +The boisterous weather kept the decks fairly select until Gibraltar had +been left behind in the luminous haze that hangs over the mouth of the +Mediterranean in a westerly breeze. But in the smoother waters of the +Southern seas the passengers plucked up courage, and one morning at +breakfast Luke perceived a tall, heavy-shouldered man nodding +vigorously, and wiping his mouth with a napkin, which he subsequently +waved with friendly jocularity. + +"Morning--morning!" he cried. + +"Good morning," replied Luke, passing to his seat at the after-end of +the saloon. He had recognised the man at once, although he had only +exchanged a few words with him in a crowded ball-room. Everything +connected with Agatha, however remotely, seemed to engrave itself +indelibly on his mind. This was Willie Carr, the man to whom Agatha +had introduced him at the naval orphanage ball. Willie Carr was on +board the Croonah, evidently quite at home, and bound for India, for he +was seated at the Indian table. + +It was not necessary for Luke to make inquiries about this passenger, +because his brother officers soon began to speak of him. By some means +Carr made himself popular among the officers, and gradually began to +enjoy privileges denied to his fellow passengers. He frequently visited +the engine-room, and was always to be seen after meals in, or in the +neighbourhood of, the smoking-room, in conversation with one or other +of the Croonah's officers, who were generally found to be smoking +Carr's cigars. + +Despite many obvious and rather noisy overtures of friendship, Luke +FitzHenry held aloof until the Aden light was left behind. He +succeeded in limiting his intercourse to an exchange of passing remarks +on the weather until the Croonah had rounded Pointe de Galle and was +heading northwards. Then arose circumstances which brought them +together, and possibly served Willie Carr's deliberate purpose. + +Carr was travelling without his wife--he was the sort of man who does +travel without his wife. She, poor woman, had made one initial +mistake, namely, in marrying him, and such mistakes are sometimes paid +for by a life of atonement to the gods. She remained at home to care +for an ever-increasing family on a small housekeeping allowance, which +was not always paid. + +This wife was the only point in his favour which had presented itself +to Luke's mind, for the latter resented a certain tone of easy +familiarity, which Agatha seemed to take as a matter of course. + +Luke was afraid of being questioned about Agatha, and he therefore kept +Carr at a respectful distance. He harboured no personal dislike +towards the man, whose bluff and honest manner made him popular among +his fellows. + +It was the evening of the first day in the Bay of Bengal that a steamer +passed the Croonah, running south, and flying a string of signals. The +Croonah replied, and the homeward-bound vessel disappeared in the +gathering twilight with her code flags still flying. + +"What did she say?" asked the passengers. + +"Nothing," replied the officers; "only the weather. It is the change +of the monsoon." + +At dinner the captain was remarkably grave; he left the table early, +having eaten little. The officers were reticent, as was their wont. +Luke FitzHenry, it was remarked and remembered afterwards, alone +appeared to be in good spirits. + +After dinner a busybody in the shape of a too intelligent young +coffee-planter, who possessed an aneroid barometer, brought that +instrument to the smoking-room with a scared face. The needle was +deflected to a part of the dial which the intelligent young planter had +hitherto considered to be merely ornamental and not intended for +practical use. His elders and betters told him to put it away and not +to tell the ladies. Then they continued smoking; but they knew that +they had just seen such a barometer as few men care to look upon. + +The word "cyclone" was whispered in one corner of the cabin, and a +white-moustached general was understood to mutter-- + +"Damned young fool!" as he pulled at his cheroot. + +The whisperer did not hear the remark, and went on to give further +information on atmospheric disturbances. Suddenly the field-officer +jumped to his feet. + +"Look here, sir!" he cried. "If we are in for a cyclone, I trust that +we know how to behave as men--and die as men, if need be! But don't +let us have any whispering in corners, like a lot of schoolgirls. We +are in the care of good men, and all we have to do is to obey orders, +and--damn it, sir!--to remember we're Englishmen!" + +The general walked out of the smoking-saloon, and the first sight that +greeted his eyes was Luke FitzHenry, quick, keen, and supernaturally +calm, standing over a group of Malay sailors who were hard at work +getting in awnings. The white-haired soldier stood and watched with +the grim silence which he had showed to death before now. He was of +the Indian army. He had led the black man to victory and death, and he +knew to a nerve the sensitive Asiatic organisation. He saw that it was +good and not for the first time he noted the sheep-like dependence with +which the black men grouped themselves round their white leader, +watching his face, taking their cue in expression, in attitude, even in +their feelings from him. + +"Good man," muttered the general to himself. + +He stood there alone while the ship was stripped of every awning, while +the decks were cleared of all that hamper which makes the passenger an +encumbrance at sea. There was no shouting, no confusion, no sign of +fear. In a marvellously short time the broad decks were lying bare and +clear, all loose things were stowed away or made fast, and the Croonah +stood ready for her great fight. + +All the while an arc of black cloud had been growing on the horizon. +There was not a breath of wind. From the engine-rooms the thud of the +piston-rods came throbbing up with a singular distinctness. The arc of +cloud had risen halfway to the meridian. There were streaks in +it--streaks of yellow on black. Far away to the north, at the point of +contact with the horizon, a single waterspout rose like a black pillar +from sea to cloud. Dwellers in the cool and temperate zones would have +thought that the end of the world was about to come. Men, standing +quite still, felt the drops of perspiration trickling beneath their +ears. The air taken into the lungs seemed powerless to expand them. +The desire to take a deeper breath was constant and oppressive. + +A quartermaster brought a message to the general that he must go below +or else come up to the lower bridge. He could not stay where he was. +The captain said that the cyclone might break at any moment. The old +soldier nodded, and made his way to the lower bridge. Before he had +been there long he was joined by Carr, who carried a mackintosh over +his arm. The two men nodded. The general rather liked Carr. He was a +Harrovian, and the general's son was at Harrow. + +"Going to see it out on deck?" he inquired. + +"Rather. I'm not going to be drowned like a rat in a trap!" replied +Carr, jovial still, and brave. + +Luke came to the bridge and took up his position by the side of the +captain. No one spoke. + +From the distant horizon--from the north where the waterspout still +was--a long groan floated over the water. There was a green line on +the black surface of the ocean, dark green flecked with white; it was +spreading over the sea, and coming towards them. Luke turned and said +one word to the quartermaster. The man went to the wheelhouse and +brought out three long black oilskin coats--two for the captain and +Luke, the other for himself. + +The groan, like that of an animal in pain, was repeated. It seemed +farther off. Then a sound like the escape of steam from an engine came +apparently from the sky. + +Luke said something to the captain, and pointed with his right hand. +They consulted together in a whisper, and the captain made a signal to +the two steersmen motionless in the wheelhouse. The well-greased +chains ran smoothly, and the great black prow of the Croonah crept +slowly round the horizon pointing out to sea, away from the land. +Ceylon lay astern of them in the darkness which was almost like night. + +The captain and Luke stood side by side on the little bridge, far above +the deck. They had exchanged their gold-braided caps for sou'westers. +The outline of their black forms was just distinguishable against the +sky. They were looking straight ahead into the yellow streaks, out +over the flecked sea. And not a breath of wind stirred the leaden +atmosphere. + +Looking down on the broad decks, it would seem at first that they were +deserted, but as the eye became accustomed to the gloom, men standing +like shadows could be perceived here and there--at their posts--waiting. + +All the skylights had been doubly tarpaulined. Some of them had been +strengthened with battens lashed transversely over the canvas. All that +mortal brain could devise mortal hand had done. The rest was with God. + +The decks were quite dark, for the skylights were covered, even those +of the engine-room, and the men at work down there in the stifling heat +knew not what the next moment might bring. They had nothing to guide +them as to the moment when the hurricane would strike the ship. For +the last five minutes they had been holding on to their life-rails with +both hands, expecting to be thrown among the machinery at every second. + +Still there was no breath of wind. The darkness was less intense. A +yellow glow seemed to be behind the cloud. + +Then a strange feeling of being drawn upward came to all, and strong +men gasped for breath. It was only for a moment. But the sensation +was that the air was being sucked up to the sky, leaving a vacuum on +the face of the waters. + +Suddenly the captain's voice startled the night, rising trumpet-like +above the hiss of the steam. + +"Stand BY!" he cried. + +Luke looked down to the lower bridge. + +"You had better hold on to something," he called, and as he spoke the +hurricane struck the Croonah. It can only be described as a pushing +smack. She rolled slowly over before it, and it seemed that she would +never stop. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A GREAT FIGHT. + + Who knows? The man is proven by the hour. + +The sea seemed to rise up and fall on the disabled ship with a wild +fury. There was a strange suggestion of passion in every wave as it +crashed over the bulwarks. In the roar of the hurricane there was a +faint sound of crackling wood. The deck was at an angle of thirty. The +port boats on their davits were invisible; they were under water. If +the Croonah righted quickly those boats would break up like old baskets. + +The two men on the lower bridge stood on the uprights of the rail, +leaning against the deck as against a wall. The crackling sound like +breaking matchwood seemed to come from above. Carr looked up and saw +the captain and Luke at the wheel. The wheelhouse had collapsed like a +card house; it had simply been blown away, and one of the helmsmen with +it. The other was lying huddled up at the lower end of the narrow +bridge. + +For a moment the darkness lifted and the survivors saw a weird sight. +One of the starboard boats, attached to the davit by only one fall, was +held by the wind like a flag straight out over the deck. Already two +men were clambering to the upper bridge to take the place of the +helmsmen who were dead. Relieved from the wheel, Luke dragged himself +up to the ladder leading from the upper to the lower deck. A few +moments later they saw him cutting with a hatchet at the ropes holding +the boat to the davit. There were four, for it was a heavy boat, held +by a double block. He cut two at a stroke: the others ran out +instantly. The boat disappeared to leeward like a runaway hat, and +fell with a splash into the foaming sea. + +The Croonah seemed to feel the relief. She rose a little to windward, +but her lee-rail was still under water. Down in the scuppers, in the +tangle of ropes and splintered wood, sundry dark forms, looking more +like bundles of dirty rags than anything else, rolled and tossed +helplessly. These were dead and drowning men. Already the European +sailors were at work, some cutting away useless top-hamper, others +attempting to drag the terror-stricken Malays to a place of comparative +safety. Luke FitzHenry took command of these men, as was his duty, +working like one of them, with infinite daring. He could only +communicate with his captain by signs, speech being impossible. It was +a seaman's fight. Each man did that which seemed to him expedient for +the safety of the ship. The Croonah was fully equipped for fine +weather--for cleaning brasses and swabbing decks and bending awnings; +but for bad weather--notably for a cyclone--she was perilously +undermanned. Half of the native crew were paralysed by fear, many were +killed, others drowned from a mere incapacity to hold on. + +The other officers of the ship had their hands more than full. The +doctor was below in the saloon surrounded by a babel of shrieking women +and white-faced men; the engineers were on watch at their deadly posts +in the heart of the ship. + +Carr turned and clambered down the iron ladder to the upper deck. He +was half a sailor and quite an Englishman. Moreover he came from +Harrow, where they teach a certain bull-dog courage. + +Luke, working half blinded by spray and salt water, presently found a +strong man working at his side. Together they cut away the submerged +boats, standing to their waists in water, at infinite peril of their +lives; together they made their way forward to help the chief officer +and his devoted gang, who were cutting away the foremast and the +wreckage of forward boats. + +Through the long hours of the night these dauntless men worked +unceasingly, and--incongruous practical details--the stewards brought +them food at stated intervals, while two men served out spirits all the +while. Slowly, inch by inch, they righted the ship, bringing her +stubborn prow gradually into the wind; and all the while the engines +throbbed, all the while the grimy stokers shovelled coal into the +furnaces, all the while the engineers stood and watched their engines. + +Dawn broke on a terrific sea and a falling wind. The night was over +and the dread Bay had had her thousand lives and more, for a cyclone +simply wipes out the native craft like writing on a slate. The Croonah +had been right through the corner of the worst cyclone of a generation. +Luke crawled back to the bridge where the captain stood, as he had +stood all night, motionless. Sheer skill and a great experience had +pulled the Croonah through. + +When the danger was past those who were on deck saw a man in shirt and +trousers only, his grey hair ruffled, his clothes glued to his limbs by +perspiration, emerge from the bowels of the ship. He came on deck, +passed by those who scarce knew him without his gold braid, and slowly +climbed the ladder to the bridge. There, in the early morning light, +the two men who had saved three hundred lives--the captain and the +chief engineer--silently shook hands. + +"I had to keep you down there for the safety of the ship," said the +captain gruffly. + +"All right, old man, I knew that." + +The old engineer turned and looked fore and aft over the wrecked decks +with a curious smile as if he had come back from another world. + +While they stood there the saloon doors were opened and a haggard row +of faces peered out. A quarter-master held the passengers back, for +the decks were unsafe. Railings and bulwarks were gone, boats smashed, +awning stanchions twisted and bent. No landsmen could be trusted to +move safely amid such confusion. + +And all the while the engines throbbed, and the Croonah held proudly on +her course to the north--battered, torn, and sore stricken, yet a +victor. + +After changing their clothes, Luke and Carr breakfasted together at the +after-end of the second officer's table in the saloon. With a certain +humour the captain allowed of no relaxation in the discipline of the +ship. The breakfast bell was rung at the usual time, the meal was +served with the usual profusion, even the menus were written as +carefully as ever; and some good ladies opined that the captain must be +a godless man, because forsooth he did not cringe beneath the wing of +the passing Angel of Death. + +"I am glad I saw that," said Carr, neat and clean, hearty and smiling +as usual. + +Luke looked up from a generous plate. He thought that Carr was +indulging in bravado, but he relinquished this opinion when he saw the +man's face and his helping of bacon and eggs. Carr seemed to have +enjoyed the cyclone, as he had no doubt enjoyed many a game of football +in his youth, and many a spin across country later. For this man kept +his hunters. He was moved thereto by that form of self-respect which +urges some men to live like gentlemen, to, as they express it, "do +themselves well," whether their mere monetary circumstances allow of it +or no; and some one usually pays for these philosophers--that is the +annoying part of it. + +"By gad! I didn't think it could blow like that, though!" Carr went +on, with his mouth full. + +"I don't think it can often," replied Luke. He could not help liking +this man, despite his first prejudice against him. Besides, they had +stood shoulder to shoulder, with death around them, and such moments +draw differing men together. It is the required touch of Nature, this +same death, which frightens us before it comes and seems so gentle when +it is here. + +"I always wanted to see a cyclone," went on Carr conversationally, "and +now I'm satisfied. I have had enough. I shouldn't have cared for +more. Pass, cyclones!" + +"It is not many men who have your laudable thirst for experience," said +Luke. "It is rather a strenuous form of pleasure." + +"Pleasure!" answered Carr, with one of his sharp glances. "Pleasure, be +d--d! It's business, sir, business. I mean to make money out of +cyclones." + +"How? Bottle them up and make them turn a windmill?" + +"No, sir." + +Carr turned round to make sure that he could not be overheard. + +"No, sir. Your idea is not bad in the main, though hardly practicable. +No. I know a dodge worth two of that! I told you before that I am in +the marine insurance line. Now, the funny part of the marine insurance +line is that the majority of the men engaged in it do not know their +business. Now I propose to teach these gentlemen their business." + +"Will they thank you for it?" asked Luke. + +"They'll pay me for it, which is better, by a long chalk! Ha, ha! +Butter, please." + +"And what have cyclones got to do with it?" + +Again one of the sharp glances which sat so strangely on Carr's open +countenance. + +"I understand there is a science of cyclones," he said quietly. + +"Yes." + +"Which means that you chaps knew what was coming forty-eight hours ago?" + +"Yes," replied Luke. + +"That that steamer flying signals yesterday was talking to you about +it?" + +"Yes." + +"And that when you got into it you knew exactly whereabout you were in +it; where the centre was, and which was the shortest way out of it, to +get clear away from the vortex and beyond the axis line, so as not to +get into it again?" + +"Yes. You're quite a Fitzroy." + +Carr winked cheerily. + +"And all this is a certainty?" + +"A dead certainty," replied Luke. "It is a science." + +Carr laid down his knife and fork. + +"Suppose," he said, "that the next cyclone sends forty ships to kingdom +come, and I've got a line of five hundred or a thousand insured on +every one of them. I'll study these jolly old cyclones. It will be +easy enough to know about when they'll be coming. When one is about +I'll have a line on every ship at sea between Colombo and Penang--do +you see? I'll get a man on the coast here to watch the weather. When +there's a cyclone in the Bay of Bengal he will wire me home one word, +'Milksop,' or 'Spongecake,' or something soft and innocent. I'll do +the rest, my boy." + +Luke was only pretending to eat. The desire to make money was strong +upon him--as indeed were all his desires--it was almost a passion; for +money meant Agatha, and Agatha had grown to be the one absorbing +passion of his heart. Agatha had been at the back of the superhuman +fight which he had waged all night against death. Agatha was behind +Carr's words. The thought of her was tempting him through the man's +arguments. + +"But what will you insure?" he asked. + +"Profit," replied Carr, in a whisper. "It is done every day--policy +proof of interest--the fools!" + +"What is policy proof of interest?" + +"It means that they admit your insurance to be valid, whether you have +anything on board the ship or not. It is not legal, but they know it +when they sign the policy; and they know that it would ruin them if +they refused to pay an 'honour policy.' I tell you they don't know +their business and they have no combination. They all distrust each +other, and tell lies to each other about their profits and their +losses. If I insure profit I have only to say that I shall lose money +if the ship does not reach her destination and deliver her cargo +safely. The cargo may be mine; I may be buying it or selling it; no +one can tell, and the underwriters don't ask. They pocket their +premium, and if they have to pay, and think they have been rooked, they +keep it to themselves, because each man is against his neighbour." + +"But do they know nothing about cyclones?" inquired Luke. + +"My good sir, they hardly know the difference between Calcutta and +Bombay. Half of them think that a cyclone and a monsoon are the same +thing, and not one in ten could tell you the difference between a brig +and a barquentine." + +Luke gave a little half-convinced laugh. The man was so open and +honest that his arguments had nothing underhand or crafty in them. + +"It sounds very simple," he said. + +"It is; d--d simple! So are the underwriters; but that is not our +business. You see, FitzHenry, in all commerce there are a certain +number of fools for the wise men to outwit. In marine insurance there +are a large number. All insurance is nothing but a bet, and betting is +a matter of intelligence. We bring more intelligence to bear upon it +than the other chap, therefore we win." + +He helped himself to marmalade with a jaunty hand. Luke hardly noticed +the easy transition from "I" to "we." He had had no intention of +suggesting a partnership in this easy manner of making money, but the +partnership seemed to have formed itself. + +"But--" Carr paused, holding in the air an emphatic spoon. "But, my +boy, we want capital, we want to lay our hands on fifty thousand +pounds." + +"I am afraid I could not lay my hand on fifty thousand pence," said +Luke. + +Carr glanced at him sharply. There was a little pause while Carr ate +marmalade and toast. + +"Oh yes, you could," he said in a low tone. "Between us we could raise +fifty thousand as easy as winking." + +As if to demonstrate the facility of the latter, he looked up and +closed his left eye confidentially. + +"You're a sailor," he went on to say, "and a ripping good one at that. +You know the perils of the deep, as the parsons say. It wouldn't be +hard for you to tell when the Croonah was running into a tight place +like yesterday. All you have to do is to wire home one word to me. My +telegraphic address is 'Simple, London.' Say you wire home 'Milksop.' +We could fix on 'Milksop'; it sounds so innocent! In twenty-four hours +I'd have fifty thousand done on the Croonah in London, Glasgow, +Liverpool, New York, Paris, and Germany--spread about, you know. In +four or five days the Croonah goes to the bottom, and we scoop in, your +name never appearing--see?" + +There was a little pause. + +"See?" repeated Carr, in little more than a whisper. Luke looked up. +He met Carr's eyes and knew that he was dealing with a villain. The +strange part of it was that he felt no anger. He could not free his +mind from the thought of Agatha. There was one corner of the steamer +which was almost sacred to him--the little space behind the deckhouse +where he had held Agatha in his arms for one moment of intense +happiness--where she told him that she could not be poor. + +Carr rose and threw down his table napkin with a certain grand air +which was his. + +"It would be the making of you," he said. "It is worth thinking about." + +He threw back his shoulders--a trick common enough with strongly built +men who incline to stoutness--nodded, and left him. He passed down the +length of the saloon, seeking his cigar-case in the pocket of his coat, +exchanging loud and hearty greetings with those among the passengers +whom he knew. He was popular on account of the open British frankness +which he cultivated, and which is supposed to be the outward sign of an +honest heart. He seemed to be thinking of his great scheme no longer, +but he left Luke to brood over it--to try and chase the word "Milksop" +from his brain, where it seemed to be indelibly engraved. + +He left Luke to fight against a great temptation alone and heavily +handicapped, for Luke FitzHenry was held as in a vice by his passionate +love for Agatha. It is not all men who can love. It is only a few who +are capable of a deep passion. This is as rare as genius. A man of +genius is usually a failure in all except his own special line. The +man who can and does love passionately must be a good man indeed if his +love do not make a villain of him. + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE EDITOR'S ROOM. + + The greater man, the greater courtesy. + +The Count de Lloseta and John Craik were sitting together in the +editorial room of the Commentator. + +It was a quiet room, with double windows and a permanent odour of +tobacco smoke. An empty teacup stood on the table by John Craik's +elbow. + +"Name of God!" Cipriani de Lloseta had ejaculated when he saw it. "At +eleven o'clock in the morning!" + +"Must stir the brain up," was the reply. + +"I would not do it with a teaspoon," De Lloseta had answered, and then +he sat down to correct the proof of Eve's fourth article on "Spain and +Spanish Life." + +They had been sitting thus together for half an hour in friendly +silence, only broken by an occasional high-class Spanish anathema +hurled at the head of the printer. + +"A dog's trade!" ejaculated De Lloseta at last, leaning back and +throwing down his pen, "a dog's trade, my friend!" + +"It is mine," replied Craik, without looking up. In fiction he was +celebrated for a certain smartness of dialogue. His printed +conversations were pretty displays of social sword-play. It had become +a sort of habit with him to thrust and parry quickly; but the sudden +smile on his lined face, the kindly glance from behind the spectacles, +always took away the sting and demonstrated that it was mere "copy," to +fill up the dull columns of life and throw in a sparkle here and there. + +"Have you finished?" he inquired. + +"Yes, thank Heaven! I was not intended for a literary calling. That is +number four, and I am not paid--I am not paid; there lies the sting." + +"Number four, yes; two published and two in hand," replied John Craik. +His mind was busy elsewhere; it was with the creatures of his own +imagination, living their lives, rejoicing with them, sorrowing with +them. + +The Count rose and walked gravely to the hearthrug, holding the +proof-sheets in his hand. + +"Number four," he reiterated. "Will they go on, my friend?" + +John Craik looked up sharply. + +"No." + +"How many more will you accept?" + +"Two more at the outside, making six in all. The public is like a +greedy child, it must be stopped before it makes itself sick. Nausea +leaves a lasting distaste for that which preceded it." + +The Count nodded. + +"And this worldly wisdom--is it the editor or the man who speaks?" + +"The editor. The editor is a man who lives by saying 'No.'" + +"And you will say 'No' to any more from this--writer's pen?" + +"To any more about Spain I most certainly shall." + +The Count reflected. What little light the London day afforded fell +full upon his long narrow face, upon the pointed Velasquez chin, the +receding iron-grey hair brushed straight back. + +"And the fact that the writer is supporting herself and a worn-out old +uncle by her pen will make no difference?" + +John Craik hesitated for a moment. + +"Not the least," he then said. "You seem to know the writer." + +"I do, and I am interested in her." + +"A lady?" John Craik was dotting his i's with the contemplativeness of +artistic finish. + +"Essentially so." + +"And poor?" + +"Yes, and proud as--" + +"A Spaniard," suggested John Craik. + +"If you will. It is a vice which has almost become a virtue in these +democratic days." + +John Craik looked up. + +"I will do what I can, Lloseta," he said. "But she is not a great +writer, and will never become one." + +"I know that. Some day she will become a great lady, or I know nothing +of them." + +Craik was still busy touching up his manuscript. + +"I have never seen her," he said. "But the impression I received from +her manuscripts is that she is a girl who has lived a simple life among +a simple people. She has seen a great deal of nature, out-of-door +nature, which is pure, and cannot be too deeply studied. She has seen +very little of human nature, which is not so pure as it might be. That +is her chief charm of style, a high-minded purity. She does not +describe the gutter and think she is writing of the street. By the +way, I am expecting her here" (he paused, and looked at the clock on +the mantelpiece) "in exactly two minutes." + +The Count rose quickly and took his hat. As he extended his hand to +say "Good-bye" there was a rap at the door. The discreet youth who +told John Craik's falsehoods for him came in and handed his master a +slip of paper with a name written thereon. + +Craik read the inscription, crumpled up the paper, and threw it into +the waste-paper basket. + +"In one minute," he said, and the liar withdrew. + +Cipriani de Lloseta, with a quiet deliberation which was sometimes +almost dramatic, stooped over the paper basket and recovered the +crumpled slip of paper. He did not unfold it, but held it out, crushed +up in his closed fist. + +"Miss Eve Challoner," he said. + +John Craik nodded. + +De Lloseta laughed and threw the paper into the fire. + +"I must not be seen. Where do you propose to put me?" + +"Go upstairs instead of down," replied John Craik, as if he had been +asked the same question before. "Wait on the next landing until you +hear this door close; you may then escape in safety." + +"Thanks--good-bye." + +"Good-bye." + +When Eve entered the room, John Craik was writing. He rose with a bow +savouring of a politer age than ours, and held out his hand. + +"At last," he said, "I have prevailed upon you to come and see me. Will +you sit down? The chair is shabby, but great men and women have sat in +it." + +He spoke pleasantly, with his twisted laugh, and when Eve was seated he +sat slowly, carefully down again. He was thinking not so much of what +he was saying as of his hearer. He saw that Eve was undeniably +beautiful--the man saw that. The novelist saw that she was probably +interesting. As he had just stated, great women had sat in the same +chair, and it was John Craik's impulse to save Eve from that same +greatness. He had, since a brilliant youth at Oxford, been steeped, as +it were, in literature. He had known all the great men and women, and +he held strong views of his own. These were probably erroneous--many +women will think so--but he held to them. They were based on +experience, which is not always the case with views expressed in print +and elsewhere. John Craik held that greatness is not good for women. +That it is not for their own happiness, he knew. That it is not for +the happiness of those around them, he keenly suspected. Some of Eve's +celebrated predecessors in that chair had not quite understood John +Craik. All thought that he was not sufficiently impressed--not, that +is, so impressed by them as they were themselves when they reflected +upon their own renown. + +He looked at Eve quickly, rubbing his hands together. + +"May I, as an old man, ask some impertinent questions?" he inquired, +with a cheerfulness which sat strangely on the wan face. + +"Yes." + +"Why do you write?" he said. "Take time; answer me after reflection." + +Eve reflected while the great editor stared into the fire. + +"To make money," she answered at last. + +He looked up, and saw that she was answering in simple good faith. + +"That is right." + +He did not tell her that he was sick and tired of the jargon of art for +art's sake, literature for literature's sake. He did not tell +that--practical man of the world that he was--he had no faith in +literary art; that he believed the power of writing to be a gift and +nothing else; that the chief art in literature is that which is +unconscious of itself. + +"Do you feel within yourself the makings of a great author?" + +Eve laughed, a sudden girlish laugh, which made John Craik reduce his +estimate of her age by five years. + +"No," she answered. + +He sat up and looked at her with a kind admiration. + +"You are refreshing," he said, "very, especially to a man who has seen +stout and elderly females sit in that same chair and state their +conviction that they were destined to be George Eliots or Charlotte +Brontes, women who had written one improper or irreligious novel, which +had obtained a certain success in the foolish circles." + +"Do you think I have," asked Eve, "the--the makings of an income?" + +John Craik reflected. + +"A small one," he said bluntly. + +"That is all I want." + +Craik raised his eyebrows. + +"And renown," he said, "do you want that?" + +"Not in the least, except for its intrinsic value." + +Craik banged his hand down on the arm of his chair and laughed aloud. + +"This is splendid!" he cried. "I have never met such a practical +person. Then you would be content to work for a sufficient income +without ever being known to the world?" + +"Yes, provided that the work was genuine and not given to me out of +mere charity." + +The editor of the Commentator looked at her gravely. He had suddenly +remembered Cipriani de Lloseta. + +"Oh, you are proud!" he said. + +Eve laughed with a negative shake of the head. + +"Not more than other people," she answered. + +"Not more than other people. Well, we will have it so. And not +ambitious." + +"No, I think not." + +"You may thank God for that," said John Craik, half to himself. "An +ambitious woman is not a pleasant person." + +There was a little pause, during which John Craik rubbed his chin +reflectively with his bony fingers. + +"And now," he said, "that I know something about you, I will tell you +why I asked you to be good enough to come and see me. To begin with, I +am an old man; you can see that for yourself. I am a martyr to +rheumatism, and I frequently suffer from asthma, otherwise I should +have done myself the pleasure of calling on you. I wanted to see you, +because lady authors are uncertain creatures. A large majority of them +have nothing better to do, and therefore write. Others do not care for +the money, but they do most decidedly for the renown. The nudge and +whisper of society is nectar to them. Others again are brilliant in +flashes and dull in long periods. Few, very few are content to work +with their pen as their poorer sisters are forced to work with their +needles. In that lies the secret of the more permanent success of men +journalists and men authors. The journalism and the authorship are not +the men, but merely the business of their lives. Now will you be +content to work hard and steadily without any great hope of renown--to +work, in fact, anonymously for a small but certain income?" + +"Yes," answered Eve, without hesitation. + +Craik nodded his head gravely and thoughtfully. He was too deeply +experienced to fall into the error of thinking that Eve was different +from other women. He did not for a moment imagine that he had secured +in her a permanent subscriber to the Commentator--possibly he did not +want her as such. He was merely doing a good deed--no new thing to +him, although his right hand hardly knew what his left was doing. He +liked Eve, he admired her, and was interested in her. Cipriani de +Lloseta he was deeply interested in, and he knew, with the keen +instinct of the novelist, that he was being drawn into one of those +romances of real life which exists in the matter-of-fact nineteenth +century atmosphere that we breathe. + +So Eve Challoner left John Craik's office an independent woman for the +time being, and the charity was so deeply hidden that her +ever-combative pride had failed to detect it. + + + +CHAPTER X. THE CURTAIN LOWERS. + + The shadow, cloaked from head to foot, + Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. + +As she walked back to Grosvenor Gardens, Eve reflected with some +satisfaction that the Ingham-Bakers had left Mrs. Harrington's +hospitable roof. From this shelter they had gone forth into a world +which is reputed cold, and has nevertheless some shelter still for such +as are prepared to cringe to the overbearing, to flatter the vain, to +worship riches. + +Eve wanted time to think over her new position, to reflect with +satisfaction over her new independence, for the Caballero Challoner, if +he had bequeathed little else, had left to her a very active pride. +She knew so little of the world that she never paused to wonder why +John Craik should have made her a proposal which could hardly be +beneficial to himself. She was innocent enough to think that the good +things of this world are given just where and when they are wanted. + +Captain Bontnor was the chief object of her thoughts, and she was +already dreaming of restoring him to Malabar Cottage and his bits of +things. So engrossed was she in these reflections, that she noticed +nothing unusual in the face of the butler who opened the door which had +shut upon Luke FitzHenry some years before. + +"I'm glad you're back, miss," he said gravely. + +Something in his tone--cold and correct--caught Eve's attention. + +"Why?" she asked, and a consoling knowledge that the Terrific was safe +in Chatham Dockyard leapt into her mind. + +"Mrs. Harrington's been took rather bad, miss." + +The man's manner said more than his words. Eve hurried upstairs to +Mrs. Harrington's bedroom. She tapped at the door and went in without +waiting. There was a strong smell of ammonia in the air. The blinds +were half lowered, and in the dim light Eve did not see very clearly. +Presently, from the depths of a huge four-poster bed, she descried a +pair of keen eyes--the face of Mrs. Harrington. The face, the eyes, +the mind were alive, the body was stricken; it was almost dead already. +Mrs. Harrington looked down at the shapeless limbs beneath the coverlet +with something like fear in her eyes, something of the expression of a +dog that has been run over. This woman meant to die hard. + +Eve knew little of life, but she was no stranger to death. She +recognised our last enemy in the grey face beneath the canopy of the +four-poster. + +"Where have you been so long, child?" said Mrs. Harrington querulously, +"leaving me to these fools of servants. I have been unwell, but I'm +better now. They've sent for the doctor. I shall be better presently. +I have no pain, only--only a sort of numbness." + +She looked down at her left hand, which lay outside the coverlet, and +fear was in her eyes. She had defied men too long to be afraid of God, +but she did not want to die; she had too keen an enjoyment for the good +things of this world. + +Eve came to the bedside. + +Mrs. Harrington's face was drawn together in anger. She was annoyed +that Death should have come for her, and, true to herself, she insulted +him by deliberately ignoring his presence. There was something defiant +in her cold eyes still, something unbeaten, although she knew that +there was no one on her side. The general feeling was against her. So +far as the world was concerned, Death could have her. + +Eve turned away from the bed and faced the doctor, who was coming into +the room with Mrs. Harrington's maid. No one displayed the slightest +emotion. A selfish life and a happy death are rarely vouchsafed to the +same person. The doctor did not ask Eve to stay, so she went +downstairs and wrote to Fitz, sending the note round to his rooms in +Jermyn Street by a servant. It was the second time in her life that +she had sent for Fitz. + +When the doctor came downstairs, Eve went out into the hall. He +pointed with his finger to the room from which she came, and followed +her back there. He was a middle-aged man, educated to the +finger-tips--all science and no heart. + +"Are you a relation of Mrs. Harrington's?" he inquired. + +"We are distantly connected," answered Eve. + +The doctor was not giving much attention to her answer. He had a habit +of tapping his teeth with his thumbnail, which made Eve dislike him at +sight. + +"Has she any one else?" he asked. "Any one who--cares?" + +He was quite without the intention of being rude but he was absorbed in +his profession, and had a large practice. He wanted to go. + +"She has a nephew. I have sent for him." + +The doctor nodded. He glanced at Eve, then he said quietly-- + +"She will live about an hour. She wants me to come again and bring +another man. I will do it, although it is useless. There are some +things money cannot buy." + +With a quick mechanical smile he was gone. + +Eve went upstairs again to the room where Mrs. Harrington was fighting +her last fight. As she passed up the stairs, she noticed two letters +on the hall table awaiting postage; one was addressed to Mrs. +Ingham-Baker, the other to Luke, at Malta. + +Mrs. Harrington had ordered the blinds to be pulled up, and the +daylight showed her face to be little changed. It had always been +grey; the shadows on it now were grey; the eyes were active and bright. +It was only the body that was dying; Mrs. Harrington's mind was bright +and keen as ever. + +"That doctor is a fool," she said. "I have told him to come back and +bring Sir James Harlow with him. And will you please send and tell +Fitz that I should like to see him? You must arrange to stay on a few +days until I am better. Captain Bontnor will have to do without you. +My servants are not to be trusted alone. I shall want you to keep them +in order; they require a tight reign." + +"I have sent for Fitz," said Eve. + +"Why?" snapped Mrs. Harrington. "To come and make love to you? Leave +that to Agatha. She has been teaching them both to do that for the +last three years. Her idea is to marry the one who gets my money. +I've known that all along." + +Eve's dark eyes hardened suddenly. She could not believe what the +doctor had told her five minutes earlier. Five minutes--one-twelfth +part of Mrs. Harrington's life ebbed away. + +"Pray do not talk like that," said the girl quietly. + +Mrs. Harrington's cold grey eyes fell before Eve's glance of mingled +wonder and contempt; her right hand was feebly plucking at the +counterpane. + +Far below, in the basement, a bell rang, and soon after there was a +step on the stairs. + +"Who is that?" inquired Mrs. Harrington. + +"Fitz." + +The dying woman was looking at the door with an unwonted longing in her +eyes. + +"You seem to know his step," she said, with a jealous laugh. + +Eve said nothing. The door opened, and Fitz came in. + +Mrs. Harrington was the first to speak. + +"I am not well this morning, dear," she said. "I sent for you because +I have a few things I want you to do for me." + +"Pleasure," murmured Fitz, glancing at Eve. He either did not know how +ill Mrs Harrington was, or he did not care. It is probable that these +two persons now at the dying woman's bed were the only two people who +would be in any degree sorry at her death. + +Eve, with a woman's instinct, busied herself with the pillow--with the +little adjuncts of a sick-room which had already found their way to the +bedside. She looked at Mrs. Harrington's face, saw the hard eyes fixed +on Fitz, and something in the glance made her leave the room. + +"Just leave me alone," the dying woman said peevishly as Eve went away; +"I don't want a lot of people bothering about." + +But Fitz stayed, and when Eve had closed the door the sudden look of +cunning that came over the faded face did not appear to surprise him. + +"Quick!" whispered Mrs. Harrington, "quick! I do not believe I am +dying, as that doctor said I was, but it is better to make sure. Open +the left-hand drawer in the dressing-table; you will find my keys." + +Fitz obeyed her, bringing the bunch of keys, rusty and black from being +concealed in a thousand different hiding-places. + +"Now," she said, "open that desk; it was--your father's. Bring it +here. Be quick! Some one may come." + +Her shrivelled fingers fumbled hastily among some old papers. Finally +she found an envelope, brown with age, on which was written, in her own +spidery handwriting, "Recipe for apple jelly." + +She thrust the envelope into Fitz's hands, and he smilingly read the +superscription. + +"That's nothing," she explained sharply; "that's only for the servants. +One cannot be too careful. Inside there is some money. I saved it up. +It will help to furnish your new cabin." + +"Thank you," said Fitz, looking critically at the envelope. "But--" + +"You must take it," she interrupted; "it is the only money I ever +saved." She broke off with a malicious laugh. "All these fools +thought I was rich," she went on. "They have been scheming and +plotting to get my money. There is no money. That is all there is. +You and Luke were the only two who never thought about it. You are +both like your father. Here, shut the desk up again. Put it back on +the table. Now hide the keys--left-hand corner, under the box of +hairpins." + +Fitz obeyed her and came back towards the bed. His large mind felt a +sudden contempt for this petty and mean woman. He did not understand +her, and the contempt he felt for her in some way hurt him. He was +afraid of what she was going to say next. + +"But," she said, "if I get better you must give me the money back." + +Fitz gave a little laugh. Something prompted him to open the envelope +and look at the contents. There were five notes of ten pounds each. +The rich Mrs. Harrington of Grosvenor Gardens had saved fifty pounds, +and she lay on her death-bed watching Fitz count this vast hoard with a +quiet deliberation. In its way it was a tragedy--the grimmest of +all--for its dominant note was the contemptibility of human nature. + +"I do not want the money. I should not keep it under any +circumstances." + +"What would you do with it?" she asked sharply. + +"Give it to a charity." + +"No, no, you must not do that; they are all swindles!" + +In her eagerness she tried to sit up, and fell back with a puzzled look +on her face, as if some one had struck her. + +"Here," she gasped, "give it to me! give it to me!" + +She clutched the envelope in her unsteady hands, and suddenly her jaw +dropped. + +Fitz ran to the door. On the stairs were the two doctors, followed +closely by Eve. In a moment the doctors were at the bedside. + +"Yes," said one of them--the younger of the two--and he glanced at his +watch. "I gave her an hour." + +The elder man took the dead woman's hand in his. He released the +envelope from her grasp and read the superscription, "Recipe for apple +jelly." With a grave smile he handed the envelope to Eve as Fitz took +her out of the room. + +They went downstairs together, and both were thinking of D'Erraha. They +went into the library, which was silent and gloomy. Fitz had not +spoken yet, but she seemed to understand his silence, just as she had +understood it once before. She had told him then. She did not do so +now. + +Eve was not thinking of the dead woman upstairs. This death came to +her only as a faint reflection of the one great grief which had cut her +life in two--as great griefs do. She was perhaps wondering how it was +that Fitz seemed always to come to her at those moments when she could +not do without him. She was more probably not thinking at all, but +resting as it were in the sense of complete safety and protection which +this man's presence gave her. + +There was a little silence, broken only by the sound of street traffic +faintly heard through the plate-glass windows. Fitz was looking at +her, his blue eyes grave and searching. This was not a man to miss his +opportunity, this youngest commander on the list. + +"Eve," he said, "I used to think at D'Erraha that you cared for me." + +"I have always cared for you," she answered, with a queer little smile, +half bold, half shy. + +So Love came in at the windows as Death crept up the stairs. + +Before long they heard the doctors go away, but they heeded not. They +only forgot each other when Cipriani de Lloseta came into the room. +The Spaniard's quick eyes read something in Eve's face. He looked +sharply at Fitz, but he said nothing of what he saw. + +"So our dear lady has been taken from us," he said quietly, with an +upward jerk of the head. + +Fitz nodded. Cipriani de Lloseta walked to the window and quietly drew +down the blind. + +"So falls the curtain," he said, "on the little drama of my humble +life." + +He turned and looked from one to the other with that sudden warmth of +love which either of them seemed able to draw from him. + +"Some day," he said, "I will tell you--you two--the story, but not now." + +He stepped forward and raised Eve's fingers to his lips. A quaint, +half-Spanish grace marked the picture of Southern chivalry. + +"My child," said Lloseta, "may Heaven always bless you!" And he left +them. + + + +CHAPTER XI. "MILKSOP". + + What have we made each other? + +The cathedral bells were calling good Papists to their morning devotion +as the Croonah moved into Valetta harbour. No sooner did her black +prow appear between the pier heads than a score of boats left the +steps, their rowers gesticulating, quarrelling, laughing among +themselves with Maltese vivacity. + +One boat, flying the Croonah's houseflag, made its way more leisurely +through the still, clear water. This boat was bringing mails to the +Croonah, and in the letter-bag Mrs. Harrington's last missive to Luke +had found its place. This letter had been posted by the well-trained +footman while Eve and Fitz stood at Mrs. Harrington's bedside. Before +it was stamped at the district office the hand that wrote it was still. +And it contained mischief. Even after her death Mrs. Harrington +brought trouble to the man whose life she had spoilt by her caprice. +The letter ran-- + +"DEAR LUKE,--Just a line to tell you that you may bring your +portmanteau straight up to Grosvenor Gardens when your ship arrives in +London. I read of your fortunate escape from the cyclone, and +congratulate you. I dare say I shall be having a few friends to stay +when you are with me, so you need not fear dulness. Yours +affectionately, + "MARIAN HARRINGTON. + +"P.S.--I always suspect you of having, consciously or unconsciously, +possessed yourself of the affections of a young lady who shall be +nameless. A word to the wise: make good use of your opportunities, +for there are other aspirants in the field--a certain brilliant young +naval officer not unknown to you. Moreover his chance appears to be a +good one. You must waste no more time." + +It happened that Luke FitzHenry was in a dangerous mood when he read +this letter. He had been up half the night. The captain had been +cross-grained and unreasonable. Even the mildest of us has his moments +of clear-sightedness when he sees the world and the hollowness thereof. +Luke saw this and more when he had read Mrs. Harrington's evil +communication. He seemed to have reached the end of things, when his +present life became no longer tolerable. It must be remembered that +this man was passionate and very resolute. Moreover he had been +handicapped from the beginning of his life by a tendency to go wrong. +He was not a good subject for ill-fortune. + +It was his duty to go ashore with papers to be delivered at the agent's +office. He delivered his papers and then he went to the cable office. +He telegraphed the single word "Milksop" to Willie Carr in London. +When he got back to the Croonah, worn out, dirty, and morose, the +passengers were not yet astir. He had an unsatisfactory breakfast, and +went to his cabin for a few hours' necessary sleep. He had given way +to a great temptation, not as the weak give way, on the spur of the +moment, with hesitation, but as a strong man--strong, even in his +weaknesses. + +He did it after mature deliberation--did it thoroughly and carefully, +without the least intention of regretting it afterwards. He was +desperate and driven. He could not think of life without Agatha, and +he did not see why he should be called upon to do so. Ill fortune had +dogged him from his childhood. He had borne it all, morosely but +without a murmur. He was going to turn at last. The Croonah must go. +She was well insured, he knew that. That the cargo was fully covered +against loss he could safely suppose. As to the passengers and the +crew, none of them should suffer; he thought he was a clever enough +sailor for that. + +So he laid him down in his little cabin to sleep, while the sun rose +over the blue Mediterranean, while some passengers went ashore and +others came on board, while the single word "Milksop" was spelt over a +continent; and he was still sleeping when the anchor was jerked up from +its muddy bed, and the watchers on pier and harbour looked their last +on the grand old Croonah. + +A breeze was blowing out in the open, one of those bright westerly +breezes that bring a breath of the Atlantic into the Mediterranean, and +often make the short passage from Malta to Gibraltar the worst part of +the voyage from India to the Channel. + +None of the passengers took any interest in the morose second officer, +and few of them remarked his absence from table during the two days' +passage. The Croonah arrived at Gibraltar after dark, took her mails +and passengers on board, and proceeded down the Straits about eight +o'clock in the evening. It was late autumn, and the breeze from the +cool Atlantic still hurried in over the parched lands of Africa and +Southern Europe. + +Tarifa light was sighted and left twinkling behind. Trafalgar stared +out of the darkness ahead, and in its turn was left behind. A few of +the passengers had recovered their Mediterranean ill-usage sufficiently +to dine in the Straits, but the Atlantic swell soon sent them below. +The decks were deserted, for many of these people were returning to +England after long years in India, and the first chill northern breeze +they met made them shiver while it delighted them. + +Luke FitzHenry was on the bridge from eight o'clock till midnight, +motionless at his post--a mere navigating machine, respected and feared +by all who worked with him, understood of none. + +When midnight came he exchanged a few words with the first officer, and +together they superintended the shaking out of the foresails before the +watch went below. The wind was on the quarter, strong and steady. +Almost immediately the good steamer felt the canvas, leaning gently +over to leeward, adding another mile to her great speed. The sea was +black, and the air seemed to be full of the sounds of waves breaking +and hissing. Ahead the mast-head and the side-lights shone down on the +face of the waters and lighted up an occasional white-capped wave. In +the air, brisk and masterful, there was a sense of purpose and tension +which sailors understand, while mere printed words cannot convey it to +landsmen. It was a very dark night. + +"St. Vincent," said Luke tersely, as he turned to leave the bridge. The +first officer, a man grown old at his post, followed the direction of +his junior's gaze, but some seconds elapsed before he distinguished the +light twinkling feebly low down on the horizon. + +Luke went to his cabin and lay down on his berth all dressed. He was +due on the bridge again at four o'clock. The Croonah sailed by +time-table, subjecting the winds and seas, as the great steamships do +nowadays. Luke FitzHenry had calculated this to a minute before he +telegraphed the single word "Milksop" to Willie Carr in London. + +He was on the bridge a few minutes before eight bells rang, and found +the captain. He knew his chief's customs. He knew that this wise old +sailor was in the habit of accumulating as much sleep in his brain as +possible before passing Ushant light, because he lived on the bridge +when the Croonah had once turned eastward up the Channel. Whenever the +captain took a night's rest, he broke it at four o'clock, at the change +of the watch. He stood muffled in a big coat over his pyjamas, and +exchanged a few words with his subordinates. After the first officer +had gone below, Luke went to his post at the starboard end of the +bridge, while the captain walked slowly backwards and forwards. They +remained thus for half an hour. The ship was all quiet. The breeze +had fallen a little. There was as yet no sign of daybreak towards the +east. A steamer passed, showing a red light and a white mast-head +light. + +Presently the captain paused in his walk near to Luke. + +"Call me," he said, "when you raise the Burling light." + +Luke answered with a monosyllable, and the elder sailor went towards +the ladder. + +No one had heard the order given. Luke followed him to the ladder, and +watched him go down into the darkness. They had sailed together six +years in fair weather and foul; they had fought and conquered a cyclone +in the Bay together from that bridge; but Agatha Ingham-Baker was +stronger than these things. Woman is the strongest thing in a man's +life. + +There was still no sign of daylight, no faintest gleam in the eastern +sky, when the Burling light was sighted right ahead. The look-out on +the forecastle did not "sing out" the lights on board the Croonah, but +sent a companion aft to the bridge with the report. This was done for +the comfort of the passengers. + +Luke altered the course half a point. From the wheel-house the men +could not see the light, which was hidden by the fore-mast. Luke went +aft and looked at the patent log. His calculations were all correct. +He glanced at his watch--he had to go to the wheel-house to do this, +and the binnacle-lights showed his face to be still and pale. He moved +and had the air of a man upon whose shoulders an immense responsibility +was weighing. He was going to wreck the Croonah, but he had two +hundred and ninety lives to save. He carefully studied the eastern +sky. He did not want daylight yet. + +The Burling light is not a very big one--not so big, some mariners +think, as it should be. It is visible twenty-five miles away; but +Luke's knowledge told him that in thick and misty weather, such as +hovers over this coast in a westerly wind, the glare of the revolving +lamp could not be distinguished at a greater distance than ten or +twelve miles. + +The Croonah raced on, a ship full of sleeping human beings. There came +a faint blue tinge into the eastern sky, a gleam over the eastern sea. + +The Burling light--an eye looking round into the darkness, seeming to +open and shut sleepily--grew brighter and brighter. It was right +ahead! it rose as they approached it until it stood right above the +bowsprit. + +Then Luke FitzHenry changed the course. The Croonah turned her blunt +prow half a point out into the Atlantic, and she raced on; she passed +by Burling Island, leaving the slowly winking eye on her starboard +quarter. Ahead lay the complete darkness of the north-west horizon. + +Luke stood at his post, his eyes hidden by his binoculars. He was +studying the horizon in front of him--in front of the Croonah. There +was a little lump on the horizon, like the top of a mountain sticking +out of the sea; this he knew to be the rock called the Great Farilhao. +Again he altered the course, still seeking the Atlantic, another +quarter point to the west. He was going to pass the Great Farilhao as +he had passed the Burling, within a stone's throw. This he actually +did, the rugged outline of the barren rock standing out sharply against +the eastern sky. There was now nothing ahead; the horizon lay before +him, clear, unbroken. + +Luke moved a few paces. He went and stood by the engine-room +telegraph. The engines throbbed merrily, but the steamer was still +asleep. There was no sound but the thud of the piston-rods and the +whispering swirl of the water lashed by the huge screw. + +The Croonah raced on, her sails set, her engines working at full speed. +Suddenly Luke FitzHenry grasped the handle of the engine-room signal. +He wrenched it to one side--"Stand by." Instantly the gong answered, +"Stand by." "Half speed ahead." + +And half speed ahead it was. Luke FitzHenry was clever even in his +crime; he had three hundred lives to save. He stood motionless as a +statue, gazing at the smooth unbroken water in front of him; he grasped +the rail and set his teeth; he stood well back with his feet firmly +planted. And there was a grinding crash. The Croonah seemed to climb +up into the air, then she stopped dead, and below--inside her--there +was a long, rumbling crash, as if all that was inside her had been cast +forward in confusion. She had run on to the sunken rocks that lie +north-west of the Farilhoes. + +A great silence followed and immediately the pattering of bare feet. A +confused murmuring of voices rose from the saloon gangway--a buzzing +sound, like that of a hive disturbed. A single voice rose in a shriek +of mortal terror, and immediately there followed a chorus of confused +shouts. + +Luke already had his lips at the speaking-tube. He was telling the +engineer on watch to steam ahead; he knew the danger of the Croonah +slipping back into deep water and sinking. + +In a marvellously short time the decks were thronged with people, some +standing white-faced and calm in the dim light of early morning; +others, mad with terror, rushing from side to side. + +The strange part of it was that Luke remained alone on the bridge. The +captain and the other officers were busy with the passengers. The +second officer remained motionless at his post; he commanded the +steersman by a wave of the arm to stay at the wheel, although he knew +that the Croonah would never answer her helm again; her travelling days +were done. + +In the dim light now increasing momentarily, Luke FitzHenry looked down +upon the wildly confused decks and saw discipline slowly assert itself. +He saw the captain commanding by sheer force of individual power; he +saw the quartermasters form in line across the deck and drive the +passengers farther aft, leaving room to get out the boats. + +In a few moments--in a marvellously short space of time--the work of +saving life began. A boat was lowered, the crew slipped into their +places, and a certain number of lady passengers were hastily handed +down the gangway. The first boat eased away. The oars were thrown +out. It was off, and some of the passengers cheered. One can never +tell what men, especially Englishmen, may do when they actually see +death face to face. The boat was headed to the south-east, towards the +Carreiro do Mosteiro, on Burling Island, the only possible +landing-place. + +Luke felt a touch on his arm and turned sharply. It was a +quartermaster, breathless but cool. + +"Captain wants you, sir. I'll take the bridge." + +Luke turned to obey orders. + +"Keep her steaming full speed ahead," he said, jerking his head towards +the engine-room telegraph. + +"Ay, sir," the man replied. + +"Until the water gets to the furnaces," he added to himself, "and then +we're dead men." + +Luke ran lightly down the iron ladder to the lower bridge, which was +deserted. From thence he made his way aft to the quarter-deck. As he +passed the saloon staircase he ran against two women; one was dragging +the other, or attempting to do so, towards the group of passengers +huddled together amidships. + +"You go," the younger woman was saying, "if you want to. I will wait." + +Luke stopped. The elder woman was apparently wild with terror. She +had not even stopped to put on a dressing-gown. Her thin grey hair +fluttered in the breeze. She was stout and an object of ridicule even +with death clutching at her. + +"Go on, mother," said the younger woman, with contempt in her voice. + +"Agatha!" cried Luke. "You here?" + +"Yes; we came on board at Malta." + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE END OF THE "CROONAH". + + Our life is given us as a blank; + Ourselves must make it blest or curst. + +A man came running along and clutched at Luke's arm. + +"Captain wants you, sir, immediate!" he cried. + +"All right," answered Luke. "Here, take this lady and put her into a +boat." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was clinging to him. + +"Luke," she said firmly, "you must provide us with a lifeboat--a safe +one. I will not stand this neglect." + +"Here!" cried Luke to the man. "Take her away." + +"You come along o' me, marm," said the man, with a twinkle in his eye. +"I'll pervide ye with a lifeboat, bless yer heart!" + +And in the dim light of the saloon stairhead lamp, Luke and Agatha were +left facing each other. + +"Why did you not let me know you were coming?" he asked sharply. He +looked round with haggard eyes; they were quite alone. + +"I had no time. We just caught the boat by an hour." + +She was singularly quiet. Both of them seemed to forget that every +moment lost increased the danger of their position. + +"Why did you come?" he asked. + +She looked at him, and there was that in her eyes that makes men mad. + +"Because I could not stay away from you." + +His breath came sharply with a catch. + +For a few moments they forgot such things as life and death. They did +more, they defied death; for surely such love as this is stronger than +the mere end of life. Again it was the possibility of something good +and something strong that lurked hidden behind the worldliness of +Agatha Ingham-Baker, and Luke FitzHenry, of all men, alone had the +power of bringing that possibility to the surface. + +All around them the wind moaned and shrieked through the rigging; the +waves, beating against the sheer side of the doomed Croonah, filled the +air with a sound of great foreboding--the deep voice of an elemental +power that knows no mercy. Within twenty feet of them men and women +were struggling like dumb and driven animals for bare life--struggling, +shouting, quarrelling over a paltry precedence of a minute or so in +going to the boats; within a hundred yards of them, out over the dark +waters, Agatha's mother, thrown from an overturned boat, was struggling +her last struggle, with her silly old face turned indignantly up to +heaven. But they saw none of these things. + +All the good men were wanted for the boats, and the captain, with two +officers only and a few stewards, defended the gangway against the rush +of the panic-stricken native crew. + +"FitzHenry! FitzHenry!" the old captain shouted. "For God's sake, +come here!" For Luke alone was dreaded by the lascars. + +But Luke and Agatha heeded nothing. These people, these lives, were +nothing to them, for a passionate love is the acme of selfishness. + +They heard the sounds, however; they heard the captain calling for the +man who had never failed him. + +"I wrecked her for you," said Luke, in Agatha's hungry ears. "I did it +all for you." + +And at last the woman's vanity was satisfied; it was thrown a sop that +would suffice for its eternal greed. Luke had done this thing for her. +She was quick enough to guess how and why, for she knew Willie Carr. +She knew that good ships are thrown away for money's sake. The Croonah +had been thrown away for her sake--the Croonah, the patient, obedient +servant to Luke's slightest word, almost an animal in its mechanical +intelligence, filling that place in the sailor's heart that some men +reserve for their horses and others for their wives. Women have been +jealous of a ship before now. Eve was jealous of the Terrific; Agatha +had always been jealous of the Croonah. And now the ship had been +thrown away for her, and with his ship Luke had cast away his +unrivalled reputation as a seaman, his honour as a gentleman, his +conscience. He was a criminal, a thief, a murderer for Agatha's sake. +She, true to her school, to her generation, to her training, was proud +of it; for she was one of those unhappy women who will not have their +lovers love honour more. + +There was a sudden roar far down in the bowels of the vessel, and +immediately volumes of steam issued from every skylight. The inrushing +sea had broken down the bulk-heads, the water had reached the +engine-rooms. In an instant Luke was alive to the danger--the good +sailor that was within the man all awake. His trained ears and the +tread of his feet on the deck told him that the screw was still. + +"Come," he cried to Agatha, "you must get away in the next boat." + +But Agatha resisted his arm. That which had hitherto been mere +pertness in her manner and carriage had suddenly grown into a strong +determination. The woman was cool and fearless. + +"Not without you," she answered. "I will not leave the ship until you +do." + +"I must stay till the last," he said. + +She looked at him with a little smile, for women love courage, though +it sometimes frightens them. She never dreamt of danger to either of +them. Her trust in Luke was all-sufficient, without reserve, without +hesitation. + +"Then I will stay too." + +For a moment his iron nerve--a nerve which had deliberately planned all +this destruction--wavered. + +"Why did you not let me know you were coming?" he asked desperately. + +"I had no time," she answered, with a singular shortness, for she could +not tell him that a letter from Mrs. Harrington to her mother--the +companion to that received by Luke at Valetta--had brought about this +sudden decision. She could not tell him that, egged on by a +transparent hint from Mrs. Harrington that Luke was to be her heir, she +and her mother had taken the first boat to Malta; that she had +deliberately planned to marry him for the money that was to be his. +Such a confession was impossible at that time; with his arms still +round her, the mere thought of it nauseated her. For a moment, she saw +herself as others had seen her--a punishment which for some women is +quite sufficient. + +At this moment a man came running along the deck--the same +quartermaster who had taken charge of Mrs. Ingham-Baker. He was a man +of no nerves whatever, and of considerable humour. + +"Any more ladies?" he was shouting as he ran. "Any more for the shore?" + +He laughed at his own conceit as he ran--the same fearless laugh with +which he sent Mrs. Ingham-Baker down the gangway to her death. He +paused, saw Luke and Agatha standing together beneath the lamp. + +"Captain's callin' you like hell!" he cried. "Engine-room's full. The +old ship's got it this time, sir." + +"All right, I know," answered Luke curtly; and the man ran on, shouting +as he went. + +At this moment the Croonah gave a shiver, and Luke looked round +hastily. He ran to the rail and looked over with a quick sailor's +glance fore and aft. He turned towards Agatha again, but before he +could reach her the steamer gave a lurch over to starboard. The deck +seemed to rise between them. For a moment Agatha stood above him, then +she half ran, half fell, down the short steep incline into his arms. +Luke was ready for her, with one foot against the rail--for the deck +was at an angle of thirty and more; no one could stand on it. He +caught her deftly, and the breeze whirling round the deck-house blew +her long hair across his face. + +She never changed colour. There was the nucleus of a good and strong +woman somewhere in Agatha Ingham-Baker. She clung to her lover's arms +and watched his face with a faith that nothing could shake. Thus they +stood during three eternal seconds while the Croonah seemed to +hesitate, poised on the brink. Then the great steamer slowly slid +backwards, turning a little as she did so. + +There was a sickening sound of gurgling water. The Croonah was afloat, +but only for a few seconds. There was no time to lower another boat, +and all on board knew it. There were not many remaining, for the +passengers had all left the ship--the stokers, the engineers. +Amidships the captain stood, surrounded by his officers and a few +European sailors--faithful to the end. They had only one boat left, +and that was forward, half under water--out of the question. So they +stood and waited for the ship to sink beneath them. + +In the distance, on the rough sea, now grey in the light of a sullen +dawn, two boats were approaching, having landed their human freight on +Burling Island. + +"Now, my lads," cried the captain, "if any of you are feeling like +going overboard, over you go." + +One man slowly took off his coat. He stooped down and unlaced his +boots, while the others watched him. It seemed to take him hours. The +bows of the great steamer were almost buried in the broken seas; her +stern was raised high in the air, showing the screw and the rudder. + +The man who preferred to swim for it looked round with a strange smile +into the quiet, rough faces of his undismayed companions. It seemed to +be merely a choice of deaths. + +"Well, mates," he said, "so long!" + +He dived overboard and swam slowly away. + +Luke watched him speculatively. He knew that had he been alone he +could have saved himself quite easily. With Agatha his chances were +less certain. Agatha it was who had spoilt his careful calculation. +Without conceit--for he was a stubbornly self-depreciating man--he knew +that his absence from his captain's side had just made the +difference--the little difference between life and death--to twenty or +thirty people. Had he been beside the captain and the other officers +the native crew would have worked quietly and intrepidly; there would +have been time for all hands to leave the Croonah before she slipped +back into deep water. + +The great steamer rolled slowly from side to side, like a helpless dumb +animal in death agony, but she never righted herself, her decks were +never level. At length she gave a roll to leeward and failed to +recover herself. From some air-shaft there came a ceaseless whistle, +deep and sonorous, like the emission of air from the bunghole of a +beer-barrel. The engines were quite still, even the steam had ceased +to rise. + +Luke stood holding Agatha with one arm. He was watching the two boats +making their way through the choppy sea towards them, and Agatha was +watching his face. + +The Croonah was now lying right over on her beam ends. Luke was +standing on the wire network of the rail. Suddenly he threw himself +backwards, and as they fell through space Agatha heard the captain's +voice quite distinctly, as from the silence of another world. + +"She's going!" he cried. + +They struck the water together, Luke undermost, as he had intended. +Agatha shut her eyes and clung to him. They seemed to go down and +down. Then suddenly she heard Luke's voice. + +"Take a breath," he gasped short and sharp. His voice was singularly +stern. + +With his disengaged hand he put her hair from her face. She opened her +eyes and saw him smiling at her; she saw a huge piece of wreckage +poised on the edge of a wave over his head; she saw it fall; she felt +the shock of it. + +Luke's arm lost its hold; he rolled over feebly in the water, the blood +running down his face, a sudden sense of sleep in his brain. He awoke +again to find himself swimming mechanically, and opened his eyes. +Close to him something white was floating half under water. Spread out +over the surface of the wave Agatha's long hair rose and fell like +seaweed, almost within his grasp. It was like a horrible nightmare. +He tried to reach it, but his arms were powerless; he could not make an +inch of progress; he could only keep himself afloat. Agatha's face was +under water. On the rise of a wave he saw her little bare foot; it was +quite still. He knew that she was dead, and the blessed sleepiness +took him again, dragging him down. + + . . . . . + +So the last of the Croonah was her good name written large on a yellow +telegram form, nailed to the panel of the room technically known as the +Chamber of Horrors at Lloyd's. + +Around this telegram a group of grave-faced men stood in silence, or +with muttered words of surprise. + +"The Croonah!" they said, "the Croonah!" as if a pillar of their faith +had fallen. For once no one had a theory: no carpet mariner could +explain this thing. + +Against the jamb of the window, behind them all, Willie Carr stood +leaning. + +"Done anything on her?" some one asked him. + +"Yes, bad luck," he answered. "Had friends on her, too." + +It was a long and expansive telegram, giving the list of the lost, +twenty-nine in all, and among the names were mentioned Mrs. +Ingham-Baker and her daughter. + +"Ship in charge of second officer," said the telegram. And lower down, +at the foot of the fatal list: "Second officer picked up unconscious. +Doing well." + +Suddenly Willie Carr moved, and, turning his back somewhat hastily, +looked out of the window. + +Fitz had just come into the dreary, fateful little room, conducted +thither by the Admiralty agent. He read the telegram carefully from +beginning to end. + +"Luke on the Burlings!" he muttered, as he turned to go. "Luke! I +can't understand it. He must have been mad!" + +And after all Fitz only spoke the truth; but it was a madness to which +we are all subject. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. AT D'ERRAHA AGAIN. + + There is no statute so sublime + As Love's in all the world; and e'en to kiss + The pedestal is still a better bliss + Than all ambitions. + +Three years later Eve was sitting on the terrace of the Casa d'Erraha. +It was late autumn, and we who live in Northern latitudes do not quite +realise what the autumn of Southern Europe is. Artists and others +interested in the beauties of nature love a dry summer for the autumn +that is sure to follow it. In Spain and in the islands of the +Mediterranean every summer is dry, and every autumn is beautiful. + +The Casa d'Erraha has not changed in any way--nothing changes in the +Balearics. The same soft Southern odours creep up from the valley to +battle with the strong resinous scent of the pines that crown the +mountains. + +Eve had been a year in D'Erraha--the whole of her married life. The +Count de Lloseta placed the house at their disposal for the honeymoon. +Fitz and she came to stay a month; they had remained twelve. It is +often so in Majorca. A number of Spaniards came six hundred years +ago--nine families; the nine names are there to-day. + +Fitz had taken D'Erraha on the Minorcan rotas lease, so the old valley, +the old house, was his. + +Eve was not alone on the terrace, for a certain small gentleman, called +Henry Cyprian FitzHenry, a prospective sailor, lay in a pink and +perfect slumber on her lap. Henry Cyprian fully appreciated the valley +of repose. + +Eve was reading a letter--a lamentable scrawl, by the way--obviously +the work of a hand little used to the pen. + +"My dearie," the letter ran; and it bore the address--Malabar Cottage, +Somarsh, Suffolk. + + +"MY DEARIE,--Please thank your good husband for his letter to me +announcing the birth of your son. I hope the little man is doing well. +Make a sailor of him. Being one myself I have had opportunity of +noticing seafaring men under different circumstances, and I have never +had an occasion to be ashamed of a shipmate, only excepting when he was +drunk, which is human, so to speak. Thanking the captain kindly for +his inquiries, I have to advise that all is going well at Malabar +Cottage. The cottage keeps taut and staunch; and now that my old +shipmate Creary has joined me, we keep to the weather side of the +butcher's bill without any difficulty. We pull along on a even keel +wonderfully well, Creary being a good-natured man, and as pleasant a +shipmate as one could wish. He has brought his bits of things with +him, and alongside of mine they make a homely look. I miss your voice +about the house, and sometimes I feel a bit lonely, but being a rough +seafaring man I know that Malabar Cottage was hardly fit for a lady +like yourself. The Count de Lloseta has twice been down to see me, +sitting affable down to our bit of lunch with us and making Creary +laugh till he choked. I don't rightly understand how it was that the +Count and your good husband the captain (R.N.) fixed up my money +affairs, getting so much of it back from Merton's while others haven't +had a halfpenny. I asked the Count to explain, which he did at some +length. But I didn't rightly understand it, never having had a good +head for figures, though I could always work out my sums near enough to +fix her position on the chart at mid-day. I take it that Mr. Lloseta +has got a gift for financials, leastwise he pays me my money most +regular, and last time there was two pounds more. I am sure I ought to +feel thankful that I have such good friends, and people, too, so much +above me. I understand that the Count de Lloseta is going out to +Majorca this autumn. He is a good man.--Your affectionate uncle, + + "WILLIAM JOHN BONTNOR (Master)." + +Eve read this effusion with a queer little smile which had no mirth in +it. She folded the letter carefully and laid it aside for her husband +to see when he returned. Then she fell into a reverie, looking down +over the great silent valley that lay between her and the sea. She had +been out into the world and had come back to D'Erraha again. In the +world she had had a somewhat singular experience. She had never loved +a woman, she had never known a woman's love. One man after another had +come into her life, passing across the field of her mental vision when +it was most susceptible to impression, each influencing her life in his +own way, each loving her in his own way, each claiming her love. Here +was a woman, the mother of a boy, whose every thought had been formed +by men, whose knowledge had been acquired from men, whose world was a +world of men. She would not have known what to do with a daughter, so +Fate had sent her a son. From the Caballero Challoner to Fitz, from +Fitz to Captain Bontnor, from Captain Bontnor to John Craik, and from +Craik back to Fitz, this, with Cipriani de Lloseta ever coming and +going, in and out, had been Eve FitzHenry's life. + +These men had only taught her to be a woman, as men ever do; but from +them she had acquired the broader way of taking life, the larger way of +thinking, which promised well for Henry Cyprian lying asleep on her lap. + +She was thinking of these men, for all they had taught her, of all she +had learnt from them without their knowing it, when one of them came to +her. Fitz had dismounted in the patio and came walking somewhat +stiffly through to the terrace. He had been out all day on a distant +part of the D'Erraha property, for he combined the farmer and the +sailor. He had applied for a year's leave after having served his +country for fifteen. The year had run into fifteen months, and there +was talk of the time when he should go to sea no longer. + +Fitz had changed little. The cloud, however, that had formerly hung as +it were in his eyes had vanished. Eve had driven it away, slowly and +surely. Perhaps Henry Cyprian had something to do in the matter also +by pushing his uncle Luke out of the place he had hitherto occupied in +Fitz's heart. Luke had voluntarily relinquished the place to a certain +degree. He had left England three years before to seek his fortune in +other seas, and Fortune had come to him as she often does when she is +sought half-heartedly. Luke commanded one of the finest war-ships +afloat, but she sailed under the Chilean flag. + +"Letters," said Fitz. + +Eve smiled and handed him Captain Bontnor's epistle. She watched his +face as he read--she had a trick of watching her husband's face. This +was a hopelessly taciturn man, but Eve seemed to understand him. + +There was another letter unopened and addressed to Fitz. He took it up +and opened it leisurely, after the manner of one who has all he wants +and looks for nothing by post. + +Eve saw his face brighten with surprise. He read the letter through, +and then he handed it to her. + +"Lloseta," he said, "is coming. He is in Barcelona." + +Eve read the letter. She leant back in her deep chair with a +pensiveness, a faint suggestion of weariness bespeaking the end of a +convalescence, which was perhaps climatic. + +"I have never understood the Count," she said. "There are so many +people one does not understand." + +She broke off with a little laugh, half impatient. + +"Yes," said her husband quietly. "Whom are you thinking of?" + +"Agatha." + +Fitz was gazing at the fine quartz gravel beneath his feet. + +"Agatha cared for Luke," he said. + +A faint flicker of anxiety passed across Eve's eyes--the mention of +Luke's name always brought it. She had never seen this twin +brother--this shadow as it were of Fitz's life--and it had been slowly +borne in upon her--perhaps Henry Cyprian had taught her--that there is +a tie between twins which no man can gauge nor tell whither it may lead. + +"Yes," she said quietly, "I know." + +"How do you know? Did she tell you?" + +Eve smiled. + +"No; but I knew long ago. I do not think she was good, Fitz, but that +was good in her--quite good. People say that it sometimes saves men. +It often saves women. I think it is better for a girl to have no +mother at all than to have a foolish mother, much better, I am sure of +it." + +"Women like Mrs. Ingham-Baker," said Fitz gruffly, "do more harm in the +world than women who are merely bad. She made Agatha what she was, and +Agatha made Luke throw away the Croonah." + +"But the Court decided that it was an unusual current," said Eve, who +had followed every word of the official inquiry. + +Fitz shrugged his shoulders. + +"He threw the ship away," he said. "Sailors like Luke do not get +wrecked on the Burlings." + +Eve did not pursue the subject, for this was the shadow on her +happiness. It has been ruled that we are not to be quite happy here, +and those are happiest who have a shadow that comes from outside--from +elsewhere than from themselves or their own love. + +Eve, womanlike, had thought of these things, analysing them as women +do, and she recognised the shadow frankly. She was too intelligent, +too far-sighted to expect perfect bliss, but she knew that she had as +near an approach to it as is offered for human delectation, neutralised +as it was by that vague regret which is only the reflection of the +active sorrows of others. + +Fitz had handed the Count's letter to his wife. She read it slowly and +allowed it to drop. As it fluttered to her lap she caught sight of +some writing on the back. + +"Did you see the postscript?" she asked. + +"No." + +She turned the letter and read aloud. + +"I saw Craik just before I left. He was, I think, in better health. +His mind is much too brilliant, his brain too active, his humour too +keen to be that of a sick man. When I told him your good news he quite +forgot to be rheumatic. 'Glad to hear it, glad to hear it,' he said. +'She was much too good to be a mere writing woman.' By the way, I +imagine Eve never learnt that all the Spanish articles, except the +first, passed through my hands as well as Craik's before publication. +I knew who wrote them, and am still one of their profoundest admirers, +but, like John Craik, I am well content that the gifted author should +turn her attention to other things, notably to my godson, to whom +salutations. Did either of you ever meet young Lord Seahampton, an +excellent fellow, with the appearance of a cleanly groom and the heart +of a true knight? He was killed while riding a steeplechase last week. +I regret him deeply. He was one of my few friends." + +Eve laid the letter down with a little sigh, a species of sigh which +she reserved for Cipriani de Lloseta. + +"He is a nineteenth-century Quixote," she said. "No one ever knows +what good he may be doing." + +Then they fell to talking of this man, of what he had done and what he +had left undone. They guessed at what he had suffered, and of the +suffering which he had spared others they knew a little; but of his own +feelings they were ignorant, his motives they only knew in part. His +life had been lived out to a certain extent before them, but they knew +nothing of it; it was a mere superficies without perspective, and Eve, +woman-like, wanted to put a background to it. + +"But why," she persisted, from the height of her own happiness, which +had apparently been so easy to reach, "why does he lead such a lonely, +gloomy life? Why has he so few friends? Why does he not come and live +at Lloseta instead of in the gloomy palace in the Calle de la Paz?" + +"His life is all whys," answered Fitz; "it is one big note of +interrogation. He said that some day he would tell us; no doubt he +will." + +"Yes; perhaps so." + +Eve reflected, and again she indulged in a short sigh. + +"And after he has told us there will be nothing to be done, that is the +worst of it; there will be nothing to be done, Fitz." + +"There never has been anything to be done," replied Fitz slowly, as was +his wont. "That has been the keynote of his life as long as I have +known him. If there had been anything to do, you may be sure that De +Lloseta would have done it." + +Eve was bending over the small beginnings of a man lying supine on her +knees. She drew Henry Cyprian's wraps closer around him preparatory to +taking him indoors. + +"Then his is surely the saddest life imaginable," she said. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE COUNT'S STORY. + + And yet I know + That tears lie deep in all I do. + +The pine forests on the mountain-tops were beginning to gather the +darkness as the Count de Lloseta rode up the last slope to the Casa +d'Erraha. The sun had just set behind the rocky land that hides +Miramar from D'Erraha. A stillness seemed to be creeping down from the +mountain to the valley. The wind had gone down with the sun. + +The Count rode alone beneath the gloom of the maritime pines which grow +to their finest European stature on the northern slope of D'Erraha. He +had been in the saddle all day; but Cipriani de Lloseta was a Spaniard, +and a Spaniard is a different man when he has thrown his leg across a +horse. The suave indolence of manner seems to vanish, the courtly +indifference, the sloth and contemplativeness which stand as a bar +between our northern nature and the peninsular habit. De Lloseta was a +fine horseman--even in Spain, the nation of finest horsemen in the +world; also he was on Majorcan soil again. He had landed at Palma that +morning from the Barcelona steamer, and he had found Fitz awaiting him +with a servant and a led horse on the quay. + +There was a strangely excited gleam in De Lloseta's dark eyes which +Fitz did not fail to notice. The Count looked around over the dark +wild faces of his countrymen and met no glance of recognition, for he +had been absent forty years. Then he raised his eyes to the old city +towering on the hillside above them, the city that has not changed +these six hundred years, and he smiled a wan smile. + +"I have brought a horse for you," said Fitz, "either to ride back to +D'Erraha with me now or to take you to Lloseta, should you care to go +direct there. Eve has packed up some lunch for you in the saddle-bag +if you think of going to Lloseta first." + +The Count nodded. + +"Yes," he said, "that is like Eve; she would think of such things." + +He went up to the horse, patted it, measured the length of the +stirrup-leather, and then turned to Fitz. + +"I will go to Lloseta," he said. "It is only natural after forty +years. I will be with you by seven o'clock to-night at D'Erraha." + +Fitz did not offer to accompany him, and Cipriani de Lloseta rode that +strange ride alone; unknown, an outcast in his own land, he rode +through the most fertile valley in the world, of which every tree was +dear to him; and no man knew his thoughts. The labourers in the +fields, men and women, brown, sunburnt, half Moorish, wholly simple and +natural, paused in their toil and looked wonderingly at the lonely +horseman; the patient mules walking their ceaseless round at the +Moorish wells blinked lazily at him; the eagles of Lloseta swept slowly +round in a great circle far above the old castle, as they had swept in +his childhood, and he looked up at them with his strange patient smile. +He pushed the great olive-wood gate open and passed into the terraced +garden, all overgrown, neglected, mournful. It was a strange +home-coming, with no one near to see. + +He spent the whole day at Lloseta engaged in the very practical work of +employing men to labour at the garden and in the house. It was, he +said, his intention to come back to his "possession," as these Majorcan +country houses are called, to inhabit it the larger part of the year, +and to pass the remaining winter months at his palace in Palma. + +In the afternoon he mounted his horse, and in the evening, as has been +said, he reached D'Erraha. + +A servant must have been watching his approach, for the large door was +thrown open and he rode into the patio. Fitz was here to welcome him; +and behind him Eve, with Henry Cyprian in her arms. No one spoke. It +was rather singular. The Count dismounted. He took off his hat and +held it in the Spanish mode in his hand while he shook hands with Fitz +and Eve. He looked round the patio. He noted the old marble well, +yellow with stupendous age, the orange trees clustering over it, the +palms and the banana trees, then he smiled at Eve. + +"After many years," he said. + +There was a little pause. + +"I should have wished to see your father," he said, "amidst these +surroundings." + +Eve gave a little nod. From long association with men she had learnt a +manlike reticence. She moved a little towards the open archway leading +through to the terrace. + +"We have some tea," she said, "waiting for you. Will you come to the +terrace?" + +He followed her, while the servant led the tired horse away. + +They sat at the northern end of the terrace, where the garden-chairs +always stood, and before, beneath, all around them rose and fell the +finest of all the fine Majorcan scenery--scenery which only Sardinia +can rival in Europe. + +Eve poured out his tea, which he drank, and set the cup aside. + +They all knew that the time had come for the Count de Lloseta to tell +his story--to redeem the promise made to Eve and Fitz long ago, before +they were married. + +Cipriani de Lloseta leant back in his deep garden-chair nursing one +booted leg over the other. He was dusty and travel-stained, but the +natural hardiness of his frame seemed to be more apparent than ever in +his native land, on his native mountains. + +"My poor little tale," he said; "you will have it?" + +"Yes," said Eve; and Fitz nodded. + +Cipriani de Lloseta did not look at them, but down into the gathering +blue of the valley beneath them. His quiet, patient eyes never turned +elsewhere during his narrative, as if he were telling the story to the +valley and the hills. + +"When I was quite a young man everything was too prosperous with me. I +was rich, I had health and liberty and many friends; life was +altogether too simple and easy for me. Before I was twenty-one I met +my dear Rosa and fell in love with her. Here again it was too easy, +too convenient. Fate is cruellest when she is too kind. The parents +wished it. The two families were equally old, equally rich; and lastly +Rosa--Rosa was kind enough to be--kind to me." + +He paused, pensively rubbing his clean-shaven chin with his forefinger, +his long profile was turned towards Eve, standing out like brown marble +against the gloom of the valley. Eve wondered about this woman, this +Rosa, who had been forty years in her grave. She wondered what manner +of woman this must have been to have kept the love of a man through all +these years by a mere memory, but she did not wonder that Rosa had been +kind. + +"She saw things in me that do not exist," Cipriani de Lloseta went on +quietly. "It is so with women when--and men may thank God that it is +so." + +He gave a little laugh, unpleasant to the ear--the laugh of a man who +has been right down to the bottom of life and comes up again with a +sneer. + +Eve and Fitz made no sign. This story was like wine that has lain +forgotten in the dark for many years, it needed careful handling. Henry +Cyprian turned on his silken cushion, and opening his great dark eyes +watched the speaker with that infantine steadfastness of gaze which may +perchance see more than we suspect. + +"We were married"--he paused and gave a jerk of the head towards Palma, +behind him to the left--"in the cathedral, and were quite happy. At +that time the Harringtons were living, or rather staying, in this house +with your good father. Neither of you ever saw the Honourable George +Harrington; your loss is infinitesimal. For some reason they began to +come to Lloseta a good deal--some reason of Mrs. Harrington's. She was +always a singular woman, with a reason for all that she did, which I, +in my old-fashioned way, do not think good in a woman. She disliked my +wife. I could see that through her affectionate ways. I do not know +why. Men cannot understand these things. Rosa was very beautiful." + +Eve, who was watching his face, gave a little nod--a mental nod, as it +were, for her own edification. It is possible that she, being a woman, +understood. + +"Finally they came to stay a few days--you know the Spanish +hospitality. She forced it on us against our will. I was particularly +averse to it because of--Rosa. I wanted to be quietly at Lloseta. We +intended to live almost entirely in Majorca. We wanted our children to +be Majorcans, and especially a son. The Harringtons stayed longer than +we invited them for. They were well-bred adventurers. I have met many +such in English country houses--people who shoot, and fish, and hunt at +the expense of others. It suited them to stay at Lloseta, and they did +so. They were people who got the best of everything by asking for +it--by looking upon it in a well-bred way as their right. I did not +mind that, but I wanted them to go, on account of Rosa. Also I +disliked the woman's manner towards myself; it altered when Rosa was +not there, you understand. We have a word for it in Spain, but I will +not say it because the woman is dead." + +There was a rasping sound as he drew his first and second fingers +across his closely shaven chin. It is a singular thing that cynics +usually reserve their keenest shafts for women. + +"At last I informed Rosa that they must be told to go, and Rosa was +very angry. It was her pride--the pride of a new-fledged hostess, of a +young matron. She was Spanish, and hot tempered. My inhospitality was +terrible to her, and she spoke sharply. I was quicker to feel and to +act then than I am now. I answered her. I would not give way, +thinking, as I was, of the son we hoped for. It was nothing, but we +raised our voices. In the heat of the argument I lifted my hand. Rosa +thought that I was going to strike her--a strange mistake. She stepped +back and fell. You know our marble floors. She struck her temple +against the floor, and she lay quite still. I heard a sound, and +turning, saw Mrs. Harrington in the doorway. She had been listening; +she had seen everything. Rosa never recovered consciousness; she died. +It was terribly easy for her to die. It was equally hard for me to +continue living. Mrs. Harrington helped me in my great sorrow to a +certain extent, but she would not help me by going away. Then, as soon +as Rosa was buried, she told me that unless I gave her money she would +tell all Spain that I had murdered my wife. At first I did not +understand. I did not know that God had created women such as this. +But she made her meaning quite clear. Indeed to do this thoroughly, +she hinted to the neighbours that she knew more than she had disclosed. +All Majorca would turn its back upon me--all except Challoner. I paid +the woman. I have paid her ever since, and I do not regret it. What +else could I do? After many generations of honour and uprightness I +could not let the name of Lloseta fall into the hands of a low woman +such as Mrs. Harrington. I had to pay heavily, but it was still cheap. +I saved the name. No breath of dishonour has reached the name of De +Lloseta de Mallorca. I got her out of Majorca, and my old friend +Challoner set himself the task of silencing the gossips. But I found +that I had to leave Lloseta--for the name's sake I quitted my home." + +He spread out his hands with a patient gesture of resignation. + +"Such has been my life," he went on. "It has been spent in preserving +the name unspotted, in paying Mrs. Harrington, and in praying the good +God to make her life unhappy and short. In His greater wisdom He +prolonged her life, but it was never a happy one, for God is just. I +am the last of the Llosetas. The name will die, but it has lived for +six hundred years, and it dies as it lived--unspotted--one of the great +names of the world." + +He broke off with a little laugh. + +"Spanish pride," he said. "I must beg your indulgence. My life you +know. It has not been a happy one. I have never forgotten Rosa; I +have never even tried. I have had several objects however in life; it +has not been uninteresting. One of the chief of these objects has been +to repay to a minute extent the true friendship of my dear Challoner. +He was a friend in need. He taught me to look upon the English as the +finest race of men on this planet. I may be wrong, but I shall adhere +to my opinion. In my small way I attempted to repay in part to +Challoner's daughter all that I owed to him; but I only ran against a +pride as strong, as sensitive as my own. My child, you did quite +right!" + +He turned to Eve, smiling his patient smile. + +"And now," he went on, "I shall have my way after all." + +He laid his hand on Henry Cyprian, who was conscientiously putting the +Valley of Repose to its best use. + +"After all, this little caballero was born at D'Erraha. D'Erraha is +his; is it not so?" + +And Eve, giving up her pride to him--casting it down before his loftier +pride--came round to his chair, and bending over, kissed him silently. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Lady, by Henry Seton Merriman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 6517.txt or 6517.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/5/1/6517/ + +Produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You 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: The Grey Lady + +Author: Henry Seton Merriman + +Release Date: September, 2004 [EBook #6517] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on December 25, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE GREY LADY *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + +THE GREY LADY +BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN. + + + + + "The dog that snapt the shadow, dropt the bone." + + +CONTENTS + +BOOK THE FIRST + +I. TWO IN THE FIELD. +II. A MAN DOWN. +III. A SEA DOG. +IV. PURGATORIO. +V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE. +VI. AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE. +VII. IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE. +VIII. THE DEAL. +IX. CUT FOR PARTNERS. +X. THE GAME OPENS. +XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA. +XII. A SHUFFLE. +XIII. A CHOICE. +XIV. A QUATRE. +XV. DON QUIXOTE. +XVI. BROKEN. + + +BOOK THE SECOND + +I. BITS OF LIFE. +II. A COMPACT. +III. BAFFLED. +IV. FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER. +V. THE TEAR ON THE SWORD. +VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY. +VII. A VOYAGE. +VIII. A GREAT FIGHT. +IX. THE EDITOR'S ROOM. +X. THE CURTAIN LOWERS. +XI. "MILKSOP". +XII. THE END OF THE "CROONAH." +XIII. AT D'ERRAHA AGAIN. +XIV. THE COUNT'S STORY. + + + +BOOK THE FIRST. + + + +CHAPTER I. TWO IN THE FIELD. + + Qui n'accepte pas le regret n'accepte pas la vie. + +The train technically known as the "Flying Dutchman," tearing +through the plains of Taunton, and in a first-class carriage by +themselves, facing each other, two boys. + +One of these boys remembers the moment to this day. A journey +accomplished with Care for a travelling companion usually adheres to +the wheels of memory until those wheels are still. Grim Care was +with these boys in the railway carriage. A great catastrophe had +come to them. A FitzHenry had failed to pass into her Majesty's +Navy. Back and back through the generations--back to the days when +England had no navy--she had always been served at sea by a +FitzHenry. Moreover, there had always been a Henry of that name on +the books. Henry, the son of Henry, had, as a matter of course, +gone down to the sea in a ship, had done his country's business in +the great waters. + +There was, if they could have looked at it from a racial point of +view, one small grain of consolation. The record was not even now +snapped--for Henry had succeeded, Luke it was who had failed. + +Henry sat with his back to the engine, looking out over the flat +meadow-land, with some moisture remarkably like a tear in either +eye. The eyes were blue, deep, and dark like the eastern horizon +when the sun is setting over the sea. The face was brown, and oval, +and still. It looked like a face that belonged to a race, something +that had been handed down with the inherent love of blue water. It +is probable that many centuries ago, a man with features such as +these, with eyes such as these, and crisp, closely curling hair, had +leaped ashore from his open Viking boat, shouting defiance to the +Briton. + +This son of countless Henrys sat and thought the world was hollow, +with no joy in it, and no hope, because Luke had failed. + +We are told that there shall be two in the field, that the one shall +be taken and the other left. But we have yet to learn why, in our +limited vision, the choice seems invariably to be mistaken. We have +yet to learn why he who is doing good work is called from the field, +leaving there the man whose tastes are urban. + +Except for the sake of the record--and we cannot really be expected +in these busy times to live for generations past or yet unborn-- +except for the record it would have been more expedient that Henry +should fail and Luke succeed. Everybody knew this. It was the +common talk on board the Britannia. Even the examiners knew it. +Luke himself was aware of it. But there had always been a fatality +about Luke. + +And now, when it was quite apparent that Luke was a sailor and +nothing else, the Navy would have none of him. Those who knew him-- +his kindly old captain and others--averred that, with a strict and +unquestionable discipline, Luke FitzHenry could be made a first- +class officer and a brilliant sailor. No one quite understood him, +not even his brother Henry, usually known as Fitz. Fitz did not +understand him now; he had not understood him since the fatal notice +had been posted on the broad mainmast, of which some may wot. He +did not know what to say, so, like the wise old Duke, he said +nothing. + +In the meantime the train raced on. Every moment brought them +nearer to London and to the Honourable Mrs. Harrington. + +Fitz seemed to be realising this, for he glanced uneasily at his +brother, whose morose, sullen face was turned resolutely towards the +window. + +"She'll be a fool," he said, "if she does not give you another +chance." + +"I would not take it," answered Luke mechanically. + +He was darker than his brother, with a longer chin and a peculiar +twist of the lips. His eyes were lighter in colour, and rather too +close together. A keen observer would have put him down as a boy +who in manhood might go wrong. The strange thing was that no one +could have hesitated for a moment in selecting Luke as the cleverer +of the two. + +Fitz paused. He was not so quick with his tongue as with his limbs. +He knew his brother well enough to foresee the effect of failure. +Luke FitzHenry was destined to be one of those unfortunate men who +fail ungracefully. + +"Do not decide in too great a hurry," said Fitz at length, rather +lamely. "Don't be a fool!" + +"No, it has been decided for me by my beastly bad luck." + +"It WAS bad luck--deuced bad luck." + +They had bought a packet of cigarettes at Exeter, but that outward +sign of manhood lay untouched on the seat beside Fitz. It almost +seemed as if manhood had come to them both in a more serious form +than a swaggering indulgence in tobacco. + +The boys were obviously brothers, but not aggressively twins. For +Luke was darker than Fitz, and somewhat shorter in stature. + +It is probable that neither of them had ever seriously contemplated +the possibility of failure for one and not for the other. Neither +had ever looked onward, as it were, into life to see himself there +without the other. The life that they both anticipated was that +life on the ocean wave, of which home-keeping poets sing so +eloquently; and it had always been vaguely taken for granted that no +great difference in rank or success could sever them. Fitz was too +simple-minded, too honest to himself, to look for great honours in +his country's service. He mistrusted himself. Luke mistrusted +Providence. + +Such was the difference between these two boys--the thin end of a +wedge of years which, spreading out in after days, turned each life +into a path of its own, sending each man inexorably on his separate +way. + +These two boys were almost alone in the world. Their mother had +died in giving them birth. Their father, an old man when he +married, reached his allotted span when his sons first donned Her +Majesty's brass buttons, and quietly went to keep his watch below. +Discipline had been his guiding star through life, and when Death +called him he obeyed without a murmur, trusting confidently to the +Naval Department in the first place, and the good God in the second, +to look after his boys. + +That the late Admiral FitzHenry had sorely misplaced his confidence +in the first instance was a fact which the two boys were now called +upon to face alone in their youthful ignorance of the world. Fitz +was uneasily conscious of a feeling of helplessness, as if some all- +powerful protector had suddenly been withdrawn. Their two lives had +been pre-committed to the parental care of their country, and now it +almost took their breath away to realise that Luke had no such +protector. + +His was the pride that depreciates self. During the last twenty- +four hours Fitz had heard him boast of his failure, holding it up +with a singularly triumphant sneer, as if he had always distrusted +his destiny and took a certain pleasure in verifying his own +prognostications. There are some men who find a satisfaction in bad +luck which good fortune could never afford them. + +In a large house in Grosvenor Gardens two ladies were at that same +moment speaking of the FitzHenrys. It was quite easy to see that +the smaller lady of the two was the mistress of the house, as also +of that vague abstract called the situation. She sat in the most +comfortable chair, which was, by the way, considerably too spacious +for her, and there was a certain aggressive sense of possession +about her attitude and manner. + +Had she been a man, one would have said at once that here was a +nouveau riche, ever heedful of the fact that the big room and all +the appurtenances thereof were the fruits of toil and perseverance. +There was a distinct suggestion of self-manufacture about Mrs. +Harrington--distinct, that is to say, to the more subtle-minded. +For she was not vulgar, neither did she boast. But the expression +of her keen and somewhat worldly countenance betokened the intention +of holding her own. + +The Honourable Mrs. Harrington was not only beautifully dressed, but +knew how to wear her clothes en grande dame. + +"Yes," she was saying, "Luke has failed to pass off the Britannia. +It is a rare occurrence. I suppose the boy is a fool." + +Mrs. Harrington was rather addicted to the practice of calling other +people names. If the butler made a mistake she dubbed him an idiot +at once. She did not actually call her present companion, Mrs. +Ingham-Baker, a fool, possibly because she considered the fact too +apparent to require note. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, smoothed out the piece of +silken needlework with which she moved through life, and glanced at +her companion. She wanted to say the right thing. And Mrs. +Harrington was what the French call "difficult." One could never +tell what the right thing might be. The art of saying it is, +moreover, like an ear for music, it is not to be acquired. And Mrs. +Ingham-Baker had not been gifted thus. + +"And yet," she said, "their father was a clever man--as I have been +told." + +"By whom?" inquired Mrs. Harrington blandly. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker paused in distress. + +"I wonder who it was," she pretended to reflect. + +"So do I," snapped Mrs. Harrington. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker's imagination was a somewhat ponderous affair, +and, when she trusted to it, it usually ran her violently down a +steep place. She concluded to say nothing more about the late +Admiral FitzHenry. + +"The boy," said Mrs. Harrington, returning to the hapless Luke, "has +had every advantage. I suppose he will try to explain matters when +he comes. I could explain it in one word--stupidity." + +"Perhaps," put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker nervously, "the brains have all +gone to the other brother, Henry. It is sometimes so with twins." + +Mrs. Harrington laughed rather derisively. + +"Stupid woman to have twins," she muttered. + +This was apparently one of several grievances against the late Mrs. +FitzHenry. + +"They have a little money of their own, have they not?" inquired +Mrs. Ingham-Baker, with the soft blandness of one for whom money has +absolutely no attraction. + +"About enough to pay their washerwoman." + +There was a pause, and then Mrs. Ingham-Baker heaved a little sigh. + +"I am sure, dear," she said, "that in some way you will be rewarded +for your great kindness to these poor orphan boys." + +She shook her head wisely, as if reflecting over the numerous cases +of rewarded virtue which had come under her notice, and the action +made two jet ornaments in her cap wobble, in a ludicrous manner, +from side to side. + +"That may be," admitted the lady of the house, "though I wish I felt +as sure about it as you do." + +"But then," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, in a low and feeling tone, +"you always were the soul of generosity." + +The "soul of generosity" gave an exceedingly wise little smile-- +almost as if she knew better--and looked up sharply towards the +door. At the same moment the butler appeared. + +"Mr. Pawson, ma'am," he said. + +The little nod with which this information was received seemed to +indicate that Mr. Pawson had been expected. + +Beneath her black curls Mrs. Ingham-Baker's beady eyes were very +much on the alert. + +"In the library, James," said Mrs. Harrington--and the two jet +ornaments bending over the silken needlework gave a little throb of +disappointment. + +"Mr. Pawson," announced the lady of the house, "is the legal light +who casts a shadow of obscurity over my affairs." + +And with that she left the room. + +As soon as the door was closed Mrs. Ingham-Baker was on her feet. +She crossed the room to where her hostess's key-basket and other +belongings stood upon a table near the window. She stood looking +eagerly at these without touching them. She even stooped down to +examine the address of an envelope. + +"Mr. Pawson!" she said, in a breathless whisper. "Mr. Pawson--what +does that mean? Can she be going to alter her--no! But--yes, it +may be! Perhaps Susan knows." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker then rang the bell twice, and resumed her seat. + +Presently an aged servant came into the room. It was easy to see at +a glance that she was a very old woman, but the years seemed to +weigh less on her mind than on her body. + +"Yes," she said composedly. + +"Oh--eh, Susan," began Mrs. Ingham-Baker almost cringingly. "I rang +because I wanted to know if a parcel has come for me--a parcel of +floss-silk--from that shop in Buckingham Palace Road, you know." + +"If it had come," replied Susan, with withering composure, "it would +have been sent up to you." + +"Yes, yes, of course I know that, Susan. But I thought that perhaps +it might have been insufficiently addressed or something--that you +or Mary might have thought that it was for Mrs. Harrington." + +"She don't use floss silks," replied the imperturbable Susan. + +"I was just going to ask her about it, when she was called away by +some one. I think she said that it was her lawyer." + +"Yes, Mr. Pawson." + +Susan's manner implied--very subtly and gently--that her place in +this pleasant house was more assured than that of Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +and perhaps that stout diplomatist awoke to this implication, for +she pulled herself up with considerable dignity. + +"I hope that nothing is wrong," she said, in a tone that was +intended to disclaim all intention of discussing such matters with a +menial. "I should be sorry if Mrs. Harrington was drawn into any +legal difficulty; the law is so complicated." + +Susan was engaged in looking for a speck of dust on the mantelpiece, +not for its own intrinsic value, but for the sake of Mary's future. +She had apparently no observation of value to offer upon the vexed +subject of the law. + +"I was rather afraid," pursued Mrs. Ingham-Baker gravely, "that Mrs. +Harrington might be unduly incensed against that poor boy, Luke +FitzHenry; that in a moment of disappointment, you know, she might +be making some--well, some alteration in her will to the detriment +of the boy." + +Susan stood for a moment in front of the lady, with a strange little +smile of amusement among the wrinkles of her face. + +"Yes, that may be," she said, and quietly left the room. + + + +CHAPTER II. A MAN DOWN. + + Caress the favourites, avoid the unfortunate, and trust nobody. + +The atmosphere of Mrs. Harrington's drawing-room seemed to absorb +the new-found manhood of the two boys, for they came forward shyly, +overawed by the consciousness of their own boots, by the conviction +that they carried with them the odour of cigarette smoke and +failure. + +"Well, my dears," said the Honourable Mrs. Harrington, suddenly +softened despite herself by the sight of their brown young faces. +"Well, come here and kiss me." + +All the while she was vaguely conscious that she was surprising +herself and others. She had not intended to treat them thus. Mrs. +Harrington was a woman who had a theory of life--not a theory to +talk about, but to act upon. Her theory was that "heart" is all +nonsense. She looked upon existence here below as a series of +contracts entered into with one's neighbour for purposes of mutual +enjoyment or advantage. She thought that life could be put down in +black and white. Which was a mistake. She had gone through fifty +years of it without discovering that for the sake of some memory-- +possibly a girlish one--hidden away behind her cold grey eyes, she +could never be sure of herself in dealing with man or boy whose +being bore the impress of the sea. + +The strange thing was that she had never found it out. We speak +pityingly of animals that do not know their own strength. Which of +us knows his own weakness? There was a man connected with Mrs. +Harrington's life, one of the contractors in black and white, who +had found out this effect of a brown face and a blue coat upon a +woman otherwise immovable. This man, Cipriani de Lloseta, who +contemplated life, as it were, from a quiet corner of the dress +circle, kept his knowledge for his own use. + +Fitz and Luke obeyed her invitation without much enthusiasm. They +were boyish enough to object to kissing on principle. They then +shook hands awkwardly with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, and drifted together +again with that vague physical attraction which seems to qualify +twins for double harness on the road of life. There was trouble +ahead of them; and without defining the situation, like soldiers +surprised, they instinctively touched shoulders. + +It was the psychological moment. There was a little pause, during +which Mrs. Harrington seemed to stiffen herself, morally and +physically. Had she not stiffened herself, had she only allowed +herself, as it were, to go--to call Luke to her and comfort him and +sympathise with him--it would have altered every life in that room, +and others outside of it. Even blundering, cringing, foolish Mrs. +Ingham-Baker would have acted more wisely, for she would have +followed the dictates of an exceedingly soft, if shallow, heart. + +"I had hoped for a more satisfactory home-coming than this," said +Mrs. Harrington in her hardest voice. When she spoke in this tone +there was the faintest suggestion of a London accent. + +Fitz made a little movement, a step forward, as if she had been +unconsciously approaching the brink of some danger, and he wished to +warn her. The peculiar twist in Luke's lips became momentarily more +visible, and he kept his deep, despondent eyes fixed on the +speaker's face. + +There are two kinds of rich women. The one spends her money in +doing good, the other pays it away to gratify her love of power. Of +the Honourable Mrs. Harrington it was never reported that she was +lavish in her charities. + +"I think," she said, "that I ought to tell you that I have been +paying the expenses of your education almost entirely. I was in no +way bound to do so. I took charge of you at your father's death +because I--because he was a true friend to me. I do not grudge the +money, but in return I expected you to work hard and get on in your +profession." + +She stiffened herself with a rustling sound of silk, proudly +conscious of injured virtue, full of the charity that exacteth a +high interest. + +"We did our best," replied Fitz, with a simple intrepidity which +rather spoilt the awesomeness of the situation. + +"I am not speaking to you," returned the lady. "You have worked and +have passed your examination satisfactorily. You are not clever--I +know that; but you have managed to get into the Navy, where your +father was before you, and your grandfather before him. I have no +doubt you will give satisfaction to your superior officers. I was +talking to Luke." + +"We all knew that," said Luke, in a dangerous voice, which trite +observation she chose to ignore. + +"You have had equal advantages," pursued the dispenser of charity. +"I have shown no favour; I have treated you alike. It had been my +intention to do so all your lives and after my death." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was so interested at this juncture that she leant +forward with parted lips, listening eagerly. The Honourable Mrs. +Harrington allowed herself the plebeian pleasure of returning the +stare with a questioning glance which broke off into a little laugh. + +"Have you," she continued, addressing Luke directly, "any reason to +offer for your failure--beyond the usual one of bad luck?" + +Luke looked at her in a lowering way and made no reply. Had Mrs. +Harrington been a poor woman, she would have recognised that the boy +was at the end of his tether. But she had always been surrounded-- +as such women are--by men, and more especially by women, who would +swallow any insult, any insolence, so long as it was gilded. The +world had, in fact, accepted the Honourable Mrs. Harrington because +she could afford to gild herself. + +"It was bad luck, and nothing else," burst out Fitz, heedless of her +sarcastic tones. "Luke is a better sailor than I am. But he always +was weak in his astronomy, and it all turned on astronomy." + +"I should imagine it all turned on stupidity," said Mrs. Harrington. + +"I'm stupid, if you like," said Fitz; "Luke isn't. Luke is clever; +ask any chap on board!" + +"I do not need to ask any chap on board," said Mrs. Harrington. "My +own common sense tells me that he is clever. He has proved it." + +"It's like a woman--to hit a fellow when he's down," said Luke, with +his hands deep in his pockets. + +He turned to Mrs. Ingham-Baker for sympathy in this sentiment, and +that soft-hearted lady deemed it expedient to turn hastily away, +avoiding his glance, denying all partisanship. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was not a person given to the disguise of her own +feelings. She was plausible enough to the outer world. To herself +she was quite frank, and hardly seemed to recognise this as the +event she had most desired. It is to be presumed that her heart was +like her physical self, a large, unwieldy thing, over which she had +not a proper control. The organ mentioned had a way of tripping her +up. It tripped her now, and she quite forgot that this quarrel was +precisely what she had wanted for years. She had looked forward to +it as the turning-point in her daughter Agatha's fortunes. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker had, in fact, wondered more than a thousand times +why the Honourable Mrs. Harrington should do all for the FitzHenrys +and nothing for Agatha. She did not attempt to attribute reasons. +She knew her sex too well for that. She merely wondered, which +means that she cherished a question until it grew into a grievance. +The end of it she knew would be a quarrel. This might not come +until the FitzHenrys should have grown to man's estate and man's +privilege of quarrelling with his female relatives about the +youthful female relative of some other person. But it would come, +surely. Mrs. Ingham-Baker, the parasite, knew her victim, Mrs. +Harrington, well enough to be sure of that. + +And now that this quarrel had arisen--much sooner than she could +have hoped--providentially brought about by an astronomical +examination-paper, Mrs. Ingham-Baker was forced to face the +humiliating fact that she felt sorry for Luke. + +It would have been different had Agatha been present, but that +ingenious maiden was at school at Brighton. Had her daughter been +in the room, Mrs. Ingham-Baker's motherly instinct would have +narrowed itself down to her. But in the absence of her own child, +Luke's sorry plight appealed to that larger maternal instinct which +makes good women in unlikely places. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was, however, one of the many who learn to curb +the impulse of a charitable intention. She looked out of the +window, and pretended not to notice that the culprit had addressed +his remark to her. To complete this convenient deafness she gave a +simulated little cough of abstraction, which entirely gave her away. + +Mrs. Harrington chose to ignore Luke's taunt. + +"And," she inquired sweetly, "what do you intend to do now?" + +Quite suddenly the boy turned on her. + +"I intend," he cried, "to make my own life--whatever it may be. If +I am starving I will not come to you. If half-a-crown would save +me, I would rather die than borrow it from you. You think that you +can buy everything with your cursed money. You can't buy me. You +can't buy a FitzHenry. You--you can't--" + +He gave a little sob, remembered his new manhood--that sudden, +complete manhood which comes of sorrow--pulled himself up, and +walked to the door. He opened it, turned once and glanced at his +brother, and passed out of the room. + +So Luke FitzHenry passed out into his life--a life which he was to +make for himself. Passionate--quick to love, to hate, to suffer; +deep in his feeling, susceptible to ridicule or sarcasm--an orphan. +The stairs were dark as he went down them. + +Mrs. Harrington gave a little laugh as the door closed behind him. +She had always been able to repurchase the friendship of her +friends. + +Fitz made a few steps towards the door before her voice arrested +him. "Stop!" she cried. + +He paused, and the old sense of discipline that was in his blood +made him obey. He thought that he would find Luke upstairs on the +bed with his face buried in his folded arms, as he had found him a +score of times during their short life. + +"I think you are too hard on him," he answered hotly. "It is bad +enough being ploughed, without having to stand abuse afterwards." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Harrington, "just you come here and sit beside +me. We will leave Luke to himself for a little. It is much better. +Let him think it out alone." + +What was there in this fair-haired boy's demeanour, voice, or being +that appealed to Mrs. Harrington, despite her sterner self? + +So Fitz was pacified by the lady's gentler manner, and consented to +remain. He made good use of his time, pleading Luke's cause, +explaining his bad fortune, and modestly disclaiming any credit to +himself for having succeeded where his brother failed. But all the +while the boy was restless, eager to get away and run upstairs to +Luke, who he felt sure was living years in every moment, as children +do in those griefs which we take upon ourselves to call childish. + +At last he rose. + +"May I go now?" he asked. + +"Yes, if you like. But do not bring Luke to me until he is prepared +to apologise for his ingratitude and rudeness." + +"What a dear boy he is!" ejaculated Mrs. Ingham-Baker almost before +the door was closed. "So upright and honest and straightforward." + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Harrington, with a sigh of anger. + +"He will be a fine man," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "I shall die +quite happy if my Agatha marries such a man as Henry will be." + +Mrs. Harrington glanced at her voluminous friend rather critically. + +"You do not look like dying yet," she said. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker put her head on one side and looked resigned. + +"One never knows," she answered. "It is a great responsibility, +Marian, to have a daughter." + +"I should imagine, from what I have seen of Agatha, that the child +is quite capable of taking care of herself." + +"Yes," answered the fond mother, "she is intelligent. But a girl is +so helpless in the world, and when I am gone I should feel happier +if I knew that my child had a good husband, such as Fitz, to take +care of her." + +Neither of these ladies being of the modern school of feminine +learning, the vague theology underlying this remark was allowed to +pass unnoticed. + +Mrs. Harrington drummed with her thin wrinkled fingers on the arm of +her chair, and waited with a queer anticipatory little smile for her +friend to proceed. + +"But, of course," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, blundering into the +little feminine snare, "a naval man can scarcely marry. They are +always so badly off. I suppose poor Fitz will not be able to +support a wife until he is quite middle-aged." + +"That remains to be seen," said Mrs. Harrington, with a gleam in her +hard grey eyes, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker pricked her finger. + +"I am sure," said the latter lady unctuously, when she had had time +to think it out, "I am sure I should be content for her to live very +quietly if I only knew that she had married a good man. I always +say that riches do not make happiness." + +"Yes, a number of people say that," answered Mrs. Harrington, and at +the same moment Fitz burst into the room. + +"Aunt Marian," he cried, "he has gone!" + +"Who has gone?" asked the lady of the house coldly. "Please close +the door." + +"Luke! He has gone! He went straight out of the house, and the +butler does not know where he went to! It is all your fault, Aunt +Marian; you had no right to speak to him like that! You know you +hadn't. I am going to look for him." + +"Now, do not get excited," said Mrs. Harrington soothingly. "Just +come here and listen to me. Luke has behaved very badly. He has +been idle and stubborn on board the Britannia. He has been rude and +ungrateful to me." + +She found she had taken the boy's hand, and she dropped it suddenly, +as if ashamed of showing so much emotion. + +"I am not going to have my house upset by the tantrums of a bad- +tempered boy. It is nearly dinner time. Luke is sure to come back. +If he is not back by the time we have finished dinner I will send +one of the men out to look for him. He is probably sulking in some +corner of the gardens." + +Seeing that Fitz was white with anxiety, she forgot herself so much +as to draw him to her again. + +"Now, Fitz," she said, "you must obey me and leave me to manage Luke +in my own way. I know best. Just go and dress for dinner. Luke +will come back--never fear." + +But Luke did not come back. + + + +CHAPTER III. A SEA DOG. + + There is one that slippeth in his speech, but not from his +heart. + +The glass door of the dining-room of the Hotel of the Four Nations +at Barcelona was opened softly, almost nervously, by a shock-headed +little man, who peered into the room. + +One of the waiters stepped forward and drew out a chair. + +"Thank ye--thank ye," said the new-comer, in a thick though pleasant +voice. + +He looked around, rather bewildered--as if he had never seen a table +d'hote before. It almost appeared as if a doubt existed in his mind +whether or not he was expected to go and shake hands with some one +present, explaining who he was. + +As, however, no one appeared to invite this confidence he took the +chair offered and sat gravely down. + +The waiter laid the menu at his side, and the elderly diner, whose +face and person bespoke a seafaring life, gazed politely at it. He +was obviously desirous of avoiding hurting the young man's feelings, +but the card puzzled as much as it distressed him. + +Observing with the brightest of blue eyes the manners and customs of +his neighbours, the old sailor helped himself to a little wine from +the decanter set in front of him, and filled up the glass with +water. + +The waiter drew forward a small dish of olives and another +containing slices of red sausage of the thickness, consistency, and +flavour of a postage stamp. The Englishman looked dubiously at +these delicacies and shook his head--still obviously desirous of +giving no offence. Soup was more comprehensible, and the sailor +consumed his portion with a non-committing countenance. But the +fish, which happened to be of a Mediterranean savour--served in +little lumps--caused considerable hesitation. + +"Is it slugs?" inquired the mariner guardedly--as if open to +conviction--in a voice that penetrated half the length of the table. + +The waiter explained in fluent Castilian the nature of the dish. + +"I want to know if it's slugs," repeated the sailor, with a stout +simplicity. + +One or two commercial travellers, possessing a smattering of +English, smiled openly, and an English gentleman seated at the side +of the inquirer leant gravely towards him. + +"That is a preparation of fish," he explained. "You won't find it +at all bad." + +"Thank you, sir," replied the old man, helping himself with an air +of relief which would have been extremely comic had it been shorn of +its pathos. "I am afraid," he went on confidentially, "of gettin' +slugs to eat. I'm told that they eat them in these parts." + +"This," replied the other, with stupendous gravity, "is not the slug +season. Besides, if you did get 'em, I dare say you would be +pleasantly surprised." + +"Maybe, maybe! Though I don't hold by foreign ways." + +Such was the beginning of a passing friendship between two men who +had nothing in common except their country; for one was a peer of +the realm, travelling in Spain for the transaction of his own +private affairs, or possibly for the edification of his own private +mind, and the other was Captain John Thomas Bontnor, late of the +British mercantile service. + +Being a simple-minded person, as many seamen are, Captain Bontnor +sought to make himself agreeable. + +"This is the first time," he said, "that I have set foot in Spain, +though I've heard the language spoken, having sailed in the Spanish +Main, and down to Manilla one voyage likewise. It is a strange- +sounding language, I take it--a lot of jabbering and not much +sense." + +He spoke somewhat slowly, after the manner of one who had always had +a silent tongue until grey hairs came to mellow it. + +The young man, his hearer, looked slightly distressed, as if he was +suppressing some emotion. He was rather a vacuous-looking young +man--startlingly clean as to countenance and linen. He was shaven, +and had he not been distinctly a gentleman, he might have been a +groom. He apparently had a habit of thrusting forward his chin for +the purpose of scratching it pensively with his forefinger. This +elegant trick probably indicated bewilderment, or, at all events, a +slight mystification--he had recourse to it now--on the question of +the Spanish language. + +"Well," he answered gravely, "if you come to analyse it, I dare say +there is as much sense in it as in other languages--when you know +it, you know." + +"Yes," murmured the captain, with a glowing sense of satisfaction at +his own conversational powers. He felt he was becoming quite a +society man. + +"But," pursued the hereditary legislator, "it's tricky--deuced +tricky. The nastiest lot of irregular verbs I've come across yet. +Still, I get along all right. Worst of it is, you know, that when +I've got a sentence out all right with its verbs and things, I'm not +in a fit state to catch the answer." + +"Knocks you on to your beam-ends," suggested Captain Bontnor. + +"Yes." + +Lord Seahampton settled his throat more comfortably in his spotless +collar, and proceeded to help himself to a fourth mutton cutlet. + +"Staying here long?" he inquired. + +"No, not long," answered Captain Bontnor slowly, as if meditating; +then suddenly he burst into his story. "You see, sir," he said, +"I'm getting on in years, and I'm not quite the build for foreign +travel. It sort of flurries me. I'm a bit past it. I'm not here +for pleasure, you know." + +This seemed to have the effect of sending Lord Seahampton off into a +brown study--not apparently of great value so far as depth of +thought was concerned. He looked as if he were wondering whether he +himself was in Barcelona for pleasure or not. + +"No," he murmured encouragingly, + +"It is like this," pursued Captain Bontnor, confidentially. "My +sister, Amelia Ann, married above her." + +"Very much to her credit," said Lord Seahampton, with a stolid face +and a twinkle in his eye. "And--" + +"Died." + +"Dear, dear!" + +"Yes," pursued the captain, "she died nineteen years ago, leaving a +little girl. He's dead now--Mr. Challoner. He's my brother-in-law, +but I call him Mr. Challoner, because he's above me." + +"I trust he is," said Lord Seahampton, cheerfully, with a glance at +the painted ceiling. "I trust he is." + +The captain chuckled. "I mean in a social way," he explained. "And +now he's dead, his daughter Eve is left quite alone in the world, +and she telegraphed for me. She is living in the Island of +Majorca." + +"Ah!" + +The kindly old blue eyes flashed round on his companion's face. + +"Do you know it?" + +The peer thrust forward his chin and spoilt what small claims he had +to good looks. + +"No; I've heard of it, though. I know of a wom--a lady, who has +large estates there--a Mrs. Harrington." + +"The Honourable Mrs. Harrington is a sort of relation of my niece's, +Miss Challoner. I call her Miss Challoner, although she is my +niece, because she is above me." + +His lordship glanced at the ceiling again. + +"I mean she is a lady. And I'm going to Majorca to fetch her. At +least, I'm trying to get there, but I cannot somehow find out about +the boat. They're a bit irregular, it seems, and this stupid +jabbering of theirs does flurry me so. Now, what's this? Eh? +Pudding, is it? Well, it doesn't look like it. No, thank ye!" + +The poor old man was soon upset by insignificant trifles, and after +he had given way to a little burst of petulance like this, he had a +strange, half pathetic way of staring straight in front of him for a +few seconds, as if collecting himself again. + +It happened that Lord Seahampton was a good-natured young man, with +rather a soft heart, such as many horsey persons possess. Something +in Captain Bontnor touched him; some simple British quality which he +was pleased to meet with, thus, in a foreign land. + +"Look here," he said, "I'll go out with you afterwards and find out +all about the boat, take your ticket, and fix the whole thing up." + +"I'm sure you're very kind," began the old sailor hesitatingly. He +fumbled at his necktie for a moment with unsteady, weather-beaten +hands. "But I shouldn't like to trespass on your time. I take it +you're here for pleasure?" + +Lord Seahampton smiled. + +"Yes, I'm here for pleasure; that's what I'm in the world for." + +Still Captain Bontnor hesitated. + +"You might meet some of your friends," he began tentatively, "in the +streets, you know." He paused and looked down at his own hands; he +turned one palm up, showing the faint tattoo on the wrist. "I'm +only a rough seafaring man," he went on. "They might think it +strange--might wonder whom you had picked up." + +The spotless collar seemed to be very uncomfortable. + +"I've always made a practice," mumbled Lord Seahampton, rather +incoherently, "of letting my friends think what they damned well +please. May I ask your name?" + +"Bontnor's my name. Captain Bontnor, at your service." + +"My name's Seahampton." + +Captain Bontnor turned and looked at him. + +"Yes, I'm Lord Seahampton." + +"Oh!" ejaculated Captain Bontnor, under his breath. His social +facilities did not quite rise to an occasion like this. + +"As soon as you've finished," went on his companion rather +hurriedly, "we'll go out and look up these steamer people. Miss +Challoner will be anxious for you to get there as soon as you can." + +"Yes, yes!" + +The captain laid aside his napkin and began to show signs of getting +flurried again. + +"Her name is Eve," he said, in the hurried way which was rather +pathetic. "Now, I wonder what I should call her. Poor young thing! +if she's distressed about her father's death--which is only natural, +I'm sure--it would sound a bit chilly like to call her Miss +Challoner. What do you think, Mr.--eh--er--Lord--sir?" + +"Well, I think I should call her Eve--it's a pretty name--and take +her by the hand, and--yes, I think I'd kiss her. Especially if she +was a nice-looking girl," he added for his own personal edification +as he preceded his companion into the hall. + +He was fumbling in the tail pocket of his short tweed coat as he +went. In the hall he turned. + +"Got anything to smoke?" he asked, in his most abrupt manner, as if +the cut of his collar did not allow of verbosity. + +The old man shyly produced some cigars in a leather case, which had +never been of great value, even in the far-off days of its youth. + +"I hardly like to offer them to you," he said slowly. "T--they're +not expensive, and I couldn't explain to the young woman what I +wanted." + +"Rather like the look of them," said Lord Seahampton, taking one and +cutting the end off with a certain show of eagerness. This young +man's reputation for personal bravery was a known quantity on the +hunting-field. "Old sailors," he continued, "generally know good +tobacco." + +And all the while he had half-a-dozen of the best Havanas in his +pocket. Some instinct, which he was much too practical to define, +and possibly too stupid to detect, told him that this was one of +those occasions where it is much more blessed to receive than to +give. + +"And so," continued Captain Bontnor, as they were walking down the +shady side of that noisiest street in the world, the Rambla, "and so +you would just call her Eve, if you was me?" + +"I should." + +"Remember that she is a lady, you know. Quite a lady." + +"I am remembering that," replied the peer stolidly; "that's why I am +of the opinion just expressed." + +Captain Bontnor gave a little sigh of relief, as if one of his many +difficulties had been removed. At the same time he glanced +furtively towards the inexpensive cigar, which was affording +distinct if somewhat exaggerated enjoyment. + +Together they walked down the broad street and turned along the +quay. And here Captain Bontnor found himself talking quite easily +and affably about palm-trees and tramways, and other matters of +local interest, to the first peer whom he had ever seen in the +flesh. + +Out of sheer good nature, and with a vague question in his mind as +to whether Miss Challoner knew what sort of help she had called in, +Lord Seahampton obtained the necessary information--no easy matter +in this country--and took the necessary ticket. Ticket and +information alike were obtained from a grave gentleman who smoked a +cigarette, and did the honours of his little office as if it had +been a palace--showing no desire to sell the ticket, and taking +payment as if he were conferring a distinct favour. + +The steamer left that same afternoon, and Lord Seahampton sent his +protege back rejoicing to the hotel to pack up. Then the youthful +peer bestowed the remainder of the cheap cigar on an individual in +reduced circumstances and lighted one of his own. He was quite +unconscious of having done a good action. Such actions are supposed +to bring their own reward, but experience suggests that it is best +not to count upon anything of a tangible nature. + + + +CHAPTER IV. PURGATORIO. + + Like lutes of angels, touched so near + Hell's confines, that the damned can hear. + +Time: Five o'clock in the afternoon. Five o'clock, that is to say, +by the railway time. There is another time in Barcelona--the town +time, to wit--which differs from the hour of the iron road by thirty +minutes or thereabouts. But then the town time is Spanish, that is +to say that no one takes any notice of it. For into Spanish life +time comes but little. If one wishes to catch a train--but, by the +way, in Spain we do not catch, we take the train--a subtle +difference--if then we wish to take the train, we arrive at the +station three-quarters of an hour before the time indicated for +departure, and there we make our arrangements with due dignity. + +Place: The Rambla, which for those who speak alien tongues has an +Arabic sound, and tells us that this, the finest promenade in the +world, was once a sandy river-bed. Here now the grave caballero +promenades himself from early morning to an eve that knows no dew. + +Priest and peasant, the great lady and the gentleman who sells one a +glass of water for a centimo, brush past each other. The great lady +is dressed in black, as all Spanish ladies are, and on her head she +wears the long-lived mantilla, which will last our time and the time +of our grandsons. The humbler women-folk wear bright handkerchiefs +in place of the mantilla; in dress they affect bright colours. + +With the sterner sex, the line of demarcation is equally distinct. +There is the man who wears the peasant's blouse, and the man who +wears the cloak. + +It is with one of the latter that we have to deal--a tall, grave +man, with quiet eyes and a long, pointed chin. The air is chilly, +and this promenader's black cloak is thrown well over the shoulder, +displaying the bright-coloured lining of velvet, which is all the +relief the Spaniard allows his sombre self. + +The caballero's face is brown, as of one whose walk is not always +beneath the shady trees. The expression of it is chastened. One +sees the history of a country in the faces of its men. In this +there is the history of a past, it is the face of a man living in a +bygone day. He notes the interest of the moment with grave +surprise, but his life is behind him. + +This man has the Spaniard's thoughtful interest in a trifle. He +pauses to note the number of the sparrows, as thick as leaves upon +the trees. He carefully unfolds his cloak, gives the loose end a +little shake, and casts it skilfully over his shoulder, so that it +falls across his back, and, hanging there, displays the bright +lining. He pauses to watch the result of an infantile accident. +The baby picks itself up and brushes the dust from its diminutive +frock with all the earnestness of early youth. And the cavalier +walks on. + +All this with a contemplative grandeur of demeanour worthy of larger +if not better things. + +In the roadway at the side of the broad promenade a carriage and +pair followed this gentleman--carriage and horses which were +beautiful even in this land of horses. For this was Cipriani de +Lloseta de Mallorca, a great man in Barcelona, if he wished it, a +greater in his own little island of Majorca, whether he wished it or +not. + +Leading out of this same fascinating Rambla, to the left, up towards +the impenetrable fortress of Juich--impenetrable excepting once, and +then it was the pestilent Englishman, as usual--leading then to the +left is the Calle de la Paz. In the Street of the Peace there is a +house, on the left hand also, into the door of which one could not +only drive a coach and four, but eke a load of straw. Moreover, the +driver could go to sleep and leave it to the horses, for there is +plenty of space. This is the Casa Lloseta, the town residence since +time immemorial of the family of that name. There are servants at +the door, there are servants on the broad marble staircase, there +are servants everywhere! for the Spaniard is unapproachable in the +gentle art of leaving things to others. In the patio, or marble +courtyard, there plays a monotonous little fountain, peacefully +plashing away the sunny hours. + +In England el Senor Conde de Lloseta de Mallorca would be looked +upon as a mystery, because he lived in a large house by himself; +because it was not known what his tastes might be; because the +interviewer interviewed him not, and because the Society rags had no +opportunity of describing his drawing-room. + +In Spain things are different. If the count chose to live in his +own cellar, his neighbours would shrug their shoulders and throw the +end of their capes well over to the back. That was surely the +business of the count. + +Moreover, Cipriani de Lloseta was not the sort of man of whom it is +easy to ask questions. His was the pride of pride, which is a vice +unbreakable. When the Moors went to Majorca in the eighth century +they found Llosetas there, and Llosetas were left behind eight +hundred years later, when the southern conqueror was driven back to +his dark land. Among his friends it is known that Cipriani de +Lloseta lived alone because he was faithful to the memory of one +who, but for the hand of God, would have lived with him until she +was an old woman, filling, perhaps, the great gloomy house in the +Calle de la Paz with the prattle of children's voices, with the +clatter of childish feet in the marble passages. + +The younger women looked at him surreptitiously, and asked each +other what sort of wife this must have been; while their elders +shrugged their ample shoulders with a strange little Catalonian +contraction of the eyes, and said - + +"It is not so much the woman herself as that which the man makes +her." + +For they are wise, these stout and elderly ladies. They were once +young, and they learnt the lesson. + +This man, Cipriani de Lloseta, leads a somewhat lonely life, +inasmuch as he associates but little with the men of his rank and +station. It is, for instance, known that he walks on the Rambla, +but no one of any importance whatever, no one that is likely to +recognise him, is aware of the fact that another favourite promenade +of his is the Muelle de Ponente, that forsaken pier where the stone +works are and where no one ever promenades. Here Cipriani de +Lloseta walks gravely in the evening--to be more precise, on Tuesday +or Friday evening--about five o'clock, when the boat sails for +Majorca. + +He stands, a lonely, cloaked figure, at the end of the long stone +pier, and his dark Spanish eyes rest on the steamer as it glides +away into the darkening east and south. + +Often, often this man watches the boats depart, but he never goes +himself. Often, often he gazes out in his chastened, impenetrable +silence over the horizon, as if seeking to pierce the distance and +look on the bare heights of the far-off island. + +For there, over the glassy smoothness of the horizon, behind those +little grey clouds, is Majorca--and Lloseta. + +Lloseta, a bare, brown village, standing on the hillside, as if it +had economically crept up there among the pines, so as to leave +available for cultivation every inch of the wonderful soil of the +plain. Below, the vast fertile plateau, tilled like a garden, lies +to the westward, while to the east the rising undulations terminate +in the bare uplands of Inca. Olive-trees cover the plain like an +army, trees that were planted by the Moors a thousand years ago. + +Amid the rugged heights of the mountains, here at their highest, and +in the fastness of a gorge, lies Lloseta itself. + +From the heights above a subtle invigorating odour of marjoram, +rosemary, lavender, growing wild like heather, comes down to mingle +with the more languid breath of tropic plant and flower. + +Such is Lloseta--a home to live for, to die for, to dream of when +away from it. As a man is dreaming of it now, just across that +hundred miles of smooth sea, on the end of the Muelle de Ponente at +Barcelona, + +He is always dreaming of it--in Spain, where he is a Spaniard--in +England, where he might be an Englishman. It is not every one of us +who has a home from whence his name is derived, who signs his +letters with a word that is marked upon the map. + +Such is Cipriani of that name, who has now left the Rambla and is +wandering along the deserted pier. + +The steamer has loosed its moorings, is slowly picking its way out +of the crowded harbour, and it will pass the pier-head by the time +that Cipriani de Lloseta reaches that point. + +The man walks slowly, cloaked to the mouth, for the evening breeze +is chilly. He gravely descends the steps and begins to walk on the +little path around the circular tower at the end of the pier. He +usually stands at the very end, so as to be as near to Majorca as +possible, one might almost think. + +He gravely walks on, and quite suddenly he comes upon a youthful +Briton smoking a cigar and dangling a thick stick. + +"Ah!" the two men exclaim. + +"What are you doing in Barcelona?" asks the Spaniard. + +"The devil only knows, my dear man. I don't." + +"I hope he had nothing to do with your coming here--idle hands, you +know." + +The Englishman sat gravely down on a small granite column and +reflected. + +"No," he answered after a pause, "it was not that. I left England +because I wanted to get away from--Well, from an old woman who wants +me to marry her daughter. I went to Monte Carlo, and, if you don't +mind my saying so, I'm hanged if she didn't follow me, bringing the +poor girl with her." + +The Spaniard smiled gravely. + +"A willing victim!" + +"No, Lloseta, you're wrong there. That's the beastly part of it. +That girl, sir, was actually shivering with fright one night when +the old woman managed to leave us on the terrace together. Some one +else, you know!" + +The dark eyes looking across towards Majorca were not pleasant to +contemplate. + +"However," pursued the ingenuous parti, "I spoke to her as one might +have done to another chap, you know. I said, 'You're frightened of +something.' She didn't answer. 'You're afraid that I'm going to +ask you to marry me.' 'Yes,' she answered. 'Well, I'm not. I'm +not such a cad.' And after that we got on all right. She would +have told who it was if I had let her. Two days later I sloped off +here. Spain choked her off--the old lady, I mean." + +Lloseta laughed, and the young man began to think that he had said +something rude. + +"She did not know what a nice place it is," he added, with a +transparency which did no harm. "Yes, you're right. The devil had +something to do with my coming here. Match-making old women are the +devil." + +He paused and attended to his cigar. The steamer passed within a +hundred yards of them. + +The Englishman nodded towards it. + +"Steamer's going to Majorca," he said. + +Lloseta nodded his head. + +"Yes," he answered gravely, "I know." + +"I came down to see it off!" + +The Spaniard looked at him sharply. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"I know an old chap on board--going across to fetch an English girl, +a Miss Challoner. Her father's dead." + +Lloseta said nothing. Presently he turned to go, and as they walked +back together he arranged to send a carriage for the Englishman and +his luggage to bring him to the big house in the Street of the +Peace, which he explained with a shadowy smile was more comfortable +than the hotel. + +"So," he said to himself, as he walked towards his vast home alone, +"so the Caballero Challoner is dead. They are passing off the stage +one by one." + + + +CHAPTER V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE. + + A home where exiled angels might forbear + Awhile to moan for paradise. + +There is a valley far up in the mountains behind the ancient city of +Palma--the Val d'Erraha. Some thousand years ago the Arabs found +this place. After toils and labours, and many battles by sea and +land, a roaming sheikh settled here, calling it El Rahah--the +Repose. + +He dug a well--for where the Moor has been there is always sparkling +water--he planted olive trees, and he built a mill. The well is +there to-day; the olive trees, old and huge and gnarled as are no +other olive trees on the earth, yield their yearly crop unceasingly; +the mill grinds the Spaniard's corn to-day. + +In the Val d'Erraha there stands a house--a rambling, ungainly Farm, +as such are called in Majorca. It runs off at strange angles, +presenting a broken face to all points of the compass. From a +distance it rather resembles a village, for the belfry of the little +chapel is visible and the buildings seem to be broken up and +divided. On closer inspection it is found to be self-contained, and +a nearer approach discloses the fact that it presents to the world +four solid walls, and that it is only to be entered by an arched +gateway. + +In the centre of the open patio stands the Moorish well, surrounded, +overhung by orange trees. This house could resist a siege--indeed, +it was built for that purpose; for the Moorish pirates made raids on +the island almost within the memory of living persons. + +Such is the Casa d'Erraha--the House of Repose. It stands with its +back to the pine slopes, looking peacefully down the valley, over +terraces where grow the orange, the almond, the fig, the lemon, the +olive; and far below, where the water trickles, the feathery bamboo. + +The city of Palma is but a few miles away, in its strong thirteenth- +century restriction within high ramparts. It has its cathedral, its +court-house--all the orthodox requirements of a city, and, moreover, +it is the capital of the whilom kingdom of Majorca. King Jaime is +dead and gone. Majorca, after many vicissitudes, has settled down +into an obscure possession of Spain; and to the old-world ways of +that country it has taken very kindly. + +But with the unwritten history of Majorca we have little to do, and +we have much with the Casa d'Erraha and the owner thereof--a plain +Englishman of the name of Challoner--the last of his line, the third +of his race, to own the Casa d'Erraha. + +Edward Challoner lay on his bed in the large room overlooking the +valley and the distant sea. In the House of Repose he lay awaiting +the call to a longer rest than earthly weariness can secure. The +grave old Padre of the neighbouring village of St. Pablo stood near +the bed. Eve Challoner had sent for him, with the instinct that +makes us wish to be seen off on a long journey by a good man, of +whatsoever creed or calling. + +At times the old priest gently patted the hand of Eve Challoner as +she stood by his side. + +Climate and country and habit have a greater influence over the +human frame than we ever realise. Eve Challoner had been subject to +these subtle influences to a rare extent. Tall and upright, clad in +black, as all Spanish ladies are, she was English and yet Spanish. +Of a clear white, her skin was touched slightly by the sun and the +warm air which blows ever from the sea, blow which way it may across +the little island. + +Romance tells of Andalusian beauty, of Catalonian grace--and in +sober British earnest (a solid thing) there are few more beautiful +women than high-born Spanish ladies. Eve Challoner had caught +something--some trick of the head--which belongs to Spain alone. +Her eyes had a certain northern vivacity of glance, a small +something which is noticeable enough in Southern Europe, though we +should hardly observe it in England, for it means education. In the +matter of learning, be it noted in passing, the ladies of the +Peninsula are not so very far above their duskier sisters of the +harem farther east. + +The girl's eyes were dull now, with a sort of surprised anguish, for +sorrow had come to her before its time. The man lying on the bed +before her had not reached the limit of his years. Quite suddenly, +twelve hours before, he had complained of a numb feeling in his +head, and the voice he spoke in was thick and strange. In a +surprisingly short time Edward Challoner was no longer himself--no +longer the cynical, polished gentleman of the world--but a hard- +breathing, inert deformity, hardly human. From that time to this he +had never spoken, and Heaven knew there was enough for him to say. +Death had caught him unawares as, after all, he generally does catch +us. There were several things to set in order as usual; for it is +only in books and on the stage that folks make a graceful exit, +clearing up the little mystery, forgiving the wrongs, boasting with +feeble voice of the good they have done--with lowering tone and soft +music slowly working together to the prompter's bell. It is not in +real life that dying men find much time to prattle about their own +souls. They usually want all their breath for those they leave +behind. And who knows! Perhaps those waiting on the other side +think no worse of the man who dies fearing for others and not for +himself. + +In Edward Challoner's paralysed brain there was a great wish to +speak to his daughter, but the words would not come. He looked at +those around him with a dreary indistinctness as from a distance, +almost as if he had begun his long journey and was looking back from +afar. + +And so the afternoon wore on to the short southern twilight, and the +goat-bells came tinkling up from the valley--for nature must have +her way though men may die, and milking-time rules through all the +changes. + +While the light failed over the land two men were riding through it +as fast as horse could lay hoof to the ground. They were on the +small road running from the Soller highway up to the Val d'Erraha, +and he who led the way seemed to know every inch of it. This was +Henry FitzHenry, and his companion, ill at ease in a Spanish saddle, +was the doctor of Her Majesty's gunboat Kittiwake. + +Four months earlier, by one of those chances which seem no chance +when we look back to them, the Kittiwake had broken down on leaving +the anchorage of Port Mahon. Towed back by a consort, she had been +there ever since, awaiting some necessary pieces of machinery to be +made in England and sent out to her. Hearing by chance that the +navigating lieutenant of the Kittiwake was Henry FitzHenry--usually +known as Fitz--Mr. Challoner had written to Minorca from the larger +island, introducing himself as the Honourable Mrs. Harrington's +cousin, and offering what poor hospitality the Val d'Erraha had to +dispense. + +In a little island there is not very much to talk about, and the +gossips of Majorca had soon laid hold of Fitz. They said that the +English senorita up at the Casa d'Erraha had found a lover, and a +fine, handsome one at that; else, they opined, why should this +English sailor thrash his boat through any weather from Cuidadela in +Minorca to Soller in Majorca, riding subsequently from that small +and lovely town over the roughest country in the island to the +Valley of Repose as if the devil were at his heels. That was only +their way of saying it, for they knew as well as any of us that love +in front can make us move more quickly than ever the devil from +behind. + +At Alcudia they watched his boat labour through the evil seas. The +wind was never too boisterous for him, the waves never too high. + +"It is," they said, "the English mariner from Mahon going to see the +Senorita Challoner. Ah! but he has a firm hand." + +And they smiled dreamily with their deep eyes, as knowing the malady +themselves. + +This time there had been two figures clad in black oilskins in the +stern of the long white boat. Two horses had been ordered by cable +to be ready at Soller instead of one. For Eve Challoner had +telegraphed to her countrymen at Port Mahon when this strange and +horrid numbness seized her father. + +The sun was setting behind the distant line of the sea when Fitz and +his companion urged their tired horses up the last slope to the Casa +d'Erraha. Within the gateway Mrs. Baines, the only English servant +in this English house, was awaiting them. She curtsied in an old- +fashioned way to the doctor, who had not seen an Englishwoman's face +for two years and more, and asked him to follow her. Fitz did not +offer to accompany them--indeed, he made it quite obvious that he +did not want to do so. Two of the vague attendants who are always +to be found in their numbers about the doorway and stableyard of a +Spanish country-house took the horses, and Fitz wandered round the +patio to the southern door which led to the terrace. + +There was not very much change in Henry FitzHenry since we saw him +in Mrs. Harrington's drawing-room six years earlier. The promise of +the boy had been fulfilled by the man, and here was a quiet +Englishman, chiefly remarkable for a certain directness of purpose +which was his, and seemed to pervade his being. Here was one who +had commanded men--who had directed skilled labour for the six +impressionable years of his life. And he who directs skilled labour +is apt to differ in manner, in thought and habit, from him whose +commands are obeyed mechanically. + +The naval officer is a man of detail--he tells others to do that +which they know he can do better himself. + +They said on board the Kittiwake, which was a small ship, that +Fitz,--"old" Fitz, they used to call him--was too big for a +seafaring life. In height, he was nearly six feet--six feet of +spare muscle and bone--such a man as one sees on the north-east +coast of England, the east coast of Scotland, or the west coast of +Norway--anywhere, in fact, where the Vikings passed. + +The deep blue eyes had acquired a certain quiet which had been +absent in the boyish face--the quiet that comes of a burden on the +heart; of the certain knowledge that the burden can never be +removed. Luke's life was not the only one that had been spoiled by +an examination paper. Examination papers have spoilt more lives +than they have benefited. A twin brother is something more than a +brother, and Fitz went through life as if one side of him was +suffering a dull, aching pain. The face of this man walking alone +on the terrace of the House of Repose was not happy. Perhaps it was +too strong for complete happiness--some men are so, and others are +too wise. This was the face, not of a very wise or a brilliant man, +but of one who was strong and simple--something in the nature of a +granite rock. Sandstone is more easily shaped into a thing of +beauty, but it is also the sandstone that is worn by weather, while +a deep mark cut on granite stays there till the end. + +Fitz had no intention of going upstairs. He was not a man to take +the initiative in social matters. His instinct told him that if Eve +wanted him she would send for him. She had cabled to him to bring +the doctor. He had brought the doctor, and now he went out on the +terrace to "stand by," as he put it to himself, for further orders. +If, as the gossips averred, he was the Senorita's lover, he deemed +it wiser to relinquish that position just now. + +As a matter of fact, however, no word of love had passed between +them. + +Fitz was standing by the low wall of the terrace looking down into +the hazy, dim depths of the valley, when the further orders which he +awaited came to him. + +Hearing a light step on the pavement behind him, he turned, and +faced Eve, who was running towards him. + +"Will you come upstairs?" she said. "I think he wants to see you." + +"Certainly," he answered. + +She had hurried out, but they walked back rather slowly. +Nevertheless, they did not seem to have anything to say to each +other. + +When they entered the room upstairs together, a faint little smile +full of wisdom hovered for a second round the old priest's clean- +shaven lips. + +The dying man had evidently wanted something or some one. The old +priest knew human nature, hence the little shadowy smile called up +by Eve's transparently partial interpretation of her father's +desire. + +Edward Challoner looked at him, but did not appear to recognise his +face. It seemed that he had left the earth so far behind now that +the faces of those walking on it were no longer distinguishable. + +He gave a little half-pettish groan, and a stillness came over the +room. + +The old padre and the doctor, who did not know a word of any common +language, exchanged a glance, and in a very business-like way, as of +one whose trade it was, the priest got down upon his knees. Then +the doctor, half-shyly, approached Eve, and taking her by the arm, +led her gently out of the room. + +Fitz stayed where he was, standing by the dead man, looking down at +the priest's bowed head, while the bell of the little chapel +attached to the Casa d'Erraha told the valley that a good man had +gone to his rest. + + + +CHAPTER VI. AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE. + + We pass; the path that each man trod + Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds. + +The priest was the first to speak. + +"You are his friend, I also; but we are of different nations." + +He paused, drawing the sheet up over the dead man's face. + +"He was not of my Church. You have your ways; will you make the +arrangements?" + +"Yes," replied Fitz simply, "if you like." + +"It is better so, my son"--the padre took a pinch of snuff-- +"because--he was not of my Church. You will stay here, you and your +friend. She, the Senorita Eve, cannot be left alone, with her +grief." + +He spoke Spanish, knowing that the Englishman understood it. + +They drew down the blinds and passed out on to the terrace, where +they walked slowly backwards and forwards, talking over the future +of Eve and of the Casa d'Erraha. + +In Spain, as in other southern lands, they speed the parting guest. +Two days later Edward Challoner was laid beside his father and +grandfather in the little churchyard in the valley below the Casa +d'Erraha. And who are we that we should say that his chance of +reaching heaven was diminished by the fact that part of the Roman +Catholic burial service was read over him by a Spanish priest? + +Fitz had telegraphed to Eve's only living relative, Captain Bontnor, +and Fitz it was who stayed on at the Casa d'Erraha until that +mariner should arrive; for the doctor was compelled to return to his +ship at Port Mahon, and the priest never slept in another but his +own little vicarage house. + +And in the Casa d'Erraha was enacted at this time one of those +strange little comedies that will force themselves upon a tragic +stage. Fitz deemed it correct that he should avoid Eve as much as +possible, and Eve, on the other hand, feeling lonely and miserable, +wanted the society of the simple-minded young sailor. + +"Why do you always avoid me?" she asked suddenly on the evening +after the funeral. He had gone out on to the terrace, and thither +she followed him in innocent anger, without afterthought. She stood +before him with her slim white hands clasped together, resting +against her black dress, a sombre, slight young figure in the +moonlight, looking at him with reproachful eyes. + +He hesitated a second before answering her. She was only nineteen; +she had been born and brought up in the Valley of Repose amidst the +simple islanders. She knew nothing of the world and its ways. And +Fitz, with the burden of the unique situation suddenly thrust upon +him, was, in his chivalrous youthfulness, intensely anxious to avoid +giving her anything to look back to in after years when she should +be a woman. He was tenderly solicitous for the feelings which would +come later, though they were absent now. + +"Because," he answered, "I am not good at saying things. I don't +know how to tell you how sorry I am for you." + +She turned away and looked across to the hills at the other side of +the valley, a rugged outline against the sky. + +"But I know all that," she said softly, "without being told." + +A queer smile passed over his sunburnt face, as if she had +unintentionally and innocently made things more difficult for him. + +"And," she continued, "it is--oh, so lonely." + +She made an almost imperceptible little movement towards him. Like +the child that she was, she was yearning for sympathy and comfort. +"I know--I know," he said. + +Outward circumstance was rather against Fitz. A clear, odorous +Spanish night, the young moon rising behind the pines, a thousand +dreamy tropic scents filling the air. And Eve, half tearful, wholly +lovable, standing before him, innocently treading on dangerous +ground, guilelessly asking him to love her. + +She, having grown almost to womanhood, pure as the flowers of the +field, ignorant, a child, knew nothing of what she was doing. She +merely gave way to the instinct that was growing within her--the +instinct that made her turn to this man, claiming his strength, his +tenderness, his capability, as given to him for her use and for her +happiness. + +"You must not avoid me," she said. "Why do you do it? Have I done +anything you dislike? I have no one to speak to, no one who +understands, but you. There is the padre, of course--and nurse; but +they do not understand. They are--so OLD! Let me stay here with +you until it is time to go to bed, will you?" + +"Of course," he answered quietly. "If you care to. To-morrow I +should think we shall hear from your uncle. He may come by the boat +sailing from Barcelona to-morrow night. It will be a good thing if +he does; you see, I must get back to my ship." + +"You said she would not be ready for sea till next month." + +"No, but there is discipline to be thought of." + +He looked past her, up to the stars, with a scrutinising maritime +eye, recognising them and naming them to himself. He did not meet +her eyes--dangerous, tear-laden. + +"There is something the matter with you," she said. "You are +different. Yes, you want my uncle to come the day after to-morrow-- +you want to go away to Mahon as soon as you can. I-- Oh, Fitz, I +don't want to be a coward!" + +She stood in front of him, clenching her little fists, forcing back +the tears that gleamed in the moonlight. He did not dare to cease +his astronomical observations. + +"I WON'T be a coward--if you will only speak. If you will tell me +what it is." + +Then Fitz told his first deliberate lie. + +"I have had bad news," he said, "about my brother Luke. I am +awfully anxious about him." + +He did it very well; for his motive was good. And we may take it +that such a lie as this is not writ very large in the Book. + +The girl paused for a little, and then deliberately wiped the tears +from her eyes. + +"How horribly selfish I have been!" she said. "Why did you not tell +me sooner? I have only been thinking of my own troubles ever since- +-ever since poor papa-- I am a selfish wretch! I hate myself! +Tell me about your brother." + +And so they walked slowly up and down the moss-grown terrace--alone +in this wonderful tropic night--while he told her the little tragedy +of his life. He told the story simply, with characteristic gaps in +the sequence, which she was left to fill up from her imagination. + +"I shall not like Mrs. Harrington," said Eve, when the story was +told. "I am glad that she cannot come much into my life. My father +wanted me to go and stay with her last summer, but I would not leave +him alone, and for some reason he would not accept the invitation +for himself. Do you know, Fitz, I sometimes think there is a past-- +some mysterious past--which contained my father and Mrs. Harrington +and a man--the Count de Lloseta." + +"I have seen him," put in Fitz, "at Mrs. Harrington's often." + +The girl nodded her head with a quaint little assumption of +shrewdness and deep suspicion. + +"My father admired him--I do not know why. And pitied him +intensely--I do not know why." + +"He was always very nice to me," answered Fitz, "but I never +understood him." + +Talking thus they forgot the flight of time. It sometimes happens +thus in youth. And the huge clock in the stable yard striking ten +aroused Eve suddenly to the lateness of the hour. + +"I must go," she said. "I am glad you told me about--Luke. I feel +as if I knew you better and understood--a little more. Good-night." + +She left him on the terrace, and walked sorrowfully away to the +house which could never be the same again. + +Fitz watched her slight young form disappear through an open +doorway, and then he became lost in the contemplation of the distant +sea, lying still and glass-like in the moonlight. He was looking to +the north, and it happened that from that same point of the compass +there was coming towards him the good steamer Bellver, on whose deck +stood a little shock-headed man--Captain Bontnor. + +There is a regular service of steamers to and from the Island of +Majorca to the mainland, and, in addition, steamers make voyages +when pressure of traffic may demand. The Bellver was making one of +these supplemental journeys, and her arrival was not looked for at +Palma. + +Eve and Fitz were having breakfast alone in the gloomy room +overshadowed by the trailing wings of the Angel of Death, when the +servant announced a gentleman to see the senorita. The senorita +requested that the gentleman might approach, and presently there +stood in the doorway the quaintest little figure imaginable. + +Captain Bontnor, with a certain sense of the fitness of things, had +put on his best clothes for this occasion, and it happened that the +most superior garment in his wardrobe was a thick pilot-jacket, +which stood out from his square person with solid angularity. He +had brushed his hair very carefully, applying water to compass a +smoothness which had been his life-long and hitherto unattained aim. +His shock hair--red turning to grey--stood up four inches from his +honest, wrinkled face. It was unfortunate that his best garments +should have been purchased for the amenities of a northern climate. +His trousers were as stiff as his jacket, and he wore a decorous +black silk tie as large as a counterpane. + +He stood quaintly bowing in the doorway, his bright blue eyes veiled +with shyness and a pathetic dumb self-consciousness. + +"Please come in," said Eve in Spanish, quite at a loss as to who +this might be. + +Then Fitz had an inspiration. Something of the sea seemed to be +wafted from the older to the younger sailor. + +"Are you Captain Bontnor?" he asked, rising from the table. + +"Yes, sir, yes! That's my name!" + +He stood nervously in the doorway, mistrusting the parquet-floor, +mistrusting himself, mistrusting everything. + +Fitz went towards him holding out his hand, which the captain took +after a manfully repressed desire to wipe his own broad palm on the +seam of his trousers. + +"Then you are my uncle?" said Eve, coming forward. + +"Yes, miss, I'm afraid--that is--yes, I'm your uncle. You see--I'm +only a rough sort of fellow." + +He came a little nearer and held his arms apart, looking down at his +own person in humble deprecation. + +Eve was holding out her hand. He took it with a vague, deep-rooted +chivalry, and she, stooping, very deliberately kissed him. + +This seemed rather to bewilder the captain, for he shook hands again +with Fitz. + +"I-- " he began, nodding into Fitz's face. "You are--eh? I didn't +expect--to see--I didn't know--" + +At that moment Eve saw. It came to her in a flash, as most things +do come to women. She even had time to doubt the story about Luke. + +"This," she said, with crimson cheeks, "is Mr. FitzHenry of the +Kittiwake. He kindly came to us in our trouble. You will have to +thank him afterwards--uncle." + +"And in the meantime I expect you want breakfast?" put in Fitz, +carefully avoiding Eve. + +"Yes," added the girl, "of course. Sit down. No, here!" + +"Thankye--thankye, miss--my dear, I mean. Oh, anything'll do for +me. A bit of bread and a cup o' tea. I had a bit and a sup on +board before she sheered alongside the quay." + +He looked round rather helplessly, wondering where he should put his +hat--a solid, flat-crowned British affair. Eve took it from him and +laid it aside. + +Captain Bontnor sat very stiffly down. His square form did not seem +to lose any of its height by the change of position, and with a +stiff back he looked admiringly round the room, waiting like a child +at a school treat. + +As the meal progressed he grew more at ease, telling them of the +little difficulties of his journey, avoiding with a tact not always +found inside a better coat all mention of the sad event which had +caused him to take this long journey after his travelling days were +done. + +That which set him at ease more than all else was the fact, at +length fully grasped, that Fitz was, like himself, a sailor. Here +at least was a topic upon which he could converse with any man. +General subjects only were discussed, as if by tacit consent. No +mention was made of the future until this was somewhat rudely +brought before their notice by the announcement that a second +visitor desired to see the senorita. + +With a more assured manner than that of his predecessor, a small, +dark man came into the room, throwing off his cloak and handing it +to the servant. He bowed ceremoniously and with true Spanish grace +to Eve, with less ceremony and more dignity to the two men. + +"I beg that your excellency will accept the sympathy of my deepest +heart," he said. "I regret to trouble you so soon after the great +loss sustained by your excellency, indeed, by the whole island of +Majorca. But it is a matter of business. Such things cannot be +delayed. Have I your excellency's permission to proceed?" + +"Certainly, senor." + +The man's clean-shaven face was like a mask. The expressions seemed +to come and go as if worked by machinery. Sympathy was turned off, +and in its place Polite-Attention-to-Business appeared. From under +his arm he drew a leather portfolio, which he placed upon the table. + +"The affairs of the late Cavalier Challoner were perhaps known to +your excellency?" + +"No; I knew nothing of my father's affairs." + +Sympathy seemed to be struggling behind "Polite-Attention-to- +Business," while for a moment a real look of distress flitted over +the parchment face. He paused for an instant, reflecting while he +assorted his papers. + +"I am," he said, "the lawyer of his excellency the Count de +Lloseta." + +Eve and Fitz exchanged a glance, and as silence was kept the lawyer +went on. + +"Three generations ago," he said, "a Count de Lloseta, the +grandfather of this present excellency, made over on 'rotas' the +estate and house known as the Val d'Erraha to the grandfather of the +late Cavalier Challoner--a Captain Challoner, one of Admiral Byng's +men." + +Again he paused, arranging his papers. + +"The Majorcan system 'rotas' is known to your excellency?" + +"No, senor." + +"On this system an estate is made over for one or two or three +generations by the proprietor to the lessee who farms or sublets the +land, and in lieu of rent hands over to the proprietor a certain +proportion of the crops. Does your excellency follow me?" + +Eve did not answer at once. Then the lawyer's meaning seemed to +dawn upon her. + +"Then," she said, "the Casa d'Erraha never belonged to my father?" + +"Never"--with a grave bow. + +"And I have nothing--nothing at all! I am penniless?" + +The lawyer looked from her to Fitz, who was standing beside her +listening to the conversation, but not offering to take part in it. + +"Unless your excellency has private means--in England, perhaps." + +"I do not know--I know nothing. And we must leave the Casa +d'Erraha. When, senor? Tell me when." + +The lawyer avoided her distressed eyes. + +"Well," he said slowly, "the law is rather summary. I--your +excellency understands I only do my duty. I am not the principal. +I have no authority whatever--except the law." + +"You mean that I must go at once?" + +The lawyer's parchment face was generously expressive of grief now. + +"Excellency, the lease terminated at the death of the late Caballero +Challoner." + +Eve stood for a moment, breathing hard. Fate seemed suddenly to +have turned against her at every point. At this moment Captain +Bontnor made bold--one could see him doing it--to take her hand. + +"My dear," he said, "I don't quite understand what this foreign +gentleman and you are talkin' about. But if it's trouble, dear, if +it's trouble--just let me try." + + + +CHAPTER VII. IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE. + + Measure thy life by loss instead of gain, + Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth. + +"MY DEAR MISS CHALLONER,--I learn that you are in Barcelona, and at +the same time I find with some indignation that my lawyer in +Mallorca, with a deplorable excess of zeal, has been acting without +my orders in respect to the property of the Val d'Erraha. I hasten +to place myself and possessions at your disposition, and take the +liberty of writing to request an interview, instead of calling on +you at your hotel, for reasons which you will readily understand, +knowing as you do the gossiping ways of hotels. As an old friend of +your father's, and one who moved and lived in neighbourly +intercourse with him before your birth, and before the deplorable +death of your mother, I now waive ceremony, and beg that you and +your uncle will come and take tea with me this afternoon at my +humble abode in the 'Calle de la Paz.'--Believe me, dear Miss +Challoner, yours very sincerely, + "CIPRIANI DE LLOSETA DE MALLORCA." + +Eve read this letter in her room in the Hotel of the Four Nations at +Barcelona. She had only been on the mainland twenty-four hours when +it was delivered to her by a servant of the Count's, who came to her +apartment and delivered it into her own hands, as is the custom of +Spanish servants. + +Eve Challoner had grown older during the last few days. She had +been brought face to face with life as it really is, and not as we +dream it in the dreams of youth. She was not surprised to receive +this letter, although she had no idea that the Count de Lloseta was +in Spain. But the varying emotions of the last week had, as it +were, undermined the confident hopefulness with which we look +forward when we are young, and sometimes when we are old, to the +management of our own lives here below. She was beginning to +understand certain terms which she had heard applied to human +existence, and to which she had hitherto attached no special meaning +as relating to herself. More especially did she understand at this +time that life may be compared to a stream, for she was vaguely +conscious of drifting she knew not whither. + +Fitz had come suddenly into her life; Captain Bontnor had come into +it; and now this man, Cipriani de Lloseta, seemed to be asserting +his right to come into it too. And she did not know quite what to +do with them all. She had never, in the quiet, dreamy days of her +youth, pictured a life with any of these men in it, and the future +was suddenly tremendous, unfathomable. There were vast +possibilities in it of misery, of danger, of difficulty; and behind +these a vague, new feeling of a possible happiness far exceeding the +happiness of her peaceful childhood. + +Without consulting her uncle, who had gone out into the street to +walk backwards and forwards before the door, as he had walked +backwards and forwards on his deck for forty years, she sat down and +accepted the Count's informal invitation. She seemed to do it +without reflection, as if impelled thereto by something stronger +than pro or con, as if acknowledging the Spaniard's right to come +into her life, bringing to bear upon it an influence which she never +attempted to fathom. + +Thus it came about that Eve and Captain Bontnor found themselves +awaiting their host in the massive, gloomy drawing-room of the +Palace in the Calle de la Paz at five o'clock that afternoon. + +Captain Bontnor had learnt a great deal during the last few days; +among other things he had learnt to love his niece with a simple, +dog-like devotion, which had a vein of pathos in it for those who +see such things. He placed himself well behind Eve, and looked +around him with a wondering awe. + +"I think, my dear," he said, "that it would have been better if you +had come alone. I--you know I am getting too old to learn manners +now--eh--he! he! Yes. Having been so long at sea, you know." + +"I think the sea teaches men manners, uncle," said Eve, with a +little smile which he did not understand. "At any rate," she went +on, touching his rough sleeve affectionately, "it teaches them +something that I like." + +"Does it, now? What, now? Tell me." + +"I do not know," answered the girl, as if speaking to herself, and +at this moment the door was opened. The man who came in was of +medium height, with a long, narrow face, and singularly patient +eyes. + +"I should have known you," he said, approaching Eve, and holding out +his hand. "You do not remember your mother? I do, however. You +are like her--and she was a good woman. And this is Captain +Bontnor--your uncle." + +He shook hands with the old sailor without the faintest flicker of +surprise at his somewhat incongruous appearance. + +"I am glad," he said suavely, "to make Captain Bontnor's +acquaintance." + +He turned to draw forward a chair, and the light from the high, +barred window falling full on his head, betrayed the fact that his +hair, close cut as an English soldier's, was touched and flecked +with grey. His lithe youthfulness of frame rather surprised Eve, +who knew him to be a contemporary of her father's. + +"It is very good of you to come," he went on in a low voice. "I +took the privilege of the elder generation, you see! Captain, pray +take that chair." + +He did the honours with a British ease of manner, strangely touched +by a Spanish dignity. + +"When I heard of your great bereavement," he said, turning to Eve +with a grave bow, "I ought perhaps to have gone to Mallorca at once +to offer you what poor assistance was in my power. But +circumstances, over which I had no control, prevented my doing so. +My offer of help is tardy, I know, but it is none the less sincere." + +"Thank you," replied Eve, conscious of a feeling of pleasant +reliance in this new-found ally. "But I have good friends--the +Padre Fortis, my uncle, and--a friend of ours, Mr. FitzHenry." + +"Of the Kittiwake--at Mahon?" + +"Yes." + +"I have the pleasure of knowing Mr. FitzHenry," murmured the Count. +"Now," he said, with a sudden smile which took her by surprise by +reason of the alteration it made in the whole man, "will you do me a +great favour?" + +"I should like to," answered Eve, with some hesitation. + +"And you?" said the Count, turning to Captain Bontnor. + +"Oh yes," replied that sailor bluntly, "if it's possible." + +"I want you," continued the Count de Lloseta, "to forget that this +is the first time we meet, and to look upon me as a friend--one of +the most intimate--of your father." + +"My father," said the girl, "always spoke of you as such." + +"Indeed, I am glad of that. Now, tell me, who have you in the world +besides Captain Bontnor?" + +"I have no one. But--" + +"We was thinking," put in the Captain, in ungrammatical haste, "that +Eve would come and live with me. It isn't a grand house--just a +little cottage. But such as it is, she'll have a kindly welcome." + +"And, I have no doubt, a happy home", added the Count, with one of +his dark smiles. "I was merely wondering whether Miss Challoner +intended to live in the Casa d'Erraha or to let it?"' + +Eve looked up in surprise, and Captain Bontnor's blue eyes wandered +from her face to the dark and courteous countenance of Cipriani de +Lloseta. + +"Perhaps," continued the Spaniard imperturbably, "you have not yet +made up your mind on the subject." + +"But the Casa d'Erraha does not belong to me," said Eve, and Captain +Bontnor wagged his head in confirmation. "Your own lawyer explained +to me that my father only held it on 'rotas.'" + +"My own lawyer, my dear young lady, thereby proved himself an ass." + +"But," said Eve, somewhat mystified, "the Val d'Erraha belongs to +you, and you must know it. I have no title-deeds--I have nothing." + +"Except possession, which is nine points of the law. Will you take +tea, and cream? I do not know how many points the law has, but one +would naturally conclude that nine is a large proportion of the +whole." + +While he spoke he was pouring out the tea. He handed a cup to her +with a grave smile, as if the matter under discussion were one of a +small and passing importance. + +"I suppose," he added, "you have learnt to love the Casa d'Erraha. +It is a place--a place one might easily become attached to. Do you +know"--he turned his back to her, busying himself with the silver +teapot--"Lloseta?" he added jerkily. + +"Yes. My father and I used to go there very often." + +"Ah--" He waited--handing Captain Bontnor a cup of tea in silence. +But Eve was not thinking of Lloseta; she was thinking of the Casa +d'Erraha. + +"My father did not speak to me of his affairs," she said. "He was +naturally rather reserved, and--and it was very sudden." + +"Yes. So I learnt. That indeed is my excuse for intruding myself +upon your notice at this time. I surmised that my poor friend's +affairs had been left in some confusion. He was too thorough a +gentleman to be competent in affairs. I thought that perhaps my +small influence and my diminutive knowledge of Majorcan law--the +Roman law, in point of fact--might be of some use to you." + +"Thank you," she answered; "I think we settled everything before we +left the island, although we did not see Senor Pena, your lawyer. +I--the Casa d'Erraha belongs to you!" she added, suddenly descending +to feminine reiteration. + +"Prove it," said the Count quietly. + +"I cannot do that." + +He shrugged his shoulders with a smile. + +"Then," he said, "I am afraid you cannot shift your responsibility +to my shoulders." + +The girl looked at him with puzzled young eyes. He stood before +her, dignified, eminently worthy of the great name he bore--a +solitary, dark-eyed, inscrutable man, whose whole being subtly +suggested hopelessness and an empty life. She shook her head. + +"But I cannot accept the Casa d'Erraha on those terms." + +The Count drew forward a chair and sat down. + +"Listen," he said, with an explanatory forefinger upheld. "Three +generations ago two men made a verbal agreement in respect to the +estate of the Val d'Erraha. To-day no one knows what that agreement +was. It may have been the ordinary 'rotas' of Minorca. It may not. +In those days the English held Minorca; my ancestor may therefore +have been indebted to your great-grandfather, for we have some small +estates in Minorca. You know what the islands are to-day. They are +two hundred years behind Northern Europe. What must they have been +a hundred and twenty years ago? We have no means of finding out +what passed between your great-grandfather and my grandfather. We +only know that three generations of Challoners have lived in the +Casa d'Erraha, paying to the Counts of Lloseta a certain proportion +of the product of the estate. I do not mind telling you that the +smallness of that proportion does away with the argument that the +agreement was the ordinary 'rotas' of the Baleares. We know +nothing--we can prove nothing. If you claimed the estate I might +possibly wrest it from you--not by proof, but merely because the +insular prejudice against a foreigner would militate against you in +a Majorcan court of law. I cannot legally force you to hold the +estate of the Val d'Erraha. I can only ask you as the daughter of +one of my best friends to accept the benefit of a very small doubt." + +Eve hesitated. What woman would not? + +Captain Bontnor set down his cup very gravely on the table. + +"I don't rightly understand," he said sturdily, "this 'rotas' +business. But it seems to me pretty plain that the estate never +belonged to my late brother-in-law. Now what I say is, if the place +belongs by right to Miss Challoner she'll take it. If it don't; +well, then it don't, and she can't accept it as a present from +anybody. Much obliged to you all the same." + +The Count laughed pleasantly. + +"My dear sir, it is not a present." + +The Captain stuffed his hands very deeply into his pockets. + +"Then it's worse--it's charity. And she has no need of that. Thank +ye all the same," he replied. + +He stared straight in front of him with a vague and rather painful +suggestion of incapability that sometimes came over him. He was +wondering whether he was doing right in this matter. + +"If," he added, half to himself, as a sort of afterthought on the +crying question of ways and means--"if it comes to that, I can go to +sea again. There's plenty would be ready to give me a ship." + +The Count was still smiling. + +"There is no question," he said, "of charity. What has Miss +Challoner done that I should offer her that? I am in ignorance as +to her affairs. I do not know the extent of her income." + +"As far as we can make out," said Eve gently, "there is nothing. +But I can work. I thought that my knowledge of Spanish might enable +me to make a living." + +"No," said Captain Bontnor, "I'm d--- I mean I should not like you +to go governessing, my dear." + +The Count was apparently reflecting. + +"I have a compromise to propose," he said, addressing himself to +Eve. "If we place the property in the hands of a third person--you +know the value of land in Majorca--to farm and tend; if at the end +of each year the profits be divided between us?" + +But Eve's suspicions were aroused, and her woman's instinct took her +further than did Captain Bontnor's sturdy sense of right and wrong. + +"I am afraid," she said, rising from her chair, "that I must refuse. +I--I think I understand why papa always spoke of you as he did. I +am very grateful to you. I know now that you have been trying to +give me D'Erraha. It was a generous thing to do--a most generous +thing. I think people would hardly believe me if I told them. I +can only thank you; for I have no possible means of proving to you +how deeply I feel it. Somehow"--she paused, with tears and a sad +little smile in her eyes--"somehow it is not the gift that I +appreciate so much as--as your way of trying to give it." + +The Spaniard spread out his two hands in deprecation. + +"My child," he murmured gently, "I have not another word to say." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE DEAL. + + Oh, the little more, and how much it is! + And the little less, and what worlds away! + +A howling gale of wind from the south-east, and driving snow and +darkness. The light of Cap Grisnez struggling out over the +blackness of the Channel, and the two Foreland lights twinkling +feebly from their snow-clad heights. A night to turn in one's bed +with a sleepy word of thanksgiving that one has a bed to turn in, +and no pressing need to turn out of it. + +The smaller fry of Channel shipping have crept into Dungeness or the +Downs. Some of them have gone to the bottom. Two of them are +breaking up on the Goodwins. + +The Croonah Indian liner is pounding into it all, with white decks +and whistling shrouds. The passengers are below in their berths. +Some of them--and not only the ladies--are sending up little +shamefaced supplications to One who watches over the traveller in +all places and at all times. + +And on the bridge of the Croonah a man all eyes and stern resolve +and maritime instinct. A man clad in his thickest clothes, and over +all of them his black oilskins. A man with three hundred lives +depending upon his keen eyes, his knowledge, and his judgment. A +man whose name is Luke FitzHenry. + +The captain has gone below for a few minutes to thaw, leaving the +ship to FitzHenry. He does it with an easy conscience--as easy, +that is, as the maritime conscience can well be in a gale of wind, +with the Foreland lights ahead and infinite possibilities all +around. The captain drinks his whisky and hot water with a certain +slow appreciation of the merits of that reprehensible solution, and +glances at the aneroid barometer on the bulkhead of his cabin. + +Overhead, on the spidery bridge, far up in the howling night, Luke +FitzHenry, returning from the enervating tropics, stares sternly +into the night, heedless of the elemental warfare. For Luke +FitzHenry has a grudge against the world, and people who have that +take a certain pleasure in evil weather. + +"The finest sailor that ever stepped," reflects the captain of his +second officer--and he no mean mariner himself. + +The Croonah had groped her way up Channel through a snowstorm of +three days' duration, and the brunt of it had fallen by right of +seniority on the captain and his second officer. Luke FitzHenry was +indefatigable, and, better still, he was without enthusiasm. Here +was the steady, unflinching combativeness which alone can master the +elements. Here was the true genius of the sea. + +With his craft at his fingers' ends, Luke had that instinct of +navigation by which some men seem to find their way upon the +trackless waters. There are sailors who are no navigators just as +there are hunting men who cannot ride. There are navigators who +will steer you from London to Petersburg without taking a sight, +from the Thames to the Suez Canal without looking at their sextant. +Such a sailor as this was Luke FitzHenry. Perfectly trained, he +assimilated each item of experience with an insatiable greed for +knowledge--and it was all maritime knowledge. He was a sailor and +nothing else. But it is already something--as they say in France-- +to be a good sailor. + +Luke FitzHenry was a man of middle height, sturdy, with broad +shoulders and a slow step. His clean-shaven face was a long oval, +with pessimistic, brooding eyes--eyes that saw everything except the +small modicum of good which is in all human things, and to this they +were persistently blind. Taking into consideration the small, set +mouth, it was eminently a pugnacious face--a face that might easily +degenerate to the coarseness of passion in the trough of a losing +fight. But, fortunately, Luke's lines were cast upon the great +waters, and he who fights the sea must learn to conquer, not by +passionate effort, but by consistent, cool resolve. Those who +worked with him feared him, and in so doing learnt the habit of his +ways. The steersman, with one eye on the binnacle, knew always +where to find him with the other; for Luke hardly moved during his +entire watch on deck. He took his station at the starboard end of +the narrow bridge when he came on duty, and from that spot he rarely +moved. These little things betray a man, if one only has the +patience to piece them together. + +Those who go down to the sea in ships, and even those who take their +pleasure on the great water, know the relative merits of the man who +goes to his post and stays there, and of him who is all over the +ship and restless. + +Luke was standing now like a statue--black and gleaming amid the +universal grey of the winter night, and his deep eyes, cat-like, +pierced the surrounding gloom. + +Here was a man militant. A man who must needs be fighting +something, and Fate, with unusual foresight, had placed him in a +position to fight Nature. Luke FitzHenry rather revelled in a night +such as this--the gloom, the horror, and the patent danger of it +suited his morose, combative nature. He loved danger and difficulty +with the subtle form of love which a fighting man experiences for a +relentless foe. + +From light to light he pushed his intrepid way through the darkness +and the bewildering intricacies of the Downs, and in due time, in +the full sunlight of the next day, the Croonah sidled alongside the +quay in the Tilbury Dock. The passengers, with their new lives +before them, stumbled ashore, already forgetting the men who, smoke- +begrimed and weary, had carried these lives within their hands +during the last month or more. They crowded down the gangway and +left Luke to go to his cabin. + +There were two letters lying on the little table. One from Fitz at +Mahon, the other in a handwriting which Luke had almost forgotten. +He turned it over with the subtle smile of a man who has a grudge +against women. But he opened it before the other. + +"DEAR LUKE,--I am glad to hear from Fitz that you are making your +way in the Merchant Service. He tells me that your steamer, the +Croonah, has quite a reputation on the Indian route, and your +fellow-officers are all gentlemen. I shall be pleased to see you to +dinner the first evening you have at your disposal. I dine at +seven-thirty.--Believe me, yours very truly, MARIAN HARRINGTON. + +"P.S.--I shall deem it a favour if you will come in dress clothes, +as I have visitors." + +And, strange to say, it was the feminine stab in the postscript that +settled the matter. Luke sat down and wrote out a telegram at once, +accepting Mrs. Harrington's invitation for the same evening. + +When he rang the bell of the great house in Grosvenor Gardens at +precisely half-past seven that evening, he was conscious of a +certain sense of elation. He was quite sure of himself. + +He thought that the large drawing-room was empty when the butler +ushered him into it, and some seconds elapsed before he discerned +the form of a young lady in a deep chair near the fire. + +The girl turned her head and rose from the chair with a smile and a +certain grace of manner which seemed in some indefinite way to have +been put on with her evening dress. For a moment Luke gazed at her, +taken aback. Then he bowed gravely, and she burst into a merry +laugh. + +"How funny!" she cried. "You do not know me?" + +"No-o-o," he answered, searching his mind. For he was a passenger +sailor, and many men and women crossed his path during the year. + +She came forward with a coquettish little laugh and placed herself +beneath the gas, inviting his inspection, sure of herself, confident +in her dressmaker. + +She was small and very upright, with a peculiarly confident carriage +of the head, which might indicate determination or, possibly, a mere +resolution to get her money's worth. Her hair, perfectly dressed, +was of the colour of a slow-worm. She called it fair. Her enemies +said it reminded them of snakes. Her eyes were of a darker shade of +ashen grey, verging on hazel. Her mouth was mobile, with thin lips +and an expressive corner--the left-hand corner--and at this moment +it suggested pert inquiry. Some people thought she had an +expressive face, but then some people are singularly superficial in +their mode of observation. There was really no power of expressing +any feeling in the small, delicately cut face. It all lay in the +mouth, in the left-hand corner thereof. + +"Well?" she said, and Luke's wonder gradually faded into admiration. + +"I give it up," he answered. + +She shrugged her shoulders in pretended disgust. + +"You are not polite," she said, with a glance at his stalwart person +which might have indicated that there were atoning merits. "I must +say you are not polite, Luke. I do not think I will tell you. It +would be still more humiliating to learn that you have forgotten my +existence." + +"You cannot be Agatha!" he exclaimed. + +"Can I not? It happens that I AM Agatha Ingham-Baker--at your +service!" + +She swept him a low curtsey and sailed away to the mantelpiece, +thereby giving him the benefit of the exquisite fit of her dress. +She stood with one arm on the mantel-shelf, looking back at him over +her shoulder, summing him up with a little introspective nod. + +"I should like to know why I cannot be Agatha," she asked, with that +keen feminine scent for a personality which leads to the uttering of +so much nonsense, and the brewing of so much mischief. + +"I never thought--" he began. + +"Yes?" + +He laughed and refused to go any farther, although she certainly +made the way easy for him. + +"In fact," she said mockingly, "you are disappointed. You never +expected me to turn out such a horrid--" + +"You know it isn't that," he interrupted, with a flash of his gloomy +eyes. + +"Not now," she said quietly, glancing towards the door. "I hear +Mrs. Harrington coming downstairs. You can tell me afterwards." + +Luke turned on his heel and greeted Mrs. Harrington with quite a +pleasant smile, which did not belong to her by rights, but to the +girl behind him. + +Fitz had been away for two years. Mrs. Harrington in making +overtures of peace to Luke had been prompted by the one consistent +motive of her life, self-gratification. She was tired of the +obsequious society of persons like the Ingham-Bakers, whom she +mentally set down as parasites. There is a weariness of the flesh +that comes to rich women uncontrolled. They weary of their own +power. Tyranny palls. Mrs. Harrington was longing to be thwarted +by some one stronger than herself. The FitzHenrys even in their +boyhood had, by their sturdy independence, their simple, seamanlike +self-assertion, touched some chord in this lone woman's heart which +would not vibrate to cringing fingers. + +She had sent for Luke because Fitz was away. She wanted to be +thwarted. She would have liked to be bullied. And also there was +that subtle longing for the voice, the free gesture, the hearty +manliness of one whose home is on the sea. + +As Luke turned to greet her with the rare smile on his face he was +marvellously like Fitz. He was well dressed. There was not the +slightest doubt that this was a gentleman. Nay, more, he looked +distinguished. And above all, he carried himself like a sailor. So +the reconciliation was sudden and therefore complete. A +reconciliation to be complete must be sudden. It is too delicate a +thing to bear handling. + +Luke had come intending to curse. He began to feel like staying to +bless. He was quite genial and pleasant, greeting Mrs. Ingham-Baker +as an old friend, and thereby distinctly upsetting that lady's +mental equilibrium. She had endeavoured to prevent this meeting, +because she thought it was not fair to Fitz. She noted the approval +with which Mrs. Harrington's keen eyes rested on the young sailor, +and endeavoured somewhat obviously to draw Agatha's attention to it +by frowns and heavily significant nods, which her dutiful daughter +ignored. + +Mrs. Harrington glanced impatiently at the clock. + +"That stupid Count is late," she said. + +"Is the Count de Lloseta coming?" asked Mrs. Ingham-Baker eagerly. + +From the strictly impartial standpoint of a mother she felt sure +that the Count admired Agatha. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Harrington, with a cynical smile. + +And Mrs. Ingham-Baker, heedless of the sarcasm, was already engaged +in an exhaustive examination of Agatha's dress. She crossed the +room and delicately rectified some microscopic disorder of the +snake-like hair. With a final glance up and down, she crossed her +arms at her waist and looked complacently towards the door. + +The Count came in, and failed to realise the hope that apparently +buoyed Mrs. Ingham-Baker's maternal heart. He did not strike an +attitude or cover his dazzled eyes when they rested on Agatha. He +merely came forward with his gravest smile and uttered the pleasant +fictions appropriate to the occasion. Mrs. Ingham-Baker was marked +in her gracious reception of the Spaniard, and the hostess watched +her effusions with a queer little smile. + +At dinner Mrs. Ingham-Baker was opposite to the Count, who seemed +preoccupied and somewhat absent-minded. Her attention was divided +between an anticipatory appreciation of Mrs. Harrington's cook and +an evident admiration for her own daughter. + +"Agatha was just saying," observed the stout lady between the candle +shades, "that we had not seen the Count de Lloseta for quite a long +time. Only yesterday, was it not, dear?" + +Agatha acquiesced. + +"The loss," answered the Count, "is mine. But it is more than made +good by the news that my small absence was noted. I have been +abroad." + +Mrs. Harrington at the end of the table looked up sharply, and a few +drops of soup fell from her upraised spoon with a splash. + +"In Spain?" she asked. + +"In Spain." + + + +CHAPTER IX. CUT FOR PARTNERS. + + Beware equally of a sudden friend and a slow enemy. + +A wise man had said of Cipriani de Lloseta that had he not been a +Count he would have been a great musician. He had that singular +facility with any instrument which is sometimes given to musical +persons in recompense for voicelessness. The Count spoke like one +who could sing, but his throat was delicate, and so the world lost a +great singer. Of most instruments he spoke with a half-concealed +contempt. But of the violin he said nothing. He was not a man to +turn the conversational overflow upon self-evident facts. + +He invariably brought his violin to Grosvenor Gardens when Mrs. +Harrington invited him, in her commanding way, to dine. It amused +Mrs. Harrington to accompany his instrument on the piano. Her music +was of the accompanying order. It was heartless and correct. Some +of us, by the way, have friends of this same order, and, like Mrs. +Harrington's music, they are not in themselves either interesting or +pleasant. + +The piano stood in the inner drawing-room, and thither the Count and +Mrs. Harrington repaired when the gentlemen had joined the ladies. +In the larger drawing-room Luke was fortunate enough to secure a +seat near to Agatha--quite near, and a long way from Mrs. Ingham- +Baker, digestively asleep in an armchair. + +He did not exactly know how this arrangement was accomplished--it +seemed to come. Possibly Agatha knew. + +Mrs. Harrington struck a keynote and began playing the prelude of a +piece well known to them both. + +"Why did you not tell me that you were going to Spain?" she asked +somewhat tersely, under cover of her own chords. + +"Had I known that it would interest you--" murmured De Lloseta, +tightening his bow. There was a singular gleam in his eye. The +gleam that one sees in the eye of a dog which has been thrashed, +telling the wise that one day the dog will turn. + +"I am always interested," said the grey lady slowly, "in Spain--and +even in Mallorca." + +She used the Spanish name of the island with the soft roll in the +throat that English people rarely acquire. He was prepared for it, +standing with raised bow, looking past her iron-grey head to the +music. She glanced back over her shoulder into his face with the +cruel cat-like love of torture that some people possess. Far away +in the distant wisdom of Providence it had been decreed that this +woman should have no child less clever than herself to tease into +hopelessness. + +The Spaniard laid his magic bow to the strings, leaving her to +follow. He tucked the violin against his collar with a little +caressing motion of his chin, and in a few moments he seemed to +forget all else than the voice of the instrument. There are a few +musicians who can give to a violin the power of speech. They can +make the instrument tell some story--not a cheery tale, but rather +like the story that dogs tell us sometimes--a story which seems to +have a sequence of its own, and to be quite intelligible to its +teller; but to us it is only comprehensible in part, like a tale +that is told dramatically in a tongue unknown. + +The Count stood up and played with no fine frenzy, no rolling eyes, +no swaying form; for such are the signs of a hopeless effort, hung +out by the man who has heard the story and tries in vain to tell it +himself. + +Even Agatha was outdone, for Luke drifted off into absent- +mindedness, and after a little effort she left him to return at his +own time. She listened to the music herself, but it did not seem to +touch her. For sound ascends, and this was already above Agatha +Ingham-Baker's head. The piece over, Mrs. Harrington selected +another. + +"You did not go across to Mallorca?" she inquired, in a voice that +did not reach the other room. "No," he answered, "I did not go +across to Mallorca." + +He stepped back a pace to move a chair which was too near to him, +and the movement made it impossible for her to continue the +conversation without raising her voice. She countered at once by +rising and laying the music aside. + +"I am too tired for more," she said. "You must ask Agatha to +accompany you. She plays beautifully. I have it from her mother!" + +Mrs. Harrington stood for a moment looking into the other room. +Luke and Agatha were talking together with some animation. + +"I have been very busy lately," she said conversationally. "Perhaps +you have failed to notice that I have had this room redecorated?" + +He looked round the apartments with a smile, which somehow conveyed +a colossal contempt. "Very charming," he said. + +"It was done by a good man and cost a round sum." She paused, +looking at him with a mocking glance. "In fact, I am rather in need +of money. My balance at the bank is not so large as I could wish." + +The Count's dark eyes rested on her face with the small gleam in +their depths which has already been noted. + +"I am not good at money matters," he said. "But, so far as I +recollect, you have already exceeded our--" + +"Possibly." + +"And, unless my memory plays me false, there was a distinct promise +that this should not occur again. Perhaps a lady's promise--" + +"Possibly." + +The Count contented himself with a derisive laugh beneath his +breath, and waited for her to speak again. This she did as she +moved towards the other room. + +"I think five hundred pounds would suffice--at present. Agatha," +she continued, raising her voice, "come and play the Count's +accompaniment. He finds fault with me to-night" + +"No. I only suggested a little piu lento! You take it too fast." + +"Ah! Well, I want to talk to Luke. Come, Agatha." + +"I tremble at the thought of my own temerity," said Miss Ingham- +Baker, as she seated herself on a music-stool with a great rustle of +silks and considerable play of her white arms. + +"Are you bold?" inquired the Count, with impenetrable suavity. + +"I am--to attempt your accompaniments. I expect to be found fault +with." + +"It will at all events be a novelty," he answered, setting the music +in order. + +The Spaniard opened the music-book and indicated the page. Agatha +dashed at it with characteristic confidence, and the voice of the +violin came singing softly into the melody. It was a better +performance than the last. Agatha's playing was much less correct, +but as she went on she forgot herself, and she put something into +the accompaniment which Mrs. Harrington had left out. It was not +time, neither was it a stricter attention to the composer's +instructions. It was only a possibility, after all. + +In the other room Mrs. Ingham-Baker slumbered still. Mrs. +Harrington, unmoved in her grey silk dress, was talking with her +usual incisiveness, and Luke was listening gravely. When the piece +was done, Mrs. Harrington said over her shoulder - + +"Go on. You get on splendidly together." + +And she returned to her conversation with Luke. + +The Count looked through his music. + +"How devoted she is to her nephews!" said Agatha, tapping the ivory +keyboard with a dainty finger. + +"Yes." + +"And apparently to both alike." + +There was a little flicker beneath the Count's lowered eyelids. + +"Apparently so," he answered, with assumed hesitation. + +Agatha continued playfully, tapping the ivory notes with her middle +finger--the others being gracefully curled. + +"You speak as if you doubted the impartiality." + +"I am happy to say I always doubt a woman's impartiality." + +She laughed and drew the stool nearer to the piano. It would have +been easier to drift away into the conversational channel of vague +generality which he opened up. He waited with some curiosity. + +"Do you think there is a preference?" she said, falling into his +small trap. + +"Ah! There you ask me something that is beyond my poor powers of +discrimination. Mrs. Harrington does not wear her feelings on her +sleeve. She is difficult." + +"Very," admitted Agatha, with a little sigh. + +"I am naturally interested in the FitzHenrys," she went on after a +little pause, with baffling frankness. "You see, we were children +together." + +"So I understand. I too am interested in them--merely because I +like them." + +"I am afraid," continued Agatha, tentatively turning the pages of +the music which he had set before her, speaking as if she was only +half thinking of what she was saying--"I am afraid that Mrs. +Harrington is the sort of person to do an injustice. She almost +told my mother that she intended to leave all her money to one of +them." + +Again that little flicker of the Count's patient eyelids. + +"Indeed!" he said. "To which one?" + +Agatha shrugged her shoulders and began playing. "That is not so +much the question. It is the principle--the injustice--that one +objects to." + +"Of course," murmured De Lloseta, with a little nod. "Of course." + +They went on playing, and in the other room Mrs. Harrington talked +to Luke. Mrs. Ingham-Baker appeared to slumber, but her friend and +hostess suspected her of listening. She therefore raised her voice +at intervals, knowing the exquisite torture of unsatisfied +curiosity, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker heard the word "Fitz," and the +magic syllables "money," more than once, but no connecting phrase to +soothe her aching mental palate. + +"And is your life a hard one?" Mrs. Harrington was asking. She had +been leading up to this question for some time--inviting his +confidence, seeking the extent of her own power. A woman is not +content with possessing power; she wishes to see the evidence of it +in the lives of others. + +"No," answered Luke, unconsciously disappointing her; "I cannot say +that it is." + +He was strictly, sternly on his guard. There was not the faintest +possibility of his ever forgiving this woman. + +"And you are getting on in your career?" + +"Yes, thank you." + +Mrs. Harrington's grey eyes rested on his face searchingly. + +"Perhaps I could help you," she said, "with my small influence, or-- +or by other means." + +"Thank you," he said again without anger, serene in his complete +independence. + +Mrs. Harrington frowned. A dream passed through her mind--a great +desire. What if she could crush this man's pride? For his six +years' silence had never ceased to gall her. What if she could +humble him so completely that he would come asking the help she so +carelessly offered? + +With a woman's instinct she hit upon the only possible means of +attaining this end. She did not pause to argue that a nature such +as Luke's would never ask anything for itself--that it is precisely +such as he who have no pride when they ask for another, sacrificing +even that for that other's sake. + +Following her own thoughts, Mrs. Harrington looked pensively into +the room where Agatha was sitting. The girl was playing, with a +little frown of concentration. The wonderful music close to her ear +was busy arousing that small possibility. Agatha did not know that +any one was looking at her. The two pink shades of the piano +candles cast a becoming light upon her face and form. + +Mrs. Harrington's eyes came surreptitiously round. Luke also was +looking at Agatha. And a queer little smile hovered across Mrs. +Harrington's lips. The dream was assuming more tangible +proportions. Mrs. Harrington began to see her way; already her +inordinate love of power was at work. She could not admit even to +herself that Luke FitzHenry had escaped her. Women never know when +they have had enough. + +"How long are you to be in London?" she asked, with a sudden +kindness. + +"Only a fortnight." + +"Well, you must often come and see me. I shall have the Ingham- +Bakers staying with me a few weeks longer. It is dull for poor +Agatha with only two old women in the house. Come to lunch to- +morrow, and we can do something in the afternoon." + +"Thank you very much," said Luke. + +"You will come?" + +"I should like nothing better." + +And so the music went on--and the game. Some played a losing game +from the beginning, and others played without quite knowing the +stake. Some held to certain rules, while others made the rules as +they went along--as children do--ignorant of the tears that must +inevitably follow. But Fate placed all the best cards in Mrs. +Harrington's hand. + +Luke and the Count Cipriani de Lloseta went out of the house +together. They walked side by side for some yards while a watchful +hansom followed. + +"Can I give you a lift?" said De Lloseta at length. "I am going +down to the Peregrinator's." + +"Thanks, no. I shall go straight to my rooms. I have not had my +clothes off for three nights." + +"Ah, you sailors! I am going down to have my half-hour over a book +to compose my mind." + +"Do you read much?" + +De Lloseta called the cab with a jerk of his head. Before stepping +into it he looked keenly into his companion's face. + +"Yes, a good deal. I read somewhere, lately, that it is never wise +to accept favours from a woman; she will always have more than her +money's worth. Good-night." + +And he drove away. + + + +CHAPTER X. THE GAME OPENS. + + Ce qu'on dit a l'etre a qui on dit tout n'est pas la moitie de +ce qu'on lui cache. + +Agatha sent her maid to bed and sat down before her bedroom fire to +brush her hair. + +Miss Ingham-Baker had, only four years earlier, left a fashionable +South Coast boarding-school fully educated for the battle of life. +There seem to be two classes of young ladies' boarding-schools. In +the one they are educated with a view of faring well in this world, +in the other the teaching mostly bears upon matters connected with +the next. In the last-mentioned class of establishment the young +people get up early and have very little material food to eat. So +Mrs. Ingham-Baker wisely sent her daughter to the worldly school. +This astute lady knew that girls who get up very early to attend +public worship in the dim hours, and have poor meals during the day, +do not as a rule make good matches. They have no time to do their +hair properly, and are not urged so much thereto as to punctuality +at compline, or whatever the service may be. And it is thus that +the little habits are acquired, and the little habits make the +woman, therefore the little habits make the match. Quod erat +demonstrandum. + +So Agatha was sent to a worldly school, where they promenaded in the +King's Road, and were taught at an early age to recognise the glance +of admiration when they saw it. They were brought up to desire nice +clothes, and to wear the same stylishly. On Sunday they wore +bonnets, and promenaded with additional enthusiasm. Their youthful +backs were straightened out by some process which the writer, not +having been educated at a girls' school, cannot be expected to +detail. They were given excellent meals at healthy hours, and the +reprehensible habits of the lark were treated with contumely. They +were given to understand that it was good to be smart always, and +even smarter at church. Religious fervour, if it ran to limpness of +dress, or form, or mind, was punishable according to law. A +wholesome spirit of competition was encouraged, not in the taking of +many prizes, the attending of many services, or the acquirement of +much Euclid, but in dress, smartness, and the accomplishments. + +"My girls always marry!" Miss Jones was wont to say with a +complacent smile, and mothers advertised it. + +Agatha had been an apt pupil. She came away from Miss Jones a +finished article. Miss Jones had indeed looked in vain for Agatha's +name in that right-hand column of the Morning Post where fashionable +arrangements are noted, and in the first column of the Times, where +further social events have precedence. But that was entirely +Agatha's fault. She came, and she saw, but she had not hitherto +seen anything worth conquering. So many of her school friends had +married on the impulse of the moment for mere sentimental reasons, +remaining as awful and harassed warnings in suburban retreats where +rents are moderate and the census on the flow. If there was one +thing Miss Jones despised more than love in a cottage, it was that +intangible commodity in a suburban villa. + +Agatha, in a word, meant to do well for herself, and she was dimly +grateful to her mother for having foreseen this situation and +provided for it by a suitable education. + +She was probably thinking over the matter while she brushed her +hair, for she was deeply absorbed. There was a knock at the door--a +timid, deprecatory knock. + +"Oh, come in!" cried Agatha. + +The door opened and disclosed Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, +in a ludicrous purple dressing-gown. + +"May I come and warm myself at your fire, dear?" she inquired +humbly; "my own is so low." + +"That," said Agatha, "is because you are afraid of the servants." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker closed the door and came towards the fire with +surreptitious steps. It would not be truthful to say that she came +on tiptoe, her build not warranting that mode of progression. +Agatha watched her without surprise. Mrs. Ingham-Baker always moved +like that in her dressing-gown. Like many ladies, she put on +stealth with that garment. + +"How beautifully the Count plays!" said the mother. + +"Beautifully!" answered Agatha. + +And neither was thinking of Cipriani de Lloseta. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker gave a little sigh, and contemplated her wool-work +bedroom slippers with an affection which their appearance certainly +did not warrant. There was a suggestion of bygone defeats in sigh +and attitude--defeats borne with the resignation that followeth on +habit. + +"I don't believe," she said, "that he will ever marry again." + +The girl tossed her pretty head. + +"I shouldn't think any one would have him!" + +She was not of the campaigners who admit defeat. Mrs. Ingham-Baker +sighed again, and put out the other slipper. + +"He must be very rich!--a palace in Barcelona--a palace!" + +"Other people have castles in Spain," replied Agatha, without any of +that filial respect which our grandmothers were pleased to affect. +There was nothing old-fashioned or effete about Agatha--she was, on +the contrary, essentially modern. + +The elder lady did not catch the allusion, and dived deep into +thought. She supposed that Agatha had met and danced with other +rich Spaniards, and could have any one of them by the mere raising +of her little finger. Her attitude towards her daughter was that of +an old campaigner who, having done well in a bygone time, has the +good sense to recognise the deeper science of a modern warfare, +being quite content with a small command in the rear. + +To carry out the simile, she now gathered from this conversational +reconnaissance that the younger and abler general at the front was +about to alter the object of attack. She had, in fact, come in not +to warm, but to inform herself. + +"Mrs. Harrington seemed to take to Luke," said Agatha, behind her +hair. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, proceeding carefully, for she was +well in hand--"wonderfully so! Poor Fitz seems to stand a very good +chance of being cut out." + +"Fitz will have to look after himself," opined the young lady. "Did +she say anything to you after I came to bed? I came away on +purpose." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced towards the door, and drew her dressing- +gown more closely round her. + +"WELL," she began volubly, "of course I said what a nice fellow Luke +was, so manly and simple, and all that. And she quite agreed with +me. I said that perhaps he would get on after all and not bring +disgrace upon all her kindness." + +"What do you mean by THAT?" inquired Agatha. + +"I don't know, my dear, but I said it. And she said she hoped so. +Then I asked her if she knew what his wages or salary, or whatever +they are called, amounted to, and what his prospects are. She said +she knew nothing about his salary, but that his prospects were quite +a different matter. I pretended I did not know what she meant. So +she gave a little sigh and said that one could not expect to live +for ever. I said that I was sure I wished some people could, and +she smiled in a funny way." + +"You do not seem to have done it very well," the younger and more +scientific campaigner observed coldly. + +"Oh, but it was all right, Agatha dear. I understand her so well. +And I said I was sure that Luke would deserve anything he got; that +of course it was different for Fitz, because his life is all set out +straight before him. And she said I was quite right." + +The report was finished, and Agatha sat for some moments with the +brush on her lap looking into the fire with the deep thoughtfulness +of a cool tactician. + +"I am SURE he was struck with you," said the mother fervently. + +After all she was only fit for a very small command very far in the +rear. She never saw the singular light in Agatha's eyes. + +"Do you think so?" said the girl, half dreamily. + +"I am sure of it." + +Agatha began brushing her hair again. + +"What makes you think so?" she inquired through the snaky canopy. + +"He never took his eyes off you when you were playing the Count's +accompaniment." + +The girl suddenly rose and went to the dressing-table. The candles +there were lighted, one on each side of the mirror. Agatha saw that +her mother was still admiring her bedroom slippers. Then she looked +at the reflection of her own face with the smooth hair hanging +straight down over either shoulder. She gazed long and curiously as +if seeking something in the pleasant reflection. + +"Did she say anything more about Fitz?" she asked suddenly, with an +obvious change of the subject which Mrs. Ingham-Baker did not +attempt to understand. She was not a subtle woman. + +"Nothing." + +Agatha came back and sat down. + +"And you are quite sure she said exactly what you have told me, +about not expecting to live for ever." + +"Quite." + +Then followed a long silence. A belated cab rattled past beneath +the windows. There was apparently a cowl on the chimney connected +with Agatha's room, for at intervals a faint groaning sound came, +apparently from the fireplace. + +Agatha leant forward with her chin on her two hands, her elbows on +her knees. Her hair hung almost to the ground. She was looking +into the coals with thoughtful eyes. The elder tactician waited in +respectful silence. + +"Suppose-- " said the girl suddenly, and stopped. + +"Yes, my darling." + +"Suppose we accept the Danefords' invitation?" + +"To go to Malta?" + +"Yes, to go to Malta." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell into a puzzled, harassed reverie. This +modern warfare was so complicated. The younger, keener tactician +did not seem to demand an answer to her supposition. She proceeded +to follow out the train of her own thoughts in as complete an +absorption as if she had been alone in the room. + +"The voyage," she said, "would be a pleasant change if we selected a +good boat." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker reflected for a moment. + +"We might go in the Croonah with Luke," she then observed timidly. + +"Ye-es." + +And after a little while Mrs. Ingham-Baker rose and bade her +daughter good-night. + +Agatha remained before the fire in the low chair with her face +resting on her two hands, and who can tell all that she was +thinking? For the thoughts of youth are very quick. They are +different from the thoughts of maturity, inasmuch as they rise +higher into happiness and descend deeper into misery. Agatha +Ingham-Baker knew that she had her own life to shape, with only such +blundering, well-meant assistance as her mother could give her. She +had found out that the world cannot pause to help the stricken, or +to give a hand to the fallen, but that it always has leisure to +cringe and make way for the successful. + +Other girls had been successful. Why should not she? And if--and +if - + +The next morning at breakfast Mrs. Ingham-Baker took an opportunity +of asking Mrs. Harrington if she knew Malta. + +"Malta," answered the grey lady, "is a sort of Nursery India. I +have known girls marry at Malta, but I have known more who were +obliged to go to India." + +"That," answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, "is exactly what I am afraid +of." + +"Having to go on to India?" inquired Mrs. Harrington, looking over +her letters. + +"No. I am afraid that Malta is not quite the place one would like +to take one's daughter to." + +"That depends, I should imagine, upon the views one may have +respecting one's daughter," answered the lady of the house +carelessly. + +At this moment Agatha came in looking fresh and smart in a tweed +dress. There was something about her that made people turn in the +streets to look at her again. For years she had noted this with +much satisfaction. But she was beginning to get a little tired of +the homage of the pavement. Those who turned to glance a second +time never came back to offer her a heart and a fortune. She was +perhaps beginning faintly to suspect that which many of us know-- +namely, that she who has the admiration of many rarely has the love +of one; and if by chance she gets this, she never knows its value +and rarely keeps it. + +"I was just asking Mrs. Harrington about Malta, dear," exclaimed +Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "It is a nice place, is it not, Marian?" + +"I believe it is." + +"And somehow I quite want to go there. I can't think why," said +Mrs. Ingham-Baker volubly. "It would be so nice to get a little +sunshine after these grey skies, would it not, dear?" + +Agatha gave a little shiver as she sat down. + +"It would be very nice to feel really warm," she said. "But there +is the horrid sea voyage." + +"I dare say you would enjoy that very much after the first two +days," put in Mrs. Harrington. + +"Especially if we select a nice large boat--one of those with two +funnels?" put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "Now I wonder what boat we +could go by?" + +"Luke's," suggested Mrs. Harrington, with cynical curtness. There +was a subtle suggestion of finality in her tone, a tiniest note of +weariness which almost said - + +"Now we have reached our goal." + +"I suppose," said Mrs. Ingham-Baker doubtfully, "that it is really a +fine vessel?" + +"So I am told." + +"I really expect," put in Agatha carelessly, "that one steamer is as +good as another." + +Mrs. Harrington turned on her like suave lightning. + +"But one boat is not so well officered as another, my dear!" she +said. + +Agatha--not to be brow-beaten, keen as the older fencer--looked Mrs. +Harrington straight in the face. + +"You mean Luke," she said. "Of course I dare say he is a good +officer. But one always feels doubtful about trusting one's +friends--does one not?" + +"One does," answered Mrs. Harrington, turning to her letters. + + + +CHAPTER XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA. + + All such things touch secret strings + For heavy hearts to bear. + +"And you don't seem to care." + +Agatha smiled a little inward smile of triumph. + +"Don't I?" she answered, with a sidelong glance beneath her lashes. + +Luke stared straight in front of him with set lips. He looked a +dangerous man to trifle with, and what woman can keep her hands out +of such danger as this? + +They were walking backwards and forwards on the broad promenade deck +of the Croonah, and the Croonah was gliding through the grey waters +of the Atlantic. To their left lay the coast of Portugal smiling in +the sunshine. To their right the orb of day himself, lowering +cloudless to the horizon. Ahead, bleak and lonely, lay the dread +Burlings. The maligned Bay of Biscay lay behind, and already a +large number of the passengers had plucked up spirit to leave the +cabin stairs, crawling on deck to lie supine in long chairs and talk +hopefully of calmer days to come. + +Agatha had proved herself to be a good sailor. She walked beside +Luke FitzHenry with her usual dainty firmness of step and confidence +of carriage. Luke himself--in uniform--looked sternly in earnest. + +They had been talking of Gibraltar, where the Croonah was to touch +the next morning, and Luke had just told Agatha that he could not go +ashore with her and Mrs. Ingham-Baker. + +"Don't I?" the girl reiterated with a little sigh. + +"Well, it does not sound like it." + +"The truth is," said Agatha, "that I have an inward conviction that +it would only be more trouble than it is worth." + +"What would be more trouble than it is worth?" + +"Going ashore." + +"Then you will not go?" he asked eagerly. + +"I think not," she answered, with demure downcast eyes. + +And Luke FitzHenry was the happiest man on board the Croonah. There +was no mistaking her meaning. Luke, who knew himself to be a +pessimist--a man who persistently looked for ill-fortune--felt that +her meaning could not well be other than that she preferred +remaining on board because he could not go ashore. + +The dinner bell rang out over the quiet decks, and, with a familiar +little nod, Agatha turned away from her companion. + +The next morning saw the Croonah speeding past Trafalgar's heights. +There was a whistling breeze from the west; and over the mountains +of Tarifa and the far gloomy fastness of Ceuta hung clouds and +squalls. The sea, lashed to white flecks, raced through the +straits, and every now and then a sharp shower darkened the face of +the waters. There was something forbidding and mysterious in the +scene, something dark and foreboding over the coast-line of Africa. +All eyes were fixed on the Rock, now slowly appearing from behind +the hills that hide Algeciras. + +Luke was on duty on the bridge, motionless at his post. It was a +simple matter to these mariners to make for the anchorage of +Gibraltar, and Luke was thinking of Agatha. He was recalling a +thousand little incidents which came back with a sudden warm thrill +into his heart, the chilled, stern heart of a disappointed man. He +was recollecting words that she had said, silences which she had +kept, glances which she had given him. And all told him the same +thing. All went to the core of his passionate, self-consuming +heart. + +The bay now lay before him, dotted here and there by close-reefed +sails. A few steamers lay at anchor, and, beyond the old Mole, +black coal hulks peacefully stripped of rigging. Suddenly Luke +lifted the lid of the small box affixed to the rail in front of him +and sought his glasses. For some seconds he looked through the +binoculars fixedly in the direction of the Mole. Then he moved +towards the captain. + +"That is the Kittiwake," he said. + +"Thought it looked like her!" replied the captain, intent on his own +affairs. + +Luke went back to his post. The Kittiwake! And he was not glad. +It was that that puzzled him. He was not glad. He was going to see +Fitz after many years, and twins are different from other brothers. +They usually see more of each other all through life. They are +necessary to each other. Fitz and Luke had always corresponded as +regularly as their roaming lives allowed. But for three years they +had never met. + +Luke stood with beating heart, his eyes fixed on the trim rakish- +looking little gunboat lying at anchor immediately off the Mole. He +was suddenly breathless. His light oil-skins oppressed him. There +was a vague feeling within him that he had only begun to live within +the last two weeks--all before that had been merely existence. And +now he was living too quickly, without time to define his feelings. +But the sensations were real enough. It does not take long to +acquire a feeling. + +After all he was not glad. His attention was required for a few +moments to carry out an order, and he returned to his thought. He +did not, however, think it out. He only knew that if Agatha had not +been on board the Croonah he would have been breathlessly impatient +to see his brother. Therefore he did not want Agatha and Fitz to +meet. And yet Fitz was quite different from other men. There was +no harm in Fitz, and surely he could be trusted to see Agatha for a +few hours without falling in love with her, without making Agatha +love him. + +Yet--Fitz had always succeeded where he, Luke, had failed. Fitz had +always the good things of life. It was all luck. It had been luck +from the very beginning. Another order required the second +officer's full mind and attention. There were a thousand matters to +be attended to, for the Croonah was enormous, unwieldy. + +In the execution of his duties Luke began presently to forget +himself. He did not attempt to define his thoughts. He did not +even reflect that he knew so little of his brother that this meeting +could not possibly cause him this sudden uneasiness, this foreboding +care, from THAT side of the question. He did not fear for Fitz to +meet Agatha, he really dreaded Agatha seeing Fitz. + +The Croonah moved into her anchorage with that gentle strength which +in a large steamer seems to indicate that she is thinking about it +and doing it all herself. For in these days there is no shouting, +no call of boatswain's whistle; and the ordinary observer hardly +notices the quiet deus ex machina, the man on the bridge. + +Hardly had the anchor splashed home with a rattle of cable that +vibrated through the ship, when a small white boat shot out from +behind the smart Kittiwake, impelled by the short and regular beat +of ten oars. There was a man seated in the stern enveloped in a +large black boat cloak--for Gibraltar harbour is choppy when the +westerly breezes blow--a man who looked the Croonah up and down with +a curious searching eye. The boat shot alongside the vast steamer-- +the bowman neatly catching a rope that was thrown to him--and the +officer clambered up the swaying gangway. + +He pushed his way gently through the passengers, the cloak flying +partially open as he did so and displaying Her Majesty's uniform. +He treated all these people with that patient tolerance which +belongs to the mariner when dealing with landsmen. They were so +many sheep penned up in a conveyance. Well-dressed sheep, he +admitted tacitly by the withdrawal of his dripping cloak from their +contact, but he treated them in the bulk, failing to notice one more +than another. He utterly failed to observe Agatha Ingham-Baker, +dainty and fresh in blue serge and a pert sailor hat. She knew him +at once, and his want of observation was set down in her mind +against him. She did not want him to recognise her. Not at all. +She merely wanted him to look at her, and then to look again--to +throw a passing crumb of admiration to her greedy vanity, which +lived on such daily food. + +Fitz, intent on his errand, pushed his way towards the steps leading +up through the awning to the bridge. He seemed to know by some +sailor instinct where to find it. He paused at the foot of the iron +steps to give an order to the man who followed at his heel, and the +attitude was Luke's. The onlookers saw at a glance who this must +be. The resemblance was startling. There was merely Luke FitzHenry +over again, somewhat fairer, a little taller, but the same man. + +The captain gave a sudden bluff laugh when Fitz emerged on the +little spidery bridge far above the deck. + +"No doubt who you are, sir," he said, holding out his hand. + +Then he stepped aside, and the two brothers met. They said nothing, +merely shaking hands, and Luke's eyes involuntarily went to the +smart, simple uniform half hidden by the cloak. Fitz saw the glance +and drew his cloak hastily round him. It was unfortunate. + +And this was their meeting after three years. + +"By George!" exclaimed Fitz, after a momentary pause, "she IS a fine +ship!" + +Luke rested his hands on the white painted rail--almost a caress to +the great steamer--and followed the direction of his brother's +glance, + +"Yes," he admitted slowly, "yes, she is a good boat." + +And then his deep eyes wandered involuntarily towards the tiny +Kittiwake--smart, man-of-war-like at her anchorage--and a sudden +sharp sigh broke from his lips. He had not got over it yet. He +never would. + +"So you have got away," he went on, "from Mahon at last?" + +"Yes," answered Fitz. + +"I should think you have had enough of Minorca to last you the rest +of your life," said Luke, looking abruptly down at the quarrelling +boatmen and the tangle of tossing craft beneath them. + +"It is not such a bad place as all that," replied Fitz. "I--I +rather like it." + +There was a little pause, and quite suddenly Luke said - + +"The Ingham-Bakers are on board." + +It would almost seem that these twin minds followed each other into +the same train of thought. Fitz frowned with an air of +reflectiveness. + +"The Ingham-Bakers," he said. "Who are they?" + +Luke gave a little laugh which almost expressed a sudden relief. + +"Don't you remember?" he said. "She is a friend of Mrs. +Harrington's, and--and there is Agatha, her daughter." + +"I remember--stout. Not the daughter, the old woman, I mean. Oh-- +yes. Where are they going?" + +"To Malta." + +It was perfectly obvious, even to Luke, that the Ingham-Bakers' +immediate or projective destination was a matter of the utmost +indifference to Fitz, who was more interested in the Croonah than in +her passengers. + +They were both conscious of an indefinite feeling of disappointment. +This meeting after years of absence was not as it should be. +Something seemed to stand between them--a shadow, a myth, a tiny +distinction. Luke, with characteristic pessimism, saw it first-- +felt its chill, intangible presence before his less subtle-minded +brother. Then Fitz saw it, and, as was his habit, he went at it +unhesitatingly + +"Gad!" he explained, "I am glad to see you, old chap. Long time, +isn't it, since we saw each other? You must come back with me, and +have lunch or something. The men will be awfully glad to make your +acquaintance. You can look over the ship, though she is not much to +look at, you know! Not up to this. She is a fine ship, Luke! What +can she steam?" + +"She can do her twenty," answered the second officer of the Croonah, +indifferently. + +"Yes, she looks it. Well, can you get away now?" + +Luke shook his head. + +"No," he answered almost ungraciously, "I can't leave the ship." + +"What! Not to come and look over the Kittiwake?" Fitz's face fell +visibly. He did not seem to be able to realise that any one should +be equal to relinquishing without a murmur the opportunity of +looking over the Kittiwake. + +"No, I am afraid not. We have our discipline too, you know. +Besides, we are rather like railway guards. We must keep up to +time. We shall be under way by two o'clock." + +Fitz pressed the point no further. He had been brought up to +discipline since childhood--moreover, he was rather clever in a +simple way, and he had found out that it would be no pleasure but a +pain to Luke to board a ship flying the white ensign. + +"Can I stay on board to lunch with you?" he asked easily. "Goodness +only knows when we shall run against each other again. It was the +merest chance. We only got in last night. I was just going ashore +to report when we saw the old Croonah come pounding in. That"--he +paused and drew his cloak closer--"is why I am in my war-paint! We +are going straight home." + +"Stay by all means," said Luke. + +Fitz nodded. + +"I suppose," he added as an afterthought, "that I ought to pay my +respects to Mrs. Ingham-Baker?" + +Luke's face cleared suddenly. Fitz had evidently forgotten about +Agatha. + +"I will ask them to lunch with us in my cabin," he said. + +And presently they left the bridge. + +In due course Fitz was presented to the Ingham-Bakers, and Agatha +was very gracious. Fitz looked at her a good deal. Simply because +she made him. She directed all her conversation and eke her bright +eyes in his direction. He listened, and when necessary he laughed a +jolly resounding laugh. How could she tell that he was drawing +comparisons all the while? It is the simple-minded men who puzzle +women most. Whenever Luke's face clouded she swept away the +gathering gloom with some small familiar attention--some reference +to him in her conversation with Fitz which somehow brought him +nearer and set Fitz further off. + +Suddenly, on hearing that Fitz hoped to be in England within a week, +Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell heavily into conversation. + +"I am afraid," she said, "that you will find our dear Mrs. +Harrington more difficult to get on with than ever. In fact--he, +he!--I almost feel inclined to advise you not to try. But I suppose +you will not be much in London?" + +Fitz looked at her with clear, keen blue eyes. + +"I expect to be there some time," he answered. "I hope to stay with +Mrs. Harrington." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced at Agatha, and returned somewhat hastily +to her galantine of veal. + +Agatha was drumming on the table with her fingers. + + + +CHAPTER XII. A SHUFFLE. + + To love is good, no doubt, but you love best + A calm safe life, with wealth and ease and rest. + +The Croonah ran round Europa Point into fine weather, and the wise +old captain--who felt the pulse of the saloon with unerring touch-- +deemed it expedient to pin upon the board the notice of a ball to be +given on the following night. There was considerable worldly +knowledge in this proceeding. The passengers still had the air of +Europe in their lungs, the energy of Europe in their limbs. Nothing +pulls a ship full of people together so effectually as a ball. +Nothing gives such absorbing employment to the female mind which +would otherwise get into hopeless mischief. Besides they had been +at sea five days, and the captain knew that more than one ingenuous +maiden, sitting in thoughtful idleness about the decks, was lost in +vague forebodings as to the creases in her dresses ruthlessly packed +away in the hold. + +The passengers were, in fact, finding their sea-legs, which, from +the captain's point of view, meant that the inner men and the outer +women would now require and receive a daily increasing attention. +So he said a word to the head cook, and to the fourth officer he +muttered - + +"Let the women have their trunks!" + +When, on the evening of the ball, Agatha appeared at the door of her +mother's cabin, that good lady's face fell. + +"What, dear? Your old black!" + +"Yes, dear, my old black," replied the dutiful daughter. She was +arranging a small bouquet of violets in the front of her dress--a +bouquet she had found in her cabin when she went to dress. Luke +had, no doubt, sent ashore for them at Gibraltar--and there was +something of the unknown, the vaguely possible, in his manner of +placing them on her tiny dressing-table, without a word of +explanation, which appealed to her jaded imagination. + +There was some suggestion of recklessness about Agatha, which her +mother almost detected--something which had never been suggested in +the subtler element of London drawing-room. The girl spoke in a +short, sharp way which was new to the much-snubbed rear-commander. +Agatha still had this when Luke asked her for a dance. + +"Yes," she answered curtly, handing him the card and avoiding his +eyes. + +He stepped back to take advantage of the light of a swinging +hurricane lamp, and leant against the awning which had been closed +in all round. + +"How many may I have?" he asked. + +She continued to look anywhere except in his direction. Then quite +suddenly she gave a little laugh. + +"All." + +"What?" he added, with a catch in his breath. + +"You may have them all." + +There was a pause; then Agatha turned with a half-mocking smile, and +looked at him. For the first time in her life she was really +frightened. She had never seen passion in a man's face before. It +was the one thing she had never encountered in the daily round of +social effort in London. Not an evil passion, but the strong +passion of love, which is as rare in human beings as is genius. He +was standing in a conventional attitude, holding her programme--and +that which took the girl's breath away lay in his eyes alone. + +She could not meet his look, for she felt suddenly quite puny and +small and powerless. She realised in that flash of thought that +there was a whole side of life of which she had never suspected the +existence. After all, she was learning the lesson that millions of +women have to learn before they quite realise what life is. + +She smiled nervously, and looked hard at the little card in his +strong, still hands--wondering what she had done. She saw him write +his name opposite five or six dances. Then he handed her the card, +and left her with a grave bow--left her without a word of +explanation, to take his silence and explain it if she could. That +sense of the unknown in him, which appealed so strongly to her, +seemed to rise and envelop her in a maze of thought and imagination +which was bewildering in its intensity--thrilling with a new life. + +When he came back later to claim his first dance, he was quietly +polite, and nothing else. They danced until the music stopped, and +Agatha knew that she had met her match in this as in other matters. + +The dancers trooped out to the dimly-lighted deck, while the +quartermaster raised the awning to allow the fresh air to circulate. +Luke and Agatha went with the rest, her hand resting unsteadily on +his sleeve. She had never felt unsteady like this before. She was +conscious, probably for the first time in her life, of a strange, +creeping fear. She was distinctly afraid of the first words that +her partner would say when they were alone. Spread out over the +broad deck the many passengers seemed but a few. It was almost +solitude--and Agatha was afraid of solitude with Luke. Yet she had +selected a dress which she knew would appeal to him. She had +dressed for him--which means something from a woman's point of view. +She had welcomed this ball with a certain reckless throb of +excitement, not for its own sake, but for Luke's. The unerring +instinct of her vanity had not played her false. She had succeeded, +and now she was afraid of her success. There is a subtle fear in +all success, and an indefinite responsibility. + +Luke knew the ship. He led the way to a deserted corner of the +deck, with a deliberation which set Agatha's heart beating. + +"What did you mean when you said I could have all the dances?" asked +Luke slowly. His eyes gleamed deeply as he looked down at her. And +Agatha had no answer ready. + +She stood before him with downcast eyes--like a chidden child who +has been meddling with danger. + +And suddenly his arms were round her. She gave a little gasp, but +made no attempt to escape from him. This was all so different, so +new to her. There was something in the strong salt air blowing over +them which seemed to purify the world and raise them above the +sordid cares thereof. There was something simple and strong and +primitive in this man--at home on his own element, all filled with +the strength of the ocean--mastering her, claiming her as if by +force. + +"What did you mean?" he asked again. + +She pushed him away, and turning stood beside him with her two hands +resting on the rail, her back turned towards him. + +"Oh, Luke," she whispered at length, "I can't be poor--I CAN'T--I +can't. You do not know what it is. It has always been such a +struggle--there is no rest in it." + +It is said that women can raise men above the world. How often do +they bring them down to it when they are raising themselves! + +And Luke's love was large enough to accept her as she was. + +"And if I were not poor?" he asked, without any of the sullen pride +that was his. + +She answered nothing, and he read her silence aright. + +"I will become rich," he said, "somehow. I do not care how. I +will, I will--Agatha!" + +She did not dare to meet his eyes. + +"Come," she said. "Come--let us go back." + +They danced together again, but Agatha refused to sit anywhere but +beneath the awning. While they were dancing they did not speak. He +never took his eyes off her, and she never looked at him. + +Then, just as he was, with a pilot jacket exchanged for his dress +coat, Luke had to go on duty on the bridge. While he stood there, +far above the lighted decks, alone at his post in the dark, keen and +watchful, still as a statue, the sound of the dance music rose up +and enveloped him like the echo of a happy dream. + +Presently the music ceased, and the weary dancers went below, +leaving Luke FitzHenry to his own thoughts. + +All the world seemed to be asleep except these two men--one +motionless on the bridge, the other alert in the dimly lighted +wheelhouse. The Croonah herself seemed to slumber with the regular +beating of a great restless heart far down in her iron being. + +The dawn was now creeping up into the eastern sky, touching the face +of the waters with a soft, pearly light. A few straight streaks of +cloud became faintly outlined. The moon looked yellow and +deathlike. + +Luke stood watching the rise of a new day, and with it there seemed +to be rising within him a new life. + +Beneath his feet, in her dainty cabin, Agatha Ingham-Baker saw that +dawn also. She was standing with her arms folded on the upper berth +breast high. She had been standing there an hour. She was alone in +the cabin, for Luke had secured separate rooms for the two ladies. + +Agatha had not moved since she came down from the ball. She did not +seem to be thinking of going to bed. The large square port-hole was +open, and the cool breeze fluttered the lace of her dress, stirring +the dead violets at her breast. + +Her finely cut features were set with a look of strong +determination. "I can't--I can't be poor," she was repeating to +herself with a mechanical monotony. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. A CHOICE. + + 'Tis better far to love and be poor, + Than be rich with an empty heart. + +Mrs. Harrington was sitting in the great drawing-room in Grosvenor +Gardens, alone. The butler was fuming and cleaning plate in his +pantry. The maid was weeping in the workroom. Mrs. Harrington had +had a busy afternoon. + +"'Tis always thus when she's alone in the house," the cook had said, +with a grandiosity of style borrowed from the Family Herald. It is +easy for the cook to be grandiose when the butler and the lady's- +maid are in trouble. Thus philosophy walketh in at the back door. + +Mrs. Harrington's sharp grey face twitched at times with a certain +restlessness which was hers when she had no one at hand to bully. +She could not concentrate her attention on the newspaper she held in +her hands, and at intervals her eyes wandered over the room in +search of something to find fault with. She made the mistake common +to persons under such circumstances--she forgot to look in the +mirror. Mrs. Harrington was tired of herself. She wished someone +would call. At the same time she felt a cordial dislike to all her +friends. + +It was a hopelessly grey afternoon early in December, and every one +was out of London. Mrs. Harrington had a certain circle of friends- +-middle-aged or elderly women, rich like herself, lonely like +herself--whom she despised. They all rather disliked each other, +these women, but they visited nevertheless. They dined together +seriously; keeping in mind the cook, and watchful over the wine. +But the majority of these ladies had gone away for the winter. The +Riviera was created for such. + +Mrs. Harrington, however, never went abroad in the winter. She said +that she had travelled too much when she was younger--in the +lifetime of her husband--to care about it now. The Honourable +George Henry Harrington had, in fact, lived abroad for financial +reasons, and the name was not of sweet savour in the nostrils of +hotel-keepers. The married life referred to occasionally in cold +tones by the Honourable Mrs. Harrington had been of that order which +is curtly called "cat and dog," and likewise "hand to mouth." + +Therefore Mrs. Harrington avoided the Continent. She could easily, +of her affluence, have paid certain large debts which she knew to be +outstanding, but she held a theory that dead men owe nothing. And +with this theory she lubricated an easy-going conscience. + +The mistress of the large house in Grosvenor Gardens was wondering +discontentedly what she was going to do with herself until tea-time, +when she heard the sound of a bell ringing far down in the basement. +Despite the grand drawing-room, despite the rich rustle of her grey +silk dress, this great lady peeped from behind the curtain, and saw +a hansom cab. + +A few minutes later the door was thrown open by the angry butler. + +"Miss Challoner--Captain Bontnor." + +Eve came in, and at her heels Captain Bontnor, who sheered off as it +were from the butler, and gave him a wide berth. + +Mrs. Harrington could be gracious when she liked. She liked now, +and she would have kissed her visitor had that young lady shown any +desire for such an honour. But there was a faint reflex of Spanish +ceremony in Eve Challoner, of which she was probably unaware. A few +years ago it would not have been noticeable, but to-day we are hail- +fellow-well-met even with ladies--which is a mistake, on the part of +the ladies. + +"So you received my letter, my dear," said Mrs. Harrington. + +"Yes," replied Eve. "This is my uncle--Captain Bontnor." + +Mrs. Harrington had the bad taste to raise her eyebrows +infinitesimally, and Captain Bontnor saw it. + +"How do you do?" said Mrs. Harrington, with a stiff bow. + +"I am quite well, thank you, marm," replied the sailor, with more +aplomb than Eve had yet seen him display. + +Without waiting to hear this satisfactory intelligence, Mrs. +Harrington turned to Eve again. She evidently intended to ignore +Captain Bontnor systematically and completely. + +"You know," she said, "I am related to your father--" + +"By marriage," put in Captain Bontnor, with simple bluntness. He +was brushing his hat with a large pocket-handkerchief. + +"And I have pleasant recollections of his kindness in past years. I +stayed with him at the Casa d'Erraha more than once. I was staying +there when--well, some years ago. I think you had better come and +live with me until your poor father's affairs have been put in +order." + +Captain Bontnor raised his head and ceased his operations on the +dusty hat. His keen old eyes, full of opposition, were fixed on +Eve's face. He was quite ready to be rude again, but women know how +to avoid these shallow places better than men, with a policy which +is not always expedient perhaps. + +"Thank you," replied Eve. "Thank you very much, but my uncle has +kindly offered me a home." + +Mrs. Harrington's grey face suggested a scorn which she apparently +did not think it worth while to conceal from a person who wiped the +inside of his hat with his pocket-handkerchief in a lady's presence. + +"But," she said coldly, "I should think that your uncle cannot fail +to see the superior advantages of the offer I am now making you, +from a social point of view, if from no other." + +"I do see them advantages, marm," said the captain bluntly. He +looked at Eve with something dog-like peering from beneath his +shaggy eyebrows. + +"Of course," continued Mrs. Harrington, ignoring the confession, +"you have been brought up as a lady, and are accustomed to +refinement, and in some degree to luxury." + +"You needn't make it any plainer, marm," blurted out Captain +Bontnor. "I don't need you to tell me that my niece is above me. I +don't set up for bein' anything nor what I am. There's not much of +the gentleman about me. But--" + +He paused, and half turned towards Eve. + +"But, 'cording to my lights, I'm seeking to do my duty towards the +orphan child of my sister Amelia Ann." + +"Not overlooking the fact, I suppose, that the orphan child of your +sister Amelia Ann has a very fair income of her own." + +Captain Bontnor smiled blandly, and smoothed his hat with his +sleeve. + +"Not overlooking that fact, marm," he said, "if you choose to take +it so." + +Mrs. Harrington turned to Eve again with a faint reflex of her +overbearing manner towards the Ingham-Bakers and other persons who +found it expedient to submit. + +"You will see at a glance," she said, "that it is impossible for you +to live with Captain Bontnor." + +"I have already accepted his kind offer," returned the girl. "Thank +you, nevertheless." + +"But," said Mrs. Harrington, "that was before you knew that I was +ready to make a home for you." + +Captain Bontnor had turned away. He blew his nose so loudly that +Mrs. Harrington frowned. There was something trumpet-like and +defiant in the sound. Opposition had ever a strange effect on this +spoilt woman. She liked it, as serving to enhance the value of the +wish which she rarely failed to gratify in the end. + +"You must remember your position," she continued. "These are very +democratic days, when silly people think that all men are equal. A +lady is nevertheless still a lady, and a gentleman a gentleman, +though one does not often meet them. I wish you to come and live +with me." + +Eve's dark eyes flashed suddenly. She glanced at her uncle, and +said nothing. + +"A girl with money is a ready dupe to designing persons," added Mrs. +Harrington. + +"I am saved that danger, for I have no money," replied Eve. + +"Nonsense, child! I know the value of land in Mallorca. I see +already that you are being deceived." + +She glanced significantly towards the captain, who was again smiling +blandly. + +"The matter has been fully gone into," explained Eve, "by competent +persons. The Val d'Erraha does not belong to me. It was held by my +father only on 'rotas'--the Minorcan form of lease--and it has now +been returned to the proprietor." + +Mrs. Harrington's keen face dropped. She prided herself upon being +a woman of business, and as such had always taken a deep interest in +the affairs of other people. It is to be presumed that women have a +larger mental grasp than men. They crave for more business when +they are business-like, and thus by easy steps descend to mere +officiousness. + +Eve's story was so very simple and, to the ears of one who had known +her father, so extremely likely, that Mrs. Harrington had for the +moment nothing to say. She knew the working of the singular system +on which land is to this day held in tenure in Majorca and Minorca, +and there was no reason to suppose that there was any mistake or +deception respecting the estate of the Val d'Erraha. + +A dramatist of considerable talent, who is not sufficiently studied +in these modern times, has said that a man in his time plays many +parts. He left it to be understood that a woman plays only one. +The business woman is the business woman all through her life--she +is never the charitable lady, even for a moment. + +Mrs. Harrington had wished to have the bringing out of a beautiful +heiress. She had no desire to support a penniless orphan. The +matter had, in her mind, taken the usual form of a contract in black +and white. Mrs. Harrington would supply position and a suitable +home--Eve was to have paid for her own dresses--chosen by the elder +contractor--and to have filled gracefully the gratifying, if hollow, +position of a young person of means looking for a husband. + +Mrs. Harrington's business habits had, in fact, kept her fully alive +to the advantages likely to accrue to herself; and the small fact +that Eve was penniless reduced these advantages to a mythical reward +in the hereafter. And business people have not time to think of the +hereafter. + +It is possible that simple old Captain Bontnor in part divined these +thoughts in the set grey eyes, the grey wrinkled face. + +"You'll understand, marm," he said, "that my niece will not be in a +position to live the sort o' life"--he paused, and looked round the +vast room, quite without admiration--"the sort o' life you're livin' +here. She couldn't keep up the position." + +"It would not be for long," said Mrs. Harrington, already weighing +an alternative plan. She looked critically at Eve, noting, with the +appraising eye of a middle-aged woman of the world, the grace of her +straight young form, the unusual beauty of her face. "If you could +manage to allow her sufficient to dress suitably for one season, I +dare say she would make a suitable marriage." + +Eve turned on her with a flash of bright dark eyes. "Thank you; I +do not want to make a suitable marriage." + +Captain Bontnor laid his hand on her arm. + +"My dear," he said, "don't take any heed of her. She doesn't know +any better. I have heard tell of such women, but"--he looked round +the room--"I did not look to meet with one in a house like this. I +did not know they called themselves ladies." + +Mrs. Harrington gasped. She lived in a world where people think +such things as these, but do not say them. Captain Bontnor, on the +other hand, had not yet encountered a person of whom he was so much +afraid as to conceal a hostile opinion, should he harbour such. + +He was patting Eve's gloved hand as if she had been physically hurt, +and Eve smiled down into his sympathetic old face. It is a singular +fact that utter worldliness in a woman seems to hurt women less than +it does men. + +Mrs. Harrington, with frigid dignity, ignored Captain Bontnor, and +addressed herself exclusively to Eve. + +"You must be good enough to remember," she said, "that I can +scarcely have other motives than those of kindness." + +A woman is so conscious of the weak links in her chain of argument, +that she usually examines them publicly. + +"I do remember that," replied Eve, rather softened by the grey +loneliness of this woman's life--a loneliness which seemed to be +sitting on all the empty chairs--"and I am very grateful to you. I +think, perhaps, my uncle misunderstood you. But--" + +"Yes--but--" + +"Under the circumstances, I think it will be wiser for me to accept +his kind offer, and make my home with him. I hope to be able to +find some work which will enable me to--to help somewhat towards the +household expenses." + +Mrs. Harrington shrugged her shoulders. + +"As you like," she said. "After a few months of a governess's life +perhaps you may reconsider your decision. I know--" + +She was going to say that she knew what it was, but she recollected +herself in time. + +"I know," she said instead, "girls who have lived such lives." + +With the air of Spain Eve Challoner seemed to have inhaled some of +the Spanish pride, which is as a stone wall against which charity +and pity may alike beat in vain. From her superior height the girl +looked down on the keen-faced little woman. + +"I am not in a position to choose," she said. "I am prepared for +some small hardships." + +Mrs. Harrington turned to ring the bell. With the sudden caprice +which her money had enabled her to cultivate, she had taken a liking +to Eve. + +"You will have some tea?" she said. + +Eve turned to thank her, and suddenly her heart leaped to her +throat. She caught her breath, and did not answer for a moment. + +"Thank you," she said; and her eyes stole back to the mantelpiece, +where a large photograph of Fitz seemed to watch her with a quiet, +thoughtful smile. + +The whole room appeared to be different after that. Mrs. Harrington +seemed to be a different woman--the world seemed suddenly to be a +smaller place and less lonely. + +During the remainder of the short visit they talked of indifferent +topics, while Captain Bontnor remained silent. Mrs. Harrington's +caprice grew stronger, and before tea was over she said - + +"My dear, if you will not come and live with me, at all events make +use of me. Your uncle will, no doubt, have to make some small +changes in his household. I propose that you stay with me a week or +ten days, until he is ready for you." + +This with a slight conciliatory bow towards Captain Bontnor, who +stared remorselessly at the clock. + +"Thank you; I should very much like to," said Eve, mindful of the +mantelpiece. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. A QUATRE. + + There is so much that no one knows, + So much unreached that none suppose. + +"I want you to put on a nice dress to-night. I have two friends +coming to dine." + +Eve looked up from the book she was reading, and Mrs. Harrington +tempered her curt manner of expressing her wishes with a rare smile. +She often did this for Eve's benefit, almost unconsciously. In some +indefinite way she was rather afraid of this girl. + +"I will do my best," answered Eve, her mind only half weaned from +the pages. + +She had been ten days in the house, and the somewhat luxurious +comfort of it appealed to a faintly developed love of peace and ease +which had been filtered into her soul with the air of a Southern +land. She had found it easier to get on with Mrs. Harrington than +she at first anticipated. Her nature, which was essentially +womanly, had in reality long craved for the intimate sympathy and +intercourse which only another woman could supply. There was +something indolent and restful in the very atmosphere of the house +that supplied a distinct want in the motherless girl's life. There +were a number of vague possibilities of trouble in the world, half +perceived, half divined by Eve; which possibilities Mrs. Harrington +seemed capable of meeting and fending off. + +It was all indefinite and misty, but Eve felt at rest, and, as it +were, under protection, in the house of this hard, cold woman of the +world. + +"It can only be a black one," the girl answered. + +"Yes; but people don't know what a black dress is until they have +seen one that has been made in Spain." + +Eve did not return at once to her book. She was, in fact, thinking +about her dress--being in no way superior to such matters. + +When she came down into the drawing-room, an hour later, she found +awaiting her there the two men about whom she thought most. + +Cipriani de Lloseta and Fitz were standing on the hearthrug +together. Mrs. Harrington had not yet come down. They came forward +together, the Count taking her hand first, with his courteous bow. +Fitz followed, shaking hands in silence, with that simplicity which +she had learned to look for and to like in him. + +"I wonder," said Eve, "why Mrs. Harrington did not tell me that you +were the two friends she expected to dinner?" + +The Count smiled darkly. + +"Perhaps our hostess does not know that we have met before--" he +began; and stopped suddenly when the door opened, and the rustle of +Mrs. Harrington's silk dress heralded her coming. + +Her quick eyes flashed over them with a comprehensive appreciation +of the situation. + +"You all seem to know each other," she said sharply. "I knew that +Fitz had been of some service to you at D'Erraha; but I was not +aware that you knew the Count de Lloseta." + +"The Count de Lloseta was very kind to me at Barcelona--on a matter +of business," explained Eve innocently. + +Mrs. Harrington turned upon the Spaniard quickly, but nevertheless +too late to catch the warning frown which he had directed towards +Eve. Mrs. Harrington looked keenly into his face, which was blandly +imperturbable. + +"Then you are the owner of D'Erraha?" + +"I am." + +Mrs. Harrington gave a strange little laugh. + +"What a rich man you are!" she said. "Come! Let us go to dinner." + +She took the Count's arm, and led the way to the dining-room. She +was visibly absent-minded at first, as if pondering over something +which had come as a surprise to her. Then she woke from her +reverie, and, turning to Fitz, said - + +"And what do you think of the Baleares?" + +"I like them," returned Fitz curtly. + +He thought it was bad taste thus to turn the conversation upon a +subject which could only be painful to Eve. He only thought of Eve, +and therefore did not notice the patient endurance of the Count's +face. + +De Lloseta was taking his soup with a slow concentration of his +attention upon its flavour, as if trying not to hear the +conversation. Mrs. Harrington looked sharply at him, and in doing +so failed to intercept a glance, exchanged by Fitz and Eve across +the table. + +"Why are you here?" Fitz seemed to be asking. + +And Eve reassured him by a little smile. + +"There is one advantage in your long exile at Mahon," pursued the +hostess inexorably. "It must have been economical. You could not +have wanted money there." + +Fitz laughed. + +"Hardly so Arcadian as that," he said. + +The Count looked up. + +"I suppose," he said, "that the port where one does not want money +is yet to be discovered?" + +Mrs. Harrington, sipping her sherry, glanced at the speaker. + +"Surely," she said lightly, "you are talking of what you know +absolutely nothing." + +"Pardon me"--without looking up. + +Mrs. Harrington laughed. + +"Ah," she said, "we three know too much about you to believe that. +Now, what can a lone man like you want with money?" + +"A lone man may happen to be saddled with a name of--well, of some +repute--an expensive luxury." + +"And you think that a great name is worth spending a fortune upon, +like a garden, merely to keep it up?" + +"I do." + +"You think it worth all that?" + +The dark, inscrutable eyes were raised deliberately to her face. + +"Assuredly you must know that I do," he said. + +Mrs. Harrington laughed, and changed the subject. She knew this +man's face well, and her knowledge told her that he was at the end +of his patience. + +"So you saw Luke at Gibraltar?" she said, turning to Fitz. + +"Yes, for a short time. I had never seen the Croonah before. She +is a fine ship." + +"So I understand. So fine, indeed, that two friends of mine, the +Ingham-Bakers, were induced to go to Malta in her. There is no +limit now to feminine enterprise. Mothers are wonderful, and their +daughters no less so. N'est-ce pas, Senor?" + +"All ladies are wonderful!" said the Count, with a grave bow. "They +are as the good God made them." + +"I don't agree with you there," snapped Mrs. Harrington. "So you +saw the Ingham-Bakers also, Fitz?" + +"Yes; they lunched with us." + +"And Agatha was very pleasant, no doubt?" + +"Very." + +"She always is--to men. The Count admires her greatly. She makes +him do so." + +"She has an easy task," put in De Lloseta quietly. It almost seemed +that there was some feeling about Agatha between these two people. + +"You know," Mrs. Harrington went on, addressing herself to Fitz, +"that Luke and I have made it up. We are friends now." + +Fitz did not answer at once. His face clouded over. Seen thus in +anger, it was almost a hard face, older and somewhat worn. He +raised his eyes, and they as suddenly softened, for Eve's eyes had +met them, and she seemed to understand. + +"I am not inclined to discuss Luke," he said quietly. + +"My dear, I did not propose doing so," answered Mrs. Harrington, and +her voice was so humble and conciliatory that De Lloseta looked up +from his plate, from one face to the other. + +That Mrs. Harrington should accept this reproof thus humbly seemed +to come as a surprise to them all, except Fitz, who went on eating +his dinner with a singular composure. + +It would appear that Mrs. Harrington had been put out of temper by +some small incident at the beginning of the dinner, and, like a +spoilt child, proceeded to vent her displeasure on all and sundry. +In the same way she would no doubt have continued, unless spoken +sharply to, as Fitz had spoken. + +For now her manner quite changed, and the rest of the meal passed +pleasantly enough. Mrs. Harrington now devoted herself to her +guests, and as carefully avoided dangerous subjects as she had +hitherto appeared to seek them. + +After dinner she asked the Count to tune his violin, while she +herself prepared to play his accompaniment. + +Fitz lighted the candles and set the music ready with a certain +neatness of hand rarely acquired by landsmen, and then returned to +the smaller drawing-room, where Eve was seated by the fire, +needlework in hand. + +He stood for a moment leaning against the mantelpiece. Perhaps he +was waiting for her to speak. Perhaps he did not realise how much +there was in his long, silent gaze. + +"How long have you been here?" he asked, when the music began. + +"Ten days," she answered, without looking up. + +"But you are not going to live here?"--with some misgiving. + +"Oh no. I am going to live with my uncle in Suffolk." + +He moved away a few steps to pick up a fallen newspaper. Presently +he came back to her, resuming his former position at the corner of +the mantelpiece. + +It was Eve who spoke next--smoothing out her silken trifle of +needlework and looking at it critically. + +"I never thanked you," she said, "for all your kindness to me at +D'Erraha. You were a friend in need." + +It was quite different from what it had been at D'Erraha. Possibly +it was as different as were the atmospheres of the two places. Eve +seemed to have something of London in the reserve of her manner--the +easy insincerity of her speech. She was no longer a girl untainted +by worldliness--sincere, frank, and open. + +Fitz was rather taken aback. + +"Oh," he answered, "I could not do much. There was really nothing +that I could do except to stand by in case I might be wanted." + +Eve took up her needle again. + +"But," she said, "that is already something. It is often a great +comfort, especially to women, to know that there is some one +'standing by,' as you call it, in case they are wanted." + +She gave a little laugh, and then suddenly became quite grave. The +recollection of a conversation they had had at D'Erraha had flashed +across her memory, as recollections do--at the wrong time. The +conversation she remembered was recorded at the time--it was almost +word for word with this, but quite different. + +Fitz was looking at her with his impenetrable simplicity. + +"Will you oblige me," he said, "by continuing to look upon me in +that light?" + +She had bent her head rather far over her work as he spoke, and as +he said the last five words her breath seemed to come with a little +catch, as if she had pricked her finger. + +The musicians were just finishing a brilliant performance, and +before answering Fitz she looked round into the other room, nodded, +smiled, and thanked them. Then she turned to him, still speaking in +the light and rather indifferent tone which was so new to him, and +said - + +"Thank you very much, but of course I have my uncle. How--how long +will you be--staying on shore? You deserve a long leave, do you +not?" + +"Yes, I suppose I do," said Fitz absently. He had evidently +listened more to the voice than the words. He forgot to answer the +question. But she repeated it. + +"How long do you get?" she asked, hopelessly conversational. + +"About three weeks." + +"Is that all? Ah! here is tea. I wonder whether I ought to offer +to pour it out!" + +But Mrs. Harrington left the piano, and said that her sight was +failing her. She had had enough music. + +During the rest of the evening Fitz took one or two opportunities of +looking at Eve to discover, if he could, what the difference was +that he found in her. He had left a girl in Majorca--he found a +woman in London. That was the whole difference; but he did not +succeed in reducing it to so many words. He had passed most of his +life at sea among men. He had not, therefore, had much opportunity +of acquiring that doubtful knowledge--the knowledge of women--the +only item, by the way, which men will never include among the +sciences of existence. Already they know more about the stars than +they do about women. Even if Fitz had possessed this knowledge he +would not have turned it to account. The wisest fail to do that. +We only make use of our knowledge of women in the study of those +women with whom other men have to do. + +"Fitz has grown rather dull and stupid," said Mrs. Harrington, when +the two guests had taken their leave. + +Eve was folding up her work, and did not answer. + +"Was he like that in Mallorca?" continued the grey lady. + +"Oh--I think so. He was very quiet always." + + + +CHAPTER XV. DON QUIXOTE. + + They also serve who only stand and wait. + +"Come down to my club and have a cigar!" + +The Count stood under a yellow lamp enveloped in his fur-lined coat, +looking with heavy, deep-browed eyes at his young companion. + +Fitz paused. The Count had been kind to Eve. Fitz had noticed his +manner towards the girl. He liked Cipriani de Lloseta--as many did- +-without knowing why. + +"Thanks," he said, "I should like to." + +The Count's club was a small and a very select one. It was a club +with a literary tendency. The porter who took charge of their coats +had the air of a person who read the heavier monthly reviews. He +looked upon Fitz, as a man of outdoor tastes, with some misgiving. + +The Count led the way up to the luxurious silent smoking-room, where +a few foreign novels and a host of newspapers littered the tables. + +As they entered the room a man looked up from his paper with some +interest. He was a peculiar-looking man, with a keen face, streaked +by suffering--a face that was always ready to wince. This man was a +humorist, but he looked as if his own life had been a tragedy. He +continued to look at De Lloseta and Fitz with a quiet scrutiny which +was somewhat remarkable. It suggested the scrutiny of a woman who +is taking notes of another's dress. + +More particularly perhaps he watched the Count, and the keen eyes +had a reflective look, as if they were handing that which they saw, +back to the brain behind them for purpose of storage. + +The Count met his eyes and nodded gravely. With a little nod and a +sudden pleasant smile the other returned to the perusal of his +evening paper. + +Cipriani de Lloseta drew forward a deep chair, and with a courteous +gesture invited Fitz to be seated. He took a similar chair himself, +and then leant forward, cigar-case in hand. + +"You know Mallorca," he said. + +Fitz took a cigar. + +"Yes," he answered, turning and looking into the Count's face with a +certain honest interest. He was thinking of what Eve had said about +this man. "Yes--I know Mallorca." + +The Count struck a match and lighted his cigar with the air of a +connoisseur. + +"I am always glad," he said conversationally, "to meet any one who +knows Mallorca. It--was my home. Perhaps you knew?" + +And through the blue smoke the quick dark eyes flashed a glance. + +"I saw your name--on the map," returned Fitz. + +The Count gave a little Spanish deprecatory nod and wave of the +hand, indicating that it was no fault of his that an historical name +should have attached itself to him. + +"Do you take whisky--and soda?" inquired the Count. + +"Thanks." + +De Lloseta called the waiter and gave the order with a slight touch +of imperiousness which was one of the few attributes that stamped +him as a Spaniard. The feudal taint was still running in his veins. + +"Tell me," he went on, turning to Fitz again, "what you know of the +island--what parts of it--and what you did there." + +In some ways Fitz was rather a simple person. + +"Oh!" he answered unconsciously. "I went to D'Erraha mostly. I +used to sail across from Ciudadela to Soller--along the coast, you +know." + +"And from Soller?" + +"From Soller I rode by the Valdemosa road, and then across the +mountain and through that narrow valley up to the Val d'Erraha." + +The Count was smoking thoughtfully. + +"And you were happy there?" he said. + +Fitz looked pensively into his long tumbler. + +"Yes." + +"I also," said the Count. Then he seemed to remember his duties as +host. "Is that cigar all right?" he asked. + +"I think it is the best I have ever smoked," replied Fitz quietly; +and the Count smiled. + +The two men sat there in a long silence--each thinking his own +thoughts. They were just the sort of men to do it. No other but +Cipriani de Lloseta would have sat with that perfect composure, +wrapt in an impenetrable Spanish silence, providing with grave +dignity such a very poor evening's entertainment. And Fitz seemed +quite content. He leant back, gravely smoking the good cigar. +There seemed to be some point of complete sympathy between them-- +possibly the little sunlit island of the Mediterranean where they +had both been happy. + +The poem of a man's life is very deeply hidden, and civilisation is +the covert. The immediate outcome of civilisation is reserve and-- +nous voila. Are we not increasing our educational facilities with a +blind insistence day by day? One wonders what three generations of +cheap education will do for the world. Already a middle-aged man +can note the slackening of the human tie. Railway directors, and +other persons whose pockets benefit by the advance of civilisation, +talk a vast deal of rubbish about bringing together the peoples of +the world. You can connect them, but you cannot bring them +together. Moreover, a connection is sometimes a point of +divergence. In human affairs it is more often so than otherwise. + +True, a generation lay between these two men, but it was not that +that tied their tongues. It was partially the fact that Cipriani de +Lloseta had moved with the times--had learnt, perhaps, too well, to +acquire that reserve which is daily becoming more noticeable among +men. + +Nevertheless, it was he who spoke first. + +"I asked you to come and smoke a cigar with me for a purpose," he +said. + +Fitz nodded. + +"Yes," he answered; "I thought so." + +A shadowy smile acknowledged this simple statement of a simple fact. +The Count leant forward on his seat, resting his somewhat hollow +cheek on his hand and his elbow on the arm of his chair. + +"Some years ago," he said, "before you were born, I passed through +a--well, a bad time. One of those times, I take it, when a man +finds out the difference between a friend and an acquaintance. The +circumstances would not interest you. They are essentially +personal. Some men, and many women--I am not cynical, that is the +last resource of one who has himself to blame, I am merely stating a +fact--many women turned their backs upon me. There was, however, +one man--an Englishman--who held to me with that unflinching courage +of his own opinion which makes an Englishman what he is. I accepted +nothing from him at the time. In fact, he could do nothing for me. +I think he understood. An Englishman and a Spaniard have much in +common. He is dead now. It was Challoner." + +Fitz nodded. The Count changed his position slightly. + +"I want you to use what influence you have with Miss Challoner. She +is proud." + +Fitz made no attempt to disclaim the implied influence. + +"Yes," he said; "I know." + +And he looked at the end of his cigar with a deep interest. The man +who loves a proud woman loves her pride. He is also a happy man, +because her pride will kill her vanity, and it is a woman's vanity +that spoils a husband's love. + +"It would be a great satisfaction to me," the Count went on, "to pay +off in some small degree the debt of gratitude which I never even +acknowledged to Challoner. Eve"--he paused, and repeated the name +with a certain sense of enjoyment--"Eve is not fully equipped with +worldly wisdom. Thank God, for I hate a worldly-wise woman. She is +hardly old enough or--plain enough to fight her own battles." + +Fitz gave a sudden, sharp sigh, which made the Count pause for a +moment. + +"You also have received kindness from Challoner," went on the elder +man, after a short silence. + +Fitz nodded comprehensively. + +"And, like myself," the Count continued, rather quickly, "you are +naturally interested in his daughter, and sorry for her in her great +change of circumstances. Now, it has occurred to me that together +we might do something towards helping her. You know her better than +I do. I only know that she is proud." + +"Very much to her credit," put in Fitz, looking fixedly at his own +boots. + +"Entirely so. And I respect her for it. Unfortunately, assistance +could hardly come from you--a young man. Whereas, I might be her +grandfather." + +He looked up with a smile--keen, black-haired, lithe of frame--a +young man in appearance. + +"We might help each other," he added, "you and I, quite alone. +Captain Bontnor is a very worthy old fellow, but--" and he shrugged +his shoulders. "We cannot leave her to the wayward charity of a +capricious woman!" he added, with sudden bluntness. + +He looked rather wonderingly at Fitz, who did not respond to this +suggestion, as he had expected him to do. The coalition seemed so +natural and so eminently practical, and yet the sailor sat coldly +listening to each proposition as it fell from his companion's lips, +weighing it, sifting it with a judicial, indifferent apathy. + +The Count de Lloseta threw himself back in his chair, and awaited, +with all the gravity of his race, the pleasure of his companion. At +length Fitz spoke, rather deliberately. + +"I think," he said, "you mistake the footing upon which I stand with +respect to Miss Challoner. I shall be most happy to do all in my +power; but I tell you frankly that it does not amount to much. I am +indebted to her indirectly for some very pleasant visits to +D'Erraha; her father was very kind to me. Hardly sufficient to +warrant anything that would look like interference on my part." + +The Count was too discreet a man to press the point any further. + +"All this unfortunate difficulty would have been easily averted had +I been less stupid. I shall never cease to regret it." + +He spoke conversationally, flicking the end of his cigar neatly into +the fire, and without looking at Fitz. + +"I never foresaw the natural tendency of lawyers to complicate the +affairs of life. My man in Palma was unfortunately zealous." + +Fitz nodded. + +"Yes," he said, "I was there." + +Cipriani de Lloseta glanced at him sharply. + +"I am glad of that," he said. "It was very stupid of me. I ought +to have telegraphed to him to hold his tongue." + +"But Miss Challoner could not have accepted the Val d'Erraha as a +present?" + +"Oh yes, she could, if she had not known. These little things are +only a matter of sentiment." + +Fitz leant forward, looking into the Count's face without attempting +to conceal his surprise. + +"Do you mean to say you would have given it to her?" he asked. + +"No; I should have paid it to her in settlement of a debt which I +owed to her father." + +The Count moved rather uneasily in his chair. His eyes fell before +his companion's steady gaze. + +"Another matter of sentiment," suggested Fitz. + +De Lloseta shrugged his shoulders. + +"If you will." + +They lapsed into silence again. The Count was puzzled by Fitz, as +Fitz in his turn had been puzzled earlier in the evening by Eve. It +was merely the old story of woman the incomprehensible, and man the +superior--the lord of the universe--puzzled, completely mystified, +made supremely miserable or quite happy by her caprice of a moment. + +It was a small thing that stood between these two men, preventing +them from frankly co-operating in the scheme which both had at +heart. It was nothing but the tone of a girl's voice, the studied +silence of a girl's eyes, which had once been eloquent. + +It was getting late. A discreet clock on the mantelpiece declared +the hour of midnight in deliberate cathedral chime. Fitz looked up, +but he did not move. He liked Cipriani de Lloseta. He had been +prepared to do so, and now he had gone further than he had intended. +He wanted him to go on talking about Eve, for he thirsted in his +dumbly enduring way for more details of her life. But he would not +revert to the subject. Rather than that he would go on enduring. + +While they were sitting thus in silence, the only other occupant of +the room--the man with the pain-drawn face--rose from his seat, +helping his legs with unsteady hands upon either arm of the chair. +He threw the paper down carelessly on the table, and came across the +room towards the Count de Lloseta. He was a surprisingly tall man +when he stood up; for in his chair he seemed to sink into himself. +His hair was grey--rather long and straggly--his eyes hazel, looking +through spectacles wildly. His cheeks were very hollow, his chin +square and bony. Here was a man of keen nerves and quick to suffer. + +"Well," he said to Lloseta, "I haven't seen you for some time." + +"I've been away." + +The tall man looked down at him with the singular scrutiny already +mentioned. + +"Spain?" + +"Spain." + +He turned away with a little nod, but stopped before he had gone +many paces. + +"And when are you going to write those sketches of Spanish life?" he +asked, with a cheery society laugh, which sounded rather +incongruous. "Never, I suppose. Well, the loss is mine. Good- +night, Lloseta." + +He went away without looking back. + +"Do you know who that is?" the Count asked Fitz when the door was +closed. + +Fitz had risen, with his eye on the clock. + +"No. But I seem to know his face." + +The Count looked up with a smile. + +"You ought to. That was John Craik." + + + +CHAPTER XVI. BROKEN. + + The Powers + Behind the world that make our griefs our gains. + +The small town of Somarsh, in Suffolk, consists of one street +running up from the so-called harbour. At one end is the railway- +station; at the other the harbour and the sea, and that is Somarsh. +There are records that in days gone by--in the days of east coast +prosperity--there was a Mayor of Somarsh, or Southmarsh, as it was +then written. But Ichabod! + +All Somarsh was in the street one morning after Fitz had gone to sea +again, and those of the women who were not talking loudly were +weeping softly. The boats were not in yet, but the weather was +fine, and the still, saffron sea was dotted with brown sails. There +was nothing wrong with the boats. + +No; the trouble was on shore, as it mostly is. It came not from the +sea, but from men. It was pinned upon the door of Merton's Bank in +the High Street. Its form was unintelligible, for the wording of +the notice was mostly outside the Suffolk vocabulary. There was +something written in a clerkly hand about the withdrawal of +"financial facilities necessitating a stoppage of payment pending +reconstruction." + +But the people in the street were saying that Merton's was "broke." +The constable said so, and he was a recognised authority on matters +pertaining to dry land and the law. The door was locked on the +inside, the shutters were up, the blinds down, as if mourning the +death of a good East county credit. + +"And them a drivin' behind their two horses," said one old weather- +beaten fisherman, who was suspected of voting on the wrong side at +electioneering time. + +Some shook their heads, but the word went no farther, for the man +who does his business on the great waters has a vast respect for +ancient institutions. And Merton's had been a good bank for many +generations. + +"P'raps," said an old woman who had nothing to lose--for the sea had +even kept her corpses from her--"p'raps what they say 'bout +reconstruction may be all right. But here comes the capt'n." + +The crowd turned like one man and watched the advent of Captain +Bontnor. + +The old man was dressed in his best pilot cloth suit. He had worn +it quite recklessly for the last month, ever since Eve had come to +live with him. He had been interrupted in his morning walk--his +quarter-deck tramp--forty times the length of his own railing in +front of Malabar Cottage. The postman bringing letters for Eve, had +told him that there was trouble down in the town, and that he would +likely be wanted. + +When he saw where the crowd was stationed he caught his breath. + +"No," he said aloud to himself, "no, it can't be Merton's." + +And when he joined the townspeople they saw that his sunburnt, +rugged face was grey as ashes. + +"Mates," he said, "what is it?" + +"Merton's is broke--Merton's is broke!" they answered, clearing a +way for him to read the notice for himself. In Somarsh Captain +Bontnor was considered quite a scholar. As such he might, perhaps, +have deciphered the clerkly handwriting in a shorter time than he +now required, but on the east coast a reputation is not easily +shaken. + +They waited for the verdict in silence. After five minutes he +turned round and his face gave some of them a shock. His kindly +blue eyes had a painfully puzzled, incompetent look, which had often +come across them in Barcelona and in London. But in Somarsh only +Eve was familiar with it. + +"Yes, mates," he said, falling back into his old seafaring +vernacular, forgetful of his best suit, "yes, shipmates, as far as I +rightly understand it, the bank's broken. And--and there's some of +us that's ruined men." + +He stood for a moment looking straight in front of him--looking very +old and not quite fit for life's battle. Then he moved away. + +"I'll just go and tell my niece," he said. + +They watched him stump away--sturdy, unbroken, upright--still a man. + +"It's a hard end to a hard life," said the old woman who had +suggested hope; and being only human, they fell to discussing the +event from the point at which it affected their own lives. + +Malabar Cottage stood at the top end of the High Street--almost by +itself--looking out over the little green plot of common land, where +the coastguard flagpost stands towards the sea. It was a low- +roofed, solidly built cottage--once a coastguard station, but +superseded in the heyday of east coast smuggling by a larger station +further up the hill. There was a little garden in front, which the +captain kept himself, growing such old-fashioned flowers as were +content with his ignorant handling. The white jasmine ran riot over +the portico. + +Eve had apparently received a letter of some importance, for she was +standing at the gate waiting for him. She ran out hatless to see +him on his quarter-deck, and to her surprise found him not. She +soon saw him coming, however, and to beguile the time fell to +reading her letter a second time, with a little frown, as if the +caligraphy gave her trouble. + +She did not look up until he was quite close. + +"Uncle," she cried, "what is the matter?" + +He gave a smile, which was painfully out of place on his bluff +features--it was wan and twisted. + +"Nothing, my dearie; nothing." + +He fumbled at the gate, and she had to find the latch for him. + +"Just come below--I mean indoors, my dear. I've had some news. I +dare say it will be all right--but just at first, you understand, it +is a little--keen." + +He bustled through the porch, and Eve followed him. She watched him +hang up his old straw hat, standing on tiptoe with a grunt, as was +his wont. + +"I must unship that peg and put it a bit lower," he said, as he had +said a hundred times before. + +Then he went into the little dining-room and sat somewhat heavily +down, with his two hands resting on his knees. He looked puzzled. + +"Truth is, my dear," he said breathlessly, "I don't seem to take to +this long-shore life. I--I rather think of going back to sea. +There's plenty will give me a ship. And I want you to keep this +cottage nice for me, dearie, against my coming home." + +He paused, looking round the room with a poor simulation of interest +at the quaint ornaments and curiosities which he had brought home +from different parts of the world. He looked at the ceiling and the +carpet--anywhere, in fact, except at Eve. Then he pushed his +fingers through his thick grey hair, making it stand on end in a +ludicrous manner. + +"I've got all my bits of things collected here--just bits of things- +-oh, dear!--oh, dear--Eve, my child, I wonder why the Almighty's +gone and done this?" + +Eve was already sitting on the arm of his chair, stroking back his +hair with her tender fingers. + +"What is it, uncle?" she asked. "Tell me." + +"Merton's," he answered. "Merton's, and them so safe!" + +"Is it only money?" cried Eve. "Is that all?" + +"Yes," he answered rather wearily, "that's all. But it's money +that's took me fifty-five years to make." + +"And had you it all in Merton's Bank?" + +"Yes, dearie, all." + +"But are you sure they have failed--that there is no mistake?" + +"Quite sure. I've read it myself pinned on the door, and the +shutters up, like a thing you read of in the newspapers. No, it's +right. There's not often a mistake about bad news." + +Eve bent over him very tenderly and kissed him. He was holding her +hand between his, patting it gently with his rough, weather-beaten +fingers. He was looking straight in front of him with that painful +look of helplessness which had earned him the friendship of Lord +Seahampton in Barcelona. + +"But," said the girl at length, "you cannot go to sea again." + +She knew that he would never get a ship, for his seamanship, like +all other things that were his, was hopelessly superannuated. He +was not fit to be trusted with a ship--no owner would dream of it, +no crew would sail under him. + +"There's men," said the captain humbly, "who learnt their seamanship +from me--who sailed under me--p'raps one of them would give me a +berth as first mate or even second mate under him--for a shipmate +they would do it." + +Captain Bontnor had fallen behind the times even in his sentiments. +He did not know that in these days of short voyages, of Seamen's +Unions, and Firemen's Friendlies and Stokers' Guilds, a shipmate is +no longer a special friend--the tie is broken, as are many other +ties, by the advance of education. + +Then the old man pulled himself together, and smiled bravely at his +niece. + +"It is not for myself that I'm worrying," he said, "but for you. I +don't quite see my way clear yet. It's sort of sharp and sudden. I +cannot get the poor Mertons out of my head--people that have been +accustomed to their carriages and all. It's hard for them! You +see, what they say is that their financial facilities have been +withdrawn, and I dare say nobody is to blame. It is just what they +call the hand of God, in a bill of lading--just the hand of God." + +"Yes, dear," answered Eve. "And now I am going to serve out a glass +of sherry; you want it after your quick walk. That is what you did +at sea, you served it out, did you not?" + +"He, he! yes, dearie; that is it." + +His rugged hand shook as he drank the wine. + +"Only," he went on, after wiping his moustache vigorously with a red +pocket-handkerchief--"only it was rum, dearie--rum, you know, for +heavy weather. It puts heart into the men." + +His face suddenly clouded over again. + +"And we've run into heavy weather, haven't we? Just the hand of +God." + +"Finish the glass," said Eve, and she stood over him while he drank +the wine. + +"And now," she went on, "listen to me. I have had a very important +letter, which could hardly have come at a more opportune moment. In +fact, I think we may call it also . . . what they say in a bill of +lading." + +She opened the letter, as if about to read it aloud, and on glancing +through she seemed to change her mind. + +"It is from Mrs. Harrington," she said. "It is a very kind letter." + +She looked at her uncle, whose face had suddenly hardened. He +seemed to be schooling himself to hear something unpleasant. + +"Ay!" he muttered, "ay! I suppose she'll get her way now. I suppose +I can't hope to keep you now. She'll get you--she'll get you." + +"Then I think you are a very mean old man!" exclaimed Eve. "I don't +believe you are a sailor at all. You are what you call a land- +lubber, if you think that I am the sort of person to accept your +kindness when you are prosperous, and then--and then when heavy +weather comes to go away and leave you." + +The old man smiled rather wanly, and fumbled with the red pocket- +handkerchief. + +"As it happens, Mrs. Harrington does not ask me to go and stay with +her--she asks me--" She paused and laid her hand on his shoulder +gently. "She asks me--to accept money." + +Captain Bontnor sat upright. + +"Ay-y-y," he said, "charity." + +"Yes," said Eve quietly, "charity; and I'm going to accept it." + +Captain Bontnor scratched his head. His manners were not, as has +already been stated, remarkable for artificiality or superficial +refinement. He screwed up his features as if he were swallowing +something nasty. + +"Read me the letter," he said. + +Eve opened the missive again, and looked at it. + +"She puts it very nicely," she said. "She asks if you will permit +me to accept a dress allowance from a rich woman who does not always +spend her money discreetly." + +It must be admitted that Mrs. Harrington's nice way of putting it +lost nothing by its transmission through Eve's lips. + +Thus poor Charity creeps in wherever she can shelter. She is not +proud. She does not ask to be accepted for her own sake; though +Heaven knows she frequently is. She masquerades in any costume--she +accepts the humiliation of any disguise. She is ready to be cast +down before swine, or raised high before the eyes of fools. She is +used as a tool or a stepping-stone--the humble handmaid of the tuft- +hunter and the toady. She is dragged through the mire of the slums +to the dwellings of the wealthy and idle. She is hounded up and +down the world--the plaything of Fashion, the trap of the unwary, +the washerwoman of the unclean who wish to try the paths of virtue-- +for a change. And she is still Charity, and she lives strong and +pure in herself. It has been decreed that we shall ever have the +poor beside us, and so long shall we also possess those who live on +them. + +Charity begetteth charity, and it was for Charity's sake that Eve +Challoner took the bitter bread to herself, and accepted Mrs. +Harrington's offer. + +Her own pride lay between her and this woman whom she knew to be +capricious, uncertain, lacking the quality of justice. Her duty +towards Captain Bontnor lay between her and high Heaven. + +So Eve Challoner learnt her first lesson in that school where we all +are called to study sooner or later--the school of Adversity; where +some of us pass creditably, whilst others are ploughed, and a few--a +very few--take honours. + + + + +BOOK THE SECOND. + + + + +CHAPTER I. BITS OF LIFE. + + Some far-off touch + Of greatness, to know well I am not great. + +The local house-agent anticipated no difficulty in letting Malabar +Cottage, furnished, at a good weekly rental; and in due course a +dreamy clergyman, with a wife who was anything but dreamy, came and +saw and hired. The wide-awake wife was so interested in Eve that +she forgot to settle several details which came to her mind +afterwards. Her curiosity was so aroused that the special cupidity +belonging to the wife of the dreamy clergyman was for the moment +allayed, and she forgot to drive a hard bargain. + +Moreover, Eve's manner was not exactly encouraging to the would-be +bargainer. A stupendous ignorance of the tricks of furnished house- +letting, combined with a certain lofty contempt for details, +acquired in Spain, where such contempt is thoroughly understood, +completely baffled the clergyman's wife. She concluded that Eve was +a very stupid and ignorant girl, a poor housekeeper, and an +incompetent woman of the world; and yet she was afraid of her, +simply because she did not understand her. Jews, poor men's wives, +and other persons who live by haggling, have a subtle fear of those +who will not haggle. + +So Malabar Cottage was let; and in due time the sad day arrived when +Captain Bontnor had to bid farewell to his "bits of things." These +"bits of things" were in reality bits of his life--and a human life +is not so long nor so interesting an affair that we can afford +lightly to break off any portion, to throw it away, or even to let +it out on hire. + +Captain Bontnor wandered rather disconsolately round the rooms after +breakfast, and as Eve was with him he gave her a short inventory of +these pieces of his life. + +"That there harpoon," he said, pointing to a rusty relic on the wall +above the mantelpiece, "was given to me by the finest whaling +captain that ever found his way into the North water. When I first +went to sea I thought I'd like to be a whaler; but two voyages +settled that fancy. I'm told they shoot their harpoons out of a gun +nowadays--poor sport that! And there's no sport like whalin'. Two +thousand pounds at one end of a line and your own life at the other- +-that's finer sport than these Cockney partridge-shooters know of. + +"And that's my seal-pick--many a seal have I killed with that. That +there's the portrait of the True Love, three-masted schooner, built +at Littlehampton by Harvey. Sailed second mate, first mate, and +master in her, I did. Then she was sold; and a lubber went and--and +threw her on the Kentish Knock in a south-easterly gale. She was a +pretty ship! I felt the loss as if she'd been my sweetheart--the +pretty little True Love! + +"That string of shells was given to me by a shipmate--old Charlie +Sams--to bring home for his wife. He picked 'em up on the beach +above James Town. Took yellow Jack, he did, and died in my arms-- +and he only had the shells to send to his young wife and a bit of a +baby he was always botherin' and talkin' about. I did two cross +voyages, and one of them round the Horn, before I got home, and I +couldn't find the woman, she having moved. So when I left the sea, +I just hung them up in case she happened to come along by chance and +see them with his portrait underneath. That's Charlie Sams--a bit +brown and faded. She won't come along now, I suppose. It is a +matter of fifty-five years since Charlie died." + +As he wandered round the house, so he wandered on in his +reminiscences, until Eve led him out of the front door. He took his +hat from the peg which he had been intending to unship and refix at +a lower level for the last fifteen years, and followed her meekly +into the garden. He paused to pick up some yellow jasmine leaves +which had withered in the warmth of the May sun and fallen on the +doorstep. Then he looked back longingly. + +"You see," said Eve cheerfully, "it is only for a few months. We +can always let it in the summer like this, and live luxuriously on +our rent in the winter." + +He threw back his shoulders and smiled bravely, trying to banish the +thought of his "bits of things." + +"Yes, dearie, it's only for a few months--only for a few months." + +And they both knew that they could not hope to live in Malabar +Cottage again--not, at all events, on the rent paid by the +clergyman's wife. + +They had taken lodgings in a small house near the harbour, which, as +Eve pointed out, was much more convenient for the shops; and, +besides, they could now buy their fish out of the boats. This last +theory she propounded with a grave assumption of housekeeping +knowledge which did not fail to impress Captain Bontnor. + +The whole town knew of the captain's misfortune, and half the +citizens of Somarsh shared in it. Only those who had saved nothing +lost nothing, for Merton's was the only bank on the coast; and more +than one old fisherman--bent with rheumatism, crippled by the +hardships of a life spent half in the water, half on it--saw his +savings--the fruit of long toilsome years--go to pay the London +tradesmen a part of what young Merton owed them. It was the old, +oft-repeated tale of over-education. A country banker's son sent to +public school and university to be educated out of country banking +and into nothing else. + +Captain Bontnor was quite penniless. During his long life he had +saved nearly four thousand pounds, and this sum he had placed on +deposit with the Somarsh bankers, living very comfortably on the +interest. The whole of this was absorbed--a mere drop in the +financial ocean. + +Mrs. Harrington had asked Eve to accept a dress allowance of forty +pounds a year, and Eve accepted--for her uncle. Besides this she +had a little ready money--the result of the sale of the contents of +the Casa d'Erraha. A person who looked like a butler or a major- +domo had gone over from Barcelona to Palma to attend this sale; and +the local buyers laughed immoderately at him in their sleeves. He +was, they opined, a mule--he did not know the value of things, and +paid double for all he bought. + +But the proceeds of the sale did not amount to much. Eve knew that +something must be done. The money would soon be exhausted, and they +could not live on the dress allowance. Since the failure of the +bank, Captain Bontnor's mental grasp had seemed less reliable than +ever, and Eve had kept these things to herself. + +The captain's one servant--an aged female--who ruined his digestion +and neglected her dusting, was prevailed upon to return to her +people, and Eve and her uncle settled down to their restricted life +in the lodgings which were so conveniently near the fishing harbour. + +The captain was too old to break off his habits of life, so he +walked his quarter-deck tramp, backwards and forwards beneath the +window on the clean pavement of the High Street, which broadened out +to the harbour. He went down to meet the boats, where he was ever a +welcome onlooker, and he never came back without fish for which no +payment had been taken. + +He usually met the postman when he was keeping his watch on deck-- +beneath the little bay-window--and if there was a letter for Eve, he +would pause in front of the house, and hand it through the open +sash. + +He did this one morning after they had been in the lodgings a month, +and he had not added two turns to the regulation forty before Eve +called to him. He bustled in at the door, hung his old straw hat on +a peg, which was likewise too high, and went into the little +parlour. As he was smoking, he stood in the doorway, for he had not +yet got over his immense respect for the niece who was above him. + +"Yes, dearie?" he said. "What to do now?" + +Eve was standing near the window, holding a letter in her hand. + +"Listen!" she said, and spreading out her elbows she read grandly - + +"'MADAM,--I like your Spanish Notes and Sketches; but I cannot put +in number one until I see number two. Send me more, or, better +still, if convenient, when you are next in town, do me the honour of +calling here.--Yours very truly--' + +"Now listen, uncle." + +"Yes, dear!" + + "'Yours very truly, + "'JOHN CRAIK.'" + +"Lor!" ejaculated Captain Bontnor, "the gentleman that writes." + +Eve handed him the letter, which he held, awestruck, with the tip of +his thumb and finger. + +"He doesn't write very well--he, he!" he added, with a chuckle. +"I'm afraid it's no good my trying to read it without my glasses." + +He blinked at the crabbed spidery caligraphy, and handed the letter +back. + +"It is signed John Craik, but Providence held the pen," said Eve. +"If this letter had not come I should have had to leave you, uncle. +I should have had to go and be a governess. And I do not want to +leave you." + +The old man's eyes filled suddenly, as old eyes sometimes will. He +stuffed his pipe into his pocket and took her two hands in his, +patting them tenderly. + +He did not speak for some time, but stood blinking back the tears. + +"Then God bless John Craik!" he said. "God bless him." + +They sat down to talk this thing over, forgetful of the captain's +pipe, which burnt a hole in the lining of his coat. There was so +much to be discussed. Eve had written a certain number of short +essays--painfully conscious all the while of their simplicity and +faultiness. She did not know that so long as a person has his +subject at his finger-ends, simplicity is rather to be commended +than otherwise. It is the half-informed who are verbose. She had +written simply of the simple life which she knew so well. She had +depicted Spanish daily life from the keenly instinctive standpoint +of a woman's observation; and only a week before she had sent a +single essay--marked number one--to the editor of the Commentator, +John Craik. + +She had written for money, and made no disguise of her motive. Here +was no literary lady with all the recognised adjuncts except the +literature. She did not write in order that she might talk of +having written. She did not talk in such flowing periods and with +such overbearing wisdom that insincere friends in sheer weariness +were called upon to suggest that she should and could write. + +In sending her first small attempt to John Craik she had not +forwarded therewith a long explanatory letter, which reticence had +made him read the manuscript. + +Eve read the great man's letter a second time, while the captain +scratched his head and watched her. + +"And," he said meekly, "what do you think of doing?" + +Eve looked up with a happy smile. + +"What he tells me," she answered. "Oh, I am so glad, uncle; I +cannot tell you how glad I am." + +The captain shuffled awkwardly on his feet. + +"I'm more than glad," he said. "I'm sorter proud." + +He pulled down his coat and walked to the window. + +"Yes," he said, looking out into the street. "That's it. I'm +proud. It's a great gift--writin'. A great gift." + +Eve laughed. + +"Oh!" she answered. "I'm afraid that I have no gift. It is a very, +very minute talent. That is all. I always liked books, but I have +not the gift for writing them." + +Captain Bontnor never thought Eve was a great authoress. In his +simple way this man had a vast deal of discrimination, as simple +people often have. It is the oversubtle man who makes the most +egregious mistakes, because most of us have not time to be subtle. +He never suspected Eve of being a great authoress, and he never +attributed to her any desire to attain that doubtful pinnacle of +fame. But he saw very plainly the immense advantage to be gathered +in this time from her talent. In his simplicity he hoped that +something would turn up for him to do, in a world which has no pity +nor charity for that which is old, effete, and out of fashion. + +"Yes," he said, after deep thought, "we must do what he tells us. +There's no harm in that." + +Eve laughed. + +"I thought," she said, "that we understood pride in Spain and +Mallorca; but I have never met such a proud caballero as you." + +She was standing behind him where he stood, looking grimly out of +the window, her two hands resting on his broad shoulders. + +"I suppose," she went on, "that you have once or twice humbled your +pride so much as to accept a ship when it was offered you. You said +that there are plenty who would give you a command now. John Craik +is giving me a ship, that is all." + +The captain nodded. + +"Yes," he said, "that's it, that's it. You've got your first ship." + + + +CHAPTER II. A COMPACT. + + Prends moy tel que je suy. + +The tendency of the age is to peep behind the scenes. The world is +growing old, and human nature is nearly worn through; we are +beginning to see the bare bones of it. But a strange survival of +youthfulness is that remarkable fascination of the unseen--the +desire to get behind the scenes and see the powder for ourselves. +If a man makes his livelihood by lifting horses and other heavy +objects from the earth, we immediately wish to know details of his +private life, and an obliging journalist interviews him. If another +write a book, we immediately wish to know how he does it, where, +when, and why. We also like to see his portrait on the fly-leaf--or +HE likes to see it there. + +Eve Challoner was lamentably behind the spirit of the age in that +she did not know how she wrote a series of articles destined to +attain renown. But as she never went out to meet the interviewer, +he never came to her. She fell into a habit of going out for long +walks by herself, and in the course of these peregrinations she +naturally acquired the custom of thinking about her writing. + +During these long walks Captain Bontnor remained at home alone, or +joined a knot of fellow-mariners on the green in front of the +reading-room. When Eve came home with her mind full of matter to be +set down on paper he discreetly went to keep his watch on deck-- +backwards and forwards on the pavement in front of the window. At +each turn the old sailor paused to cast his eyes over the whole +horizon, after the manner of mariners, as if he were steering +Somarsh across the North Sea. + +Thus uncle and niece glided imperceptibly into that mode of life +which is called humdrum, and which some wise people consider the +best mode of getting through existence. Sketch number two was +written, rewritten, liked, hated, and finally sent to John Craik, +with a letter explaining that the writer lived in Suffolk, and could +not for the moment make it convenient to go to London. John Craik +was a busy man. He made no answer, and in a few days the proof of +sketch number one arrived, with a little printed notice of +instructions as to correcting and returning. Of all fleeting +glamours that of the proof-sheet is assuredly lightest on the wing, +and Eve duly hated her own works in print, as we all do hate our +first triumphs. Afterwards we get resigned--much as we grow +resigned to the face we see in the looking-glass. + +At this time Captain Bontnor conceived the idea that it was +incumbent upon him to take up seriously, though late in life, the +higher walks of literature. + +"Now," he said to Eve one evening, when the first proof had been +almost wept over, "now, dearie, what author would you recommend to a +man who has a natural likin' for reading, but owing to the +circumstances of his life has had no opportunity of cultivatin' his +taste?" + +"Well, uncle, a good deal would depend upon his inclination--whether +he liked poetry or fiction, or serious reading." + +"Of course, of course," acceded Captain Bontnor, pressing the +tobacco into his pipe with his thumb; "I am taking that into +consideration. There's all sorts to be had now, ain't there--poetry +and fiction and novels? I am not sure that the style would matter +much, so long--so long as the print was nice and clear." + +Eve duly gave her opinion without pressing the question too closely, +and while she was out on her long walks Captain Bontnor laboriously +cultivated his neglected taste. He sat in the window-seat with much +gravity, and more than made up in application for the youthful +quickness which he lacked. He resolutely refused to look up from +his book when he heard the alternate thud and stump which announced +the passage down to the harbour of his particular crony, Mark +Standon, whose other leg had been buried at sea. He kept the +dictionary beside him, and when the writer used a word of sonorous +ring and obscure meaning he gravely looked it out. + +The first time that Mr. Standon saw his friend thus engaged he stood +on the pavement and expressed his surprise with more force than +elegance; whereupon Captain Bontnor went out and explained to him +exactly how it stood. So marked was the old sailor's influence on +the social affairs at Somarsh that there was a notable revival of +literary taste and discussion at the corner of the Lifeboat House, +where the local intellect assembled. + +Captain Bontnor was engaged one day in the study of an author called +Dickens, to whose works he had not yet found time to devote his full +attention, when a strange footstep on the pavement made him look up. +It certainly was not Standon's halting gait, and a lack of iron nail +certified to the fact that it was no Somarsh man. The captain +looked over his spectacles and saw Cipriani de Lloseta studying the +numbers on the doors as he came down the quiet little street. + +The sight gave the old sailor rather a shock. He abandoned the +study of Mr. Dickens and took off his spectacles. Then he scratched +his head--always an ominous sign. His first instinct was to go and +open the door; then he remembered that the new-comer was a nobleman +who lived in a palace, and that he himself was indirectly a +gentleman, inasmuch as he lived in the same house as a lady--his +niece. So he sat still and allowed the landlady to open the door. + +When Cipriani de Lloseta was ushered into the tiny room he found the +captain half-bowing on the hearthrug. + +"Captain Bontnor," he said, with all the charm of manner which was +his, "this is a pleasure." + +The captain shook hands, and with the rough hospitality of the cabin +drew forward his own armchair, which the Count took at once. + +"When last we met," he said, "I had the privilege of receiving you +at my house in Barcelona--a poor dark place in a narrow street. Now +here you have a sea-view." + +"But this is not my house," said Captain Bontnor, feeling +unaccountably at ease with this nobleman. "Malabar Cottage is +farther up the hill. I've got all my bits of things up there." + +"Indeed. It would have given me pleasure to see them. I learnt +from a mutual--friend, Mrs. Harrington, of your change of address." + +Captain Bontnor looked at him keenly; and who shall say that the +rough old man did not appreciate the refined tact of his visitor? + +"I've had losses," he said. + +The Count nodded shortly. He was drawing off his gloves. + +"I do not know," he said conversationally, "if it has been your +experience, but for myself I have found that reverses of fortune are +not without some small consolation. They prove the friendship of +one's friends." + +The captain reflected. + +"Yes," he said, "you're right, Mr.--I mean Count--and--and brings +the good out of women." + +"Women!" the Count repeated gravely. "You refer to Miss Challoner-- +I see signs of her presence in this room. Is she out?" + +"Yes--I am afraid she is." He glanced nervously at the clock. "She +is not likely to be in for an hour and more yet." + +"I am sorry," said the Count; "but also I am rather glad. I shall +thus have an opportunity of asking your opinion upon one or two +matters--between men of the world, you know." + +"I am afraid my opinion is not of much value, sir, except it's about +schooners--I always sailed in schooners." + +The Count nodded gravely. + +"In my country," he said, "we usually go in for brigs; they find +them easier to handle. But you know Mallorca--you have seen for +yourself." + +The captain was not listening; he was looking at the modest lodging- +house sideboard. + +"I was wondering," he explained, with a transparent simplicity which +was perhaps as good as that which is called good breeding, "whether +you would take a glass of sherry wine." + +"I should like nothing better," said the Count. "It will give me +pleasure to take a glass of wine with you." + +Quietly, imperceptibly, De Lloseta set Captain Bontnor at his ease, +and at the same time he mastered him. They spoke of indifferent +topics--topics which, however, were well within the captain's +knowledge of the world. Then suddenly the Count laid aside the +social mask which he wore with such consummate ease. + +"I came down to Somarsh," he said, "because I am deeply distressed +at your reverse of fortune. I came to see you, captain, because +when I had the pleasure of meeting you at Barcelona I saw you to be +a just man, and one to whom one could speak openly. I am a rich +man--you understand. Need I say more?" + +Captain Bontnor blinked uncertainly. + +"No," he answered, "I'm thinkin' it isn't necessary." + +"Not between men of the world," urged Cipriani de Lloseta. "It is +not for your sake. I would not insult you in such a way. It is for +Eve. For a woman's sake a man may easily sacrifice his pride." + +The captain nodded and glanced at the clock. He had not fully +realised until that moment how dependent he was upon his niece. + +"You know," continued the Count, following up his advantage, "all +the somewhat peculiar circumstances of the case. Do you think there +is any chance of Eve's reconsidering her decision?" + +The captain shook his head. + +"No," he answered bluntly, "I don't. Since she came back from +London--" he paused. + +"Yes, since she came back from London?" suggested the Count. + +"She seems more determined than ever." + +The Count was looking at him keenly. + +"Then," he said, "you also have noticed a change." + +Captain Bontnor shuffled in his seat and likewise in his speech. + +"I suppose," he said, "that she has grown into a woman. Adversity's +done it." + +"Yes," said the Count, "your observations seem to me to be correct. +I had the pleasure of seeing her once or twice when she was staying +at Mrs. Harrington's; but I did not refer to the question raised at +my house in Barcelona, because I noticed the change to which you +allude. Instead, I attempted to gain the co-operation and +assistance of a mutual friend, Henry FitzHenry." + +Cipriani de Lloseta paused and looked at his companion, who in turn +gazed stolidly at the fire. + +"And I received a rebuff," added the Count. He waited for some +little time, but Captain Bontnor had no comment to offer, so De +Lloseta went on: "Challoner was one of my best friends. I do not +feel disposed to let the matter drop, more especially now that you +have been compelled to leave Malabar Cottage. I propose entreating +Miss Challoner to reconsider her decision. Will you help me?" + +"Yes," answered Captain Bontnor, "I will." + +"Then tell me if Eve has accepted assistance from Mrs. Harrington?" + +"Yes, she has." + +The Count swore softly in Spanish. + +"I am sorry for that," he said aloud. "I am superstitious. I have +a theory that Mrs. Harrington's money is apt to be a curse to those +upon whom it is bestowed." + +"Mrs. Harrington's no friend of mine," said Captain Bontnor; and De +Lloseta, who was looking out of the window, smiled somewhat grimly. + +"Perhaps," he said after a little pause, "perhaps you will allow me +to claim the privilege which you deny to her?" + +"Yes," answered Captain Bontnor awkwardly; "yes, if you care to." + +"Thanks. I see Miss Challoner--Eve--coming. I count on your +assistance." + +Eve paused on the threshold in astonishment at the sight of the +Count de Lloseta and her uncle in grave discourse over a glass of +sherry. + +"You!" she said. "You here!" + +And he wondered why she suddenly lost colour. + +"I," he answered, "I--here to pay my respects." + +Eve gave a little gasp of relief. For a moment she was off her +guard--with a dangerous man watching her. + +"I thought you had bad news," she said. + +And Cipriani de Lloseta knew that this was a woman whose heart was +at sea. + +"No," he answered; "I merely came to quarrel." + +He drew forward a chair, and Eve sat down. + +"We shall always quarrel," he went on, "unless you are kind. Let us +begin at once and get it over, because I want to stay to lunch. +Will you reconsider your decision with respect to the Val d'Erraha?" + +Eve shook her head and looked at her uncle. + +"No," she answered; "I cannot do that. Not now." + +"Some day?" he suggested. + +"Not now," repeated the girl; and, looking up, her face suddenly +became grave, as if reflecting the expression in the dark Spanish +eyes bent upon her. + +"You are cruel!" he said. + +"I am young--" + +"Is it not the same thing?" + +"And I can work," added Eve. + +"Yes," he said. "But in my old-fashioned way I am prejudiced +against a lady working. In the days of women's rights ladies are +apt to forget the charm of white hands." + +Eve made no answer. + +"Then it is not peace?" + +"No," she answered, with a smile; "not yet." + +She was standing beside Captain Bontnor, with her hand on his +shoulder. + +"Uncle and I," she added, "are not beaten yet." + +Cipriani de Lloseta smiled darkly. + +"Will you promise me one thing," he said; "that when you are beaten +you will come to me before you go to any one else?" + +"Yes," answered Eve, "I think we can promise that." + + + +CHAPTER III. BAFFLED. + + He conquers who awaits the end. + +Fortune fixed her wayward fancy on the first sketch that Eve +contributed to the Commentator. Wayward, indeed, for Eve herself +knew that it was not good, and in the lettered quiet of the +editorial sanctum John Craik smiled querulously to himself. John +Craik had a supreme contempt for the public taste, but he knew +exactly what it wanted. He was like a chef smiling over his made +dishes. He did not care for the flavour himself, but his palate was +subtle enough to detect the sweet or bitter that tickled his +master's tongue. He served the public faithfully, with a twisted, +cynic smile behind his spectacles--for John Craik had a family to +feed. He knew that Eve's work was only partially good--true woman's +work that might cease to flow at any moment. But he detected the +undeniable originality of it, and the public palate likes a novel +flavour. + +So deeply versed was he in worldly knowledge, so thoroughly had he +gauged the critic, the journalist, and the public, that before he +unfolded a newspaper he could usually foresee the length, the +nature, and the literary merit of the criticism. He knew that the +tendency of the age is to acquire as much knowledge as possible in a +short time. He looked upon the world as a huge kindergarten, and +the Commentator as its school-book. It was good that the world's +knowledge of its own geography should be extended, but the world +must not be allowed to detect the authority of the usher's voice. +There are a lot of people who, like women at a remnant sale, go +about the paths of literature picking up scraps which do not match, +and never can be of the slightest use. It was John Craik's business +to set out his remnant counter to catch these wandering gleaners, +and Eve sent him her wares by a lucky chance at the moment when he +wanted them. + +The editor of the Commentator was sitting in his deep chair before +the fire one morning about eleven o'clock, when the clerk, whose +business it was to tell glib lies about his chief, brought him a +card. + +"Lloseta," said Craik aloud to himself. "Ask him to come up." + +"The man who ought to have written the Spanish sketches," he +commented, when the clerk had left. + +The Count came into the room with a certain ease of manner subtly +indicative of the fact that it was not the first time that he had +visited it. He shook hands and waited until the clerk had closed +the door. + +There was a copy of the month's Commentator on the table. De +Lloseta took it up and opened it at the first page. + +"Who wrote that?" he asked, holding out the magazine. + +Craik laughed--a sudden boyish laugh--but he held his sides the +while. + +"You not only beard the lion in his den, but you ask him to tell you +the tricks of his trade," he said. "Sit down, all the same. You +don't mind my pipe, do you?" + +The Spaniard sat down and sought a cigarette-case in his waistcoat +pocket with a deliberation that made his companion fidget in his +chair. + +"You asked me to write those sketches," said the Count pleasantly. +"I delayed and you gave the order to some one else. Assuredly I +have a certain right to ask who my supplanter is." + +"None whatever, my dear Lloseta. I did not give the order for those +sketches--they came." + +"From whom?" + +"Ah!" + +"You will not tell me?" + +"My dear man, I cannot. The smell of printing ink is not good for a +man's morals. Leave me my unsullied honour." + +The Count had lighted his cigarette. He looked keenly at his +companion's deeply-lined face, and the blue smoke floated between +them. + +"There are not many people who could have written that article," he +said. "For the few English who know Spain like that are known to +the natives. And no Spaniard would have dared to write it." + +John Craik laughed, and while he was laughing his eyes were grave +and full of keen observation. + +"Then you admit that it is true," he said. + +"Yes," answered the Count; "it is true--all of it. The writer knows +my country as few Englishmen--or WOMEN know it." + +John Craik was leaning back in his deep chair an emaciated, pain- +stricken form. His calm grey eyes met the quick glance, and did not +fall nor waver. + +"Then you will not tell me?" + +"No. But why are you so anxious to know?" + +The Count smoked for a few seconds in silence. + +"I will tell you," he said suddenly, "in confidence." + +Craik nodded, and settled himself again in his chair. He was a very +fidgety man. + +"It is not the first article that I care about," explained De +Lloseta. "It is that which is behind it. This"--he laid his hand +on the page--"is my own country, the north and east of Spain, the +wildest part of the Peninsula, the home of the Catalonians, who have +always been the leaders in strife and warfare. It is the country +from whence my family has its source. All that is written about +Catalonia or the Baleares must necessarily refer in part to me and +mine. This writer may know too much." + +"I think," said John Craik, "that I can guarantee that if the writer +does know too much, the Commentator shall not be the channel through +which the knowledge will reach the public." + +"Thanks; but--can you guarantee it? Can you guarantee that the +public interest, being aroused by these articles, may not ask for +further details, which details might easily be given elsewhere, in +something less--respectable--than the Commentator?" + +"My dear sir, one would think you had a crime on your conscience." + +Cipriani de Lloseta smiled--such a smile as John Craik had never +seen before. + +"I have many," he answered. "Who has not?" + +"Yes; they accumulate as life goes on, do they not?" + +"What I fear," went on De Lloseta, "is the idle gossip which obtains +in England under the pleasant title of 'Society Notes,' 'Boudoir +Chat,' and other new-fangled vulgarities. In Spain we have not +that." + +"Then Spain is the Promised Land." + +"Your Society journalists may talk of the English nobility, though +the aristocracy that fills the 'Society Notes' is almost invariably +the aristocracy of yesterday. But I want to keep the Spanish +families out of it if possible--the names that were there before +printing was invented." + +"Printing and education are too cheap nowadays," said John Craik. +"They are both dangerous instruments in the hands of fools, and it +is the fool who goes to the cheap market. But you need not be +afraid of the Society papers. It is only those who wish to be +advertised who find themselves there." + +De Lloseta's thoughts had gone back to the Commentator. He picked +up the magazine and was looking over the pages of the Spanish +article. + +"It is clever," he said. "It is very clever." + +Craik nodded, after the manner of one who had formed his own opinion +and intended to abide by it. He was a gentle-mannered man in the +ordinary intercourse of life, but on the battlefield of letters he +was a veritable Coeur-de-Lion. He quailed before no man. + +"You know," said the Count, "there are only two persons who could +have written this--and they are women. If it is the one, I fear +nothing; if the other, I fear everything." + +"Then," said John Craik, shuffling in his chair, "fear nothing." + +De Lloseta looked at him sharply. + +"I could force you to tell a lie by mentioning the name of the woman +who wrote this," he said. + +"Then don't!" said John Craik. "I lie beautifully!" + +"No, I will not. But I will ask you to do something for me instead: +let me read the proofs of these as they are printed." + +For exactly two seconds John Craik pondered. + +"I shall be happy to do that," he said. "I will let you know when +the proof is ready. You must come here and read it in this room." + +Cipriani de Lloseta rose from his seat. + +"Thank you," he said, holding out his hand. "I will not keep you +from your work. You are doing a better action than you are aware +of." + +He took the frail fingers in his grasp for a second and turned to +go. Before the door closed behind him John Craik was at work again. + +So Eve Challoner's work passed through Cipriani de Lloseta's hand, +and that nobleman came into her life from another point. It would +seem that in whichsoever direction she turned, the Mallorcan was +waiting for her with his grave persistence, his kindly determination +to watch over her, to exercise that manly control over her life +which is really the chief factor of feminine happiness on earth--if +women only knew it. For all through Nature there are qualities +given to the male for the sole advantage of the female, and the +beasts of the forest rise up in silent protest against the nonsense +that is talked to-day of woman's place in the world. We may +consider the beasts of the field to advantage, for through all the +chances and changes of education, of female emancipation, and the +subjection of the weaker sort of man, there will continue to run to +the end of time the one grand principle that the male is there to +protect the female and the female to care for her young. + +Cipriani de Lloseta thus late in life seemed to have found an +object. Eve Challoner, while bringing back the past with a flood of +recollections--for she seemed to carry the air of Mallorca with her- +-had so far brought him to the present that for the first time since +thirty years and more he began to be interested in the life that was +around him. + +He suspected--nay, he almost knew--that Eve had written the article +in the Commentator which had attracted so much attention. John +Craik had to a certain extent baffled him. He had called on the +editor of the great periodical in the hope of gleaning some detail-- +some little scrap of information which would confirm his suspicion-- +but he had come away with nothing of value excepting the promise +that the printed matter should pass through his hands before it +reached the public. + +Even if he was mistaken, and this proved after all to be the work of +Mrs. Harrington, the fact of the proof being offered to his scrutiny +was in itself an important safeguard. This, however, was only a +secondary possibility. He knew that Eve had written this thing, and +he wished to have the opportunity of correcting one or two small +mistakes which he anticipated, and which he felt that he himself +alone could rectify. + +In the meantime John Craik was scribbling a letter to Eve in his +minute caligraphy. + +"DEAR MADAM" (he wrote), "Your first article is, I am glad to say, +attracting considerable attention. It is absolutely necessary that +I should see you, with a view of laying down plans for further +contributions. Please let me know how this can be arranged. Yours +truly, + "JOHN CRAIK." + +And at the same time another man, to whom all these things were of +paramount importance--to whom all that touched Eve's life was as if +it touched his own--was reading the Commentator. Fitz, on his way +home from the Mediterranean, to fill the post of navigating- +lieutenant to a new ironclad at that time fitting out at Chatham, +bought the Commentator from an enterprising newsagent given to +maritime venture in Plymouth harbour. The big steamer only stayed +long enough to discharge her mails, and Fitz being a sailor did not +go ashore. Instead, he sat on a long chair on deck and read the +Commentator. He naturally concluded that at last Cipriani de +Lloseta had acceded to John Craik's wish. + +The Ingham-Bakers had come home from Malta and were at this time +staying with Mrs. Harrington in London. Agatha had of late taken to +reading the newspapers somewhat exhaustively. She read such columns +as are usually passed over by the majority of womankind--such as +naval intelligence and those uninteresting details of maritime +affairs printed in small type, and stated to emanate from Lloyd's, +wherever that vague source may be. + +From these neglected corners of the Morning Post Agatha Ingham-Baker +had duly learnt that Henry FitzHenry had been appointed navigating- +lieutenant to the Terrific, lying at Chatham, which would +necessitate his leaving the Kittiwake at Gibraltar and returning to +England at once. She also read that the Indian liner Croonah had +sailed from Malta for Gibraltar and London, with two hundred and +five passengers and twenty-six thousand pounds in specie. + +And John Craik had written to Eve to come to London, where she had a +permanent invitation to stay with Mrs. Harrington. + +From over the wide world these people seemed to be drifting together +like leaves upon a pond--borne hither and thither by some unseen +current, swirled suddenly by a passing breath--at the mercy of wind +and weather and chance, each occupied in his or her small daily +life, looking no further ahead than the next day or the next week. +And yet they were drifting surely and steadily towards each other, +driven by the undercurrent of Fate, against which the strongest will +may beat itself in vain. + + + +CHAPTER IV. FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER. + + Let thine eyes look right on. + +"How handsome Fitz looks in his uniform!" Mrs. Ingham-Baker said, +with that touch of nervous apprehension which usually affected all +original remarks addressed by her to Mrs. Harrington. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker had been to Malta and back, but the wonders of the +deep had failed to make a wiser woman of her. If one wishes to gain +anything by seeing the world, it is best to go and look at it early +in life. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Harrington, with a glance in the direction of +Agatha, the only other occupant of the drawing-room--"yes; he is a +good-looking young fellow." + +Agatha was reading the Globe, sitting upright and stiff, for she was +wearing a new ball-dress. + +"I think," went on Mrs. Ingham-Baker volubly, "that I have never +seen a naval uniform before--in a room close at hand, you know. Of +course, on board the Croonah the officers wore a sort of uniform, +but they had not a sword." + +Agatha turned over her newspaper impatiently. Mrs. Harrington was +listening with an air of the keenest interest, which might have been +sarcastic. + +"Poor Luke had not quite so much gold braid--" + +Agatha looked up, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker collapsed. + +"I should think," she added, after some nervous shufflings in her +seat, "that a sword is a great nuisance. Should you not think so, +Marion dear?" + +"I do not know," replied Mrs. Harrington; "I never wore one." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker laughed eagerly at herself, after the manner of +persons who cannot afford to keep up a decent self-respect. + +"But I always rather think," she went on, with an apprehensive +glance towards her daughter, "that a sword is out of place in a +drawing-room, or--or anywhere where there are carpets, you know." + +"I thought you had never seen one before," put in Agatha, without +looking up from her newspaper. "In a room--close at hand, you +know." + +"No--no, of course not; but I knew, dear, that they were worn. Of +course, in warfare it is different." + +"In warfare," said Mrs. Harrington patiently, "they are usually +supposed to come in rather handy." + +"Yes--he-he!" acquiesced Mrs. Ingham-Baker, adjusting a bracelet on +her arm with something approaching complacency. She thought she +began to see daylight through the conversational maze in which--with +the best intentions--she had involved herself. "But I was only +thinking that for a lady's drawing-room I think I like Luke's quiet +black clothes just as much." + +"I am glad of that," said Mrs. Harrington; "because I expect you +will see several other men in the same dress this evening." + +Mrs. Harrington had got up a party to go to the great naval ball of +the season--a charity ball. Her party consisted of the Ingham- +Bakers and the FitzHenrys, and for the first time for eight years +the twin brothers met in the house in Grosvenor Gardens. They were +at this moment in the dining-room together, where they had been left +by their hostess with a kindly injunction to finish the port wine, +duly tempered--as was all Mrs. Harrington's kindness--by +instructions not to smoke. + +Agatha's feelings were rather mixed, so, like a wise young woman of +the world, she read the evening paper with great assiduity and +refused to think. + +The evening had been one of comparisons. Fitz and Luke had come +together, for they were sharing rooms in Jermyn Street. Fitz, +smart, upright, essentially a naval officer and an unquestionable +gentleman. Luke, a trifle browner, more weather-beaten, with a +faint, subtle suggestion of a rougher life. Fitz, easy, good- +natured, calmly sure of himself--utterly without self-consciousness. +Luke, conscious of inferior grade, not quite at ease, jealously on +the alert for the comparison. + +And Agatha had known from the first moment that in the eyes of the +world--and Mrs. Harrington looked through those eyes--there was no +comparison. Fitz carried all before him. All except Agatha. The +girl was puzzled. Luke could not be compared with Fitz, and the +whole world did not compare with Luke. She was fully awake to the +contradiction, and she could not reconcile her facts. She had been +very properly brought up at the Brighton Boarding School, receiving +a good, practical, modern, nineteenth-century education--a +curriculum of solid facts culled from the latest school books, from +which Love had very properly been omitted. + +And now, as she pretended to read the Globe Agatha was puzzling +vaguely and numbly over the contradictions that come into human +existence with the small adjunct called love. She was wondering how +it was that she saw Luke's faults and the thousand ways in which he +was inferior to his brother, and yet that with all these to stay him +up Fitz did not compare with Luke. After all, there must have been +some small defect in the education which she had received, for +instead of thinking these futile things she ought to have been +attempting to discover--as was her mother at that moment--which of +the two brothers seemed more likely to inherit Mrs. Harrington's +money. + +Agatha's thoughts went back to the moment on the deck of the +Croonah, when the sea breeze swept over her and Luke, and the +strength of it, the simple, open force, seemed to be part and parcel +of him--of the strong arms around her in which she was content to +lie quiescent. She wondered for a moment whether it had all been +true. + +For Agatha Ingham-Baker was essentially human and womanly, in that +she was, and ever would be, a creature of possibilities. She took +up her long gloves and began slowly to draw them on. They were +quite new, and she smoothed them with a distinct satisfaction, under +which there brooded the sense of a new possibility. In all her +calculations of life--and these had been many--she had never thought +of the possibility of misery. She buttoned the gloves, she drew +them cunningly up over her rounded arms, and she wondered whether +she was going to be a miserable woman all her life. She saw herself +suddenly with those inward eyes which are sometimes vouchsafed to us +momentarily, and she saw Misery--in its best dress. + +She looked up as Fitz and Luke came into the room. Luke's eyes were +only for her. Fitz, with the unconcealed absorption which was often +his, absolutely ignored her presence. And the little incident +roused something contradictory in Agatha--something evil and, alas! +feminine. She awoke to the very matter-of-factness of the present +moment, and she determined to make a conquest of Fitz. + +Agatha was not quite on her guard, and Mrs. Harrington's cold grey +eyes were alert. It had once been this lady's intention to use +Agatha as a means of subjecting Luke to her own capricious will-- +Agatha being the alternative means where money had failed. She had +almost forgotten this when Luke came into the room with eyes only +for Agatha--and the girl was looking at Fitz. + +"I suppose, Agatha," said Mrs. Harrington, "you will not be at a +loss for partners to-night? You will know plenty of dancing men?" + +"Oh, I suppose so," replied Agatha indifferently. She turned over +her newspaper and retreated, as it were, behind her first line of +defence--the sure line of audacious silence. + +"The usual throng?" + +"The usual throng," answered Agatha imperturbably. + +Luke was biting his nails impatiently. His jealousy was patent to +any woman. Fitz was talking to Mrs. Ingham-Baker. + +"I should advise you young men to secure your dances now," continued +Mrs. Harrington, with her usual fatal persistence. "Once Agatha +gets into the room she will be snapped up." + +Fitz turned round with his good-natured smile--the smile that +indicates a polite attention to an indifferent conversation--and +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was free to thrust in her awkward oar. She +splashed in. + +"Oh, I am sure she will not let herself be snapped up to-night; will +you, dear?" + +"That, no doubt, depends upon the snapper," put in Mrs. Harrington, +looking--perhaps by accident--at Fitz. "Fitz," she went on, "come +here and tell me all about your new ship. I hope you are proud--I +am. I am often laughed at for a garrulous old woman when I begin +talking of you!" + +She glanced aside at Mrs. Ingham-Baker, who was beaming on Fitz, as +the simple-hearted beam on the rising sun. + +"Yes," said the stout lady, "we are all so delighted. Agatha was +only saying yesterday that your success was wonderful. She was +quite excited about it." + +The fond mother looked invitingly towards her daughter with a smile +that said as plainly as words - + +"There you are! I have cleared the stage for you--step in and score +a point." + +But Agatha did not respond. + +"I suppose it is a steamer," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker eagerly. +"A steam man-of-war." + +"Yes," replied Fitz, with perfect gravity, "a steam man-of-war." + +"The Horrible--or the Terrible, is it not?" + +"The Terrific." + +There was an account of the new war-ship in the evening paper which +Agatha had laid aside, and Fitz was impolitely glancing at this +while he spoke. The journal gave the names of the officers. Fitz +was wondering whether Eve Challoner ever saw the Globe. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker became lost in a maternal fit of admiration. She +was looking at Agatha with her head on one side. At intervals she +glanced towards Fitz--an inviting glance, as if to draw his +attention to the fact that one of Nature's most perfect productions +was waiting to gladden his vision. + +"Look!" that little glance seemed to say. "Look at Agatha. IS she +not lovely?" + +But Fitz was still wondering whether Eve was in the habit of reading +the Globe. He often wondered thus about her daily habits, trying to +picture, in his ignorant masculine way, the hours and minutes of a +girl's daily existence. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker could not stand this waste of his time and +Agatha's dress. + +"What do you think of the frock?" she asked Mrs. Harrington, in a +whisper which was audible to every one in the room. + +"It is very pretty," replied the hostess, who happened to be in a +good humour. Dress possessed a small corner of her cold heart. It +was one of very few weaknesses. It was almost a redeeming point in +a too man-like character. Her own dresses were always perfect, +usually of the richest silk--and grey. Hence she was known as the +Grey Lady, and only a few--for Society has neither time nor capacity +for thought--wondered whether the colour had penetrated to her soul. + +The two now became engaged in a technical conversation, which was +only interrupted by the arrival of tea. Luke and Agatha were +talking about Malta. She was telling him that their friends in +Valetta had invited them to go again next year, and the Croonah was +mentioned. + +While the hostess was attending to the teapot, Mrs. Ingham-Baker +took the opportunity of disturbing Fitz--of stirring him up, so to +speak, and making him look at Agatha. + +"Do you think you would have recognised your old playmate if you had +met her accidentally--to-night, for instance, at the ball?" she +asked. + +Again the inviting glance toward her daughter, to which Fitz +naturally responded. It was too obvious to ignore. + +"No; I do not think so," he replied, going back in his mind to the +recollection of a thin-legged little girl with lank hair. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker's proud eyes rested complacently on her offspring. + +"Do you like her dress?" she asked in a whisper--only audible to +him. But Agatha knew the gist of it. The arm and shoulder nearest +to them gave a little jerk of self-consciousness. + +"Very pretty," replied Fitz; and Mrs. Ingham-Baker stored the remark +away for future use. For all she knew--or all she wanted to know-- +it might refer to Agatha's self. + +"I am afraid I shall lose her, you know--horribly afraid," whispered +Mrs. Ingham-Baker, knowing the value of competition in all things. + +Fitz looked genuinely sympathetic, and glanced at Agatha again, +wondering what disease had marked her for its own. Mrs. Ingham- +Baker thought fit to explain indirectly, as was her wont. + +"She is very much admired," she said under her breath, with a sigh +and a lugubrious shake of the head. + +"Oh," murmured Fitz, with a smile. + +"Yes," answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker. She heaved a sigh, observed a +decent pause, and then added, "Does it surprise you?" + +"Not in the least. It is most natural." + +"You think so--really?" + +"Of course I do," answered Fitz. + +There was another little pause, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker then said, in +a tone of friendly confidence - + +"I advise you to secure your dances early. She will be engaged +three deep in a very short time--a lot of mere boys she does not +want to dance with." + +Fitz thanked her fervently, and went to help Mrs. Harrington. + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker sat back in her chair, well pleased with herself. +Like many of her kind, she began the social campaign with the +initial error of underrating her natural foes--young men. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE TEAR ON THE SWORD. + + But over all things brooding slept + The quiet sense of something lost. + +Agatha was singularly uncertain of herself. If it had not been for +her education--at the Brighton school they had taught her that tears +are not only idle, but also harmful to the complexion--she would +have felt inclined to weep. + +There was something wrong about the world this evening, and she did +not know what it was. Little things irritated her--such as the +creak of Mrs. Harrington's rich silk dress as that lady breathed. +Agatha almost hated Fitz, without knowing why. She wanted Luke to +come and speak to her, and yet the necessity of limiting their +conversation to mere social platitudes made her hope that he would +not do so. + +At length she rose to go and make her last preparations for the +ball. The old habit was so strong upon her that unconsciously she +gave a little swing of the hips to throw her skirt out--to show +herself to the greatest advantage in the perfect dress. There was a +tiny suggestion of the thoroughbred horse in the paddock--as there +always is in the attitude of some young persons, though they would +not be grateful were one to tell them of it--a certain bridling, a +sleek step, and a lamentably obvious search for the eye of +admiration. Fitz opened the door for her, and she gave him a glance +as she passed him--a preliminary shot to find the range, as it were- +-to note which way the wind blew. + +In the dimly-lighted hall Agatha suddenly became aware of a hot +sensation in the eyelids. The temperature of the tear of vexation +is a high one. As she passed towards the staircase, her glance was +attracted by a sword, bright of hilt, dark of sheath. Fitz's sword, +lying with his white gloves on the table, where he had laid them on +coming into the house. The footman had drawn the blade an inch or +so from the sheath--to look at the chasing--to handle the steel that +deals in warfare with all the curiosity of one whose business lies +among the knives of peace. + +Agatha paused and looked at the tokens of Fitz's calling. She +thought of Luke, who had no sword. And the hot unwonted tear fell +on the blade. + +All the evening Mrs. Harrington had been marked in her attention to +Fitz. It was quite obvious that he was--for the moment, at all +events--the favoured nephew. And Mrs. Ingham-Baker noted these +things. + +"My dear," she whispered to Agatha, when they were waiting in the +hall for their hostess, "it is Fitz, of course. I can see that with +half an eye." + +Agatha shrugged her shoulders in a rude manner, suggesting almost +that her mother was deprived of more reliable means of observation +than the moiety mentioned. + +"What is Fitz?" she asked, with weary patience. + +"Well, I can only tell you that she has called him 'dear' twice this +evening, and I have never heard her do the same to Luke." + +"A lot Luke cares!" muttered Agatha scornfully, and her mother, +whose sense of logic did not run to the perception that Luke's +feelings were beside the question, discreetly collapsed into her +voluminous wraps. + +She was, however, quite accustomed to be treated thus with +contumely, and then later to see her suggestions acted upon--a +feminine consolation which men would do well to take unto +themselves. As soon as they entered the ball-room, Mrs. Ingham- +Baker, with that supernatural perspicacity which is sometimes found +in stupid mothers, saw that Agatha was refusing her usual partners. +She noted her daughter's tactics with mingled awe and admiration, +both of which tributes were certainly deserved. She saw Agatha look +straight through one man at the decorations on the wall behind; she +saw her greet an amorous youth of tender years with a semi-maternal +air of protection which at once blighted his hopes, cured his +passion, and made him abandon the craving for a dance. Agatha was +evidently reserving herself and her programme for some special +purposes, and she did it with a skill bred of long experience. + +Luke was the first to come and ask for a dance--nay, he demanded it. + +"Do you remember the last time we danced together?" he asked, as he +wrote on her card. + +"Yes," she replied, in a voice which committed her to nothing. She +did not look at him, but past him; to where Fitz was talking to Mrs. +Harrington. + +But he was not content with that. He retained the card and stood in +front of her, waiting with suppressed passion in every muscle, +waiting for her to meet his eyes. + +At last, almost against her will, she did, and for one brief moment +she was supremely happy. It was only, however, for a moment. Sent, +apparently, by a very practical Providence to save her from herself, +a young man blustered good-naturedly through the crowd and planted +himself before her with a cheery aplomb which seemed to indicate his +supposition that in bringing her his presence he brought the desire +of her heart and the brightest moment of the evening. + +"Well, Agatha," he said, in that loud voice which, with all due +deference, usually marks the Harrovian, "how many have you got for +me? No rot now! I want my share, you know, eh?" + +Heedless of Luke's scowling presence, he held out his hand, encased +in a very tight glove, asking with a good-natured jerk of the head +for her programme. + +"Is your wife here?" asked Agatha, smilingly relinquishing her card. + +"Wife be blowed!" he answered heartily. "Why so formal? Of course +she's here, carrying on with all the young 'uns as usual. She's as +fit as paint. But she won't like to be called stiff names. Why +don't you call her Maggie?" + +Agatha smiled and did not explain. She doubtless had a good reason +for the unusually formal inquiry, and she glanced at Luke to see +that his brow had cleared. + +Then suddenly some instinct, coming she knew not whence, and leading +to consequences affecting their three lives, made her introduce the +two men. + +"Mr. Carr," she said, "Mr. FitzHenry. You may be able to get each +other partners. Besides, you have an interest in common." + +The two men bowed. + +"Are you a sailor?" inquired Luke, almost pleasantly. With Willie +Carr it was difficult to be stiff and formal. + +"Not I; but I'm interested in shipping--not the navy, you know-- +merchant service. I'm something in the City, like the young man on +the omnibus, eh?" + +"I'm in the merchant service," answered Luke. + +"Ah! What ship?" + +"The Croonah." + +"Croonah," repeated Carr, hastily scribbling his name on Agatha's +programme. "Fine ship; I know her well by name. Know 'em all on +paper, you know. I'm an insurance man--what they call a doctor-- +Lloyd's and all that; missing ships, overdue steamers, hedging and +dodging, and the inner walks of marine insurance--that's yours +truly. Croonah's a big value, _I_ know." + +He looked up keenly over Agatha's engagement card. The look was not +quite in keeping with his bluff and open manners. Moreover, a man +who is, so to speak, not in keeping with himself is one who requires +watching. + +"Yes, she is a fine ship," answered Luke, with a momentary thought +of the Terrific. + +"Tell me," went on Carr, confidentially plucking Luke's sleeve, +"when she is going to the bottom, and I'll do a line for you--make +your fortune for you. You'd not be the first man who has come to +me, with his hair hardly dry, for a cheque." + +Luke laughed and went away in answer to Mrs. Harrington's beckoning +finger. + +Fitz was coming towards Agatha and her companion. + +"Holloa!" exclaimed Carr, "I'm blowed if here is not a second +edition of the same man." + +"His brother," explained Agatha, who saw Fitz coming, although she +was apparently looking the other way. + +"Royal Navy," muttered Carr. + +"Yes." + +"Then I'm off. Can't get on with Royal Navy men, somehow." + +With a jovial nod and something remarkably near a wink, Willie Carr +left her, shouldering his way through the crowd with that good- +natured boisterousness of manner which is accepted by the world for +honesty. + +Agatha was looking the other way when Fitz came to her, and he was +forced to touch her and repeat his desire to be accorded a dance +before she became aware of his proximity. + +"Certainly," she answered rather carelessly, "if you want one. I-- +"--she paused with infinite skill and looked down at her own dress-- +"I thought I had displeased you." + +Fitz looked slightly surprised. + +"What an absurd thing to think!" he said rather lamely. + +She glanced up with pert coquetry. + +"Then it was only oblivion or indifference." + +"What was only oblivion or indifference?" he asked, still smiling as +he compared cards. + +"Your very obvious delay in coming," she answered. "Considering +that we have known each other since we were children, it is only +natural that I should want to dance with you." + +"Considering that we have known each other since we were children," +he said, repeating her words and tone, "may I have a third?" + +"Yes," with a frank nod. "And"--she paused, and looking round saw +Luke going away in the opposite direction with Mrs. Harrington--"and +will you take me to have some coffee now? I am engaged for this +dance, but no matter." + +Fitz gave her his arm and turned to hitch his sword higher. He made +sure that the blade was well home, shutting in the little red spot +of gathering rust--a tear. + +When they had at length passed through the eager crowd and found a +resting-place in a smaller room, Agatha looked up at Fitz as he +handed her her coffee, and did not pretend to hide the admiration +with which she regarded him. + +"You know," she said, "you are a great favourite with Mrs. +Harrington." + +"She is always very kind to me." + +Fitz was a difficult person to gossip with by reason of his quiet +directness of manner. He had a way of abruptly finishing his speech +without the usual lowering of the voice. And it is just that small +drop of half a tone that invites further confidence. In such small +matters as these lies the secret of conversational success, and by +such trivial tricks of the tongue we are daily and hourly deceived. +The man or the woman who lowers the tone at the end of speech defers +to the listener's opinion, and usually receives it. The manner with +which Fitz broke off led his listener to believe that he was not +attending to the conversation. Agatha therefore baited her hook +more heavily. + +"Like many women, she thinks that sailors are superior to the rest +of mankind," she said, with just enough lightness of tone to be +converted into a screen if necessary. But she heaved a little sigh +before she drank her coffee. + +Fitz had not decided whether all this referred to himself or to +Luke. He hoped that Agatha had, so to speak, brought her guns to +bear upon him, because of himself he was sure, of Luke he was +doubtful. As a matter of curiosity he pursued the conversation. + +"And you," he said, "look upon such mistaken persons with the +mingled pity and contempt that they deserve?" + +"No," she answered, with audacious calmness, as she rose and passed +before him; "for I think the same." + +She cleverly deprived him of the opportunity of answering, and +pushed her way through the crowd alone, allowing him to follow. + +Before she danced with him again, she danced with Luke, and her +humour seemed to have undergone a change. + +There are some men who, like salmon, never go back. They push on, +and that which they have gained they hold to though it cost them +their lives. Luke FitzHenry was one of these, and Agatha found that +in the London ball-room she could take back nothing that she had +given on board the Croonah. Luke, it is to be presumed, had old- +fashioned theories which have fallen into disuse in these practical +modern days wherein we flirt for one night only, for a day, for a +week, according to convenience. He could not lay aside the voyage +to Malta and that which occurred then as a matter of the past; and +Agatha, surprised and at a loss, did not seem to know how to make +him do so. + +She learnt with a new wonder that the rest of this ball--namely, +that part of his programme which did not refer to her, the dances he +was to dance with partners other than herself--counted as nothing. +For him this ball was merely herself. There was not another woman +in the room--for him. He told her this and other things. Moreover, +the sound of it was quite new to her. For the modern young man does +not make serious love to such women as Agatha Ingham-Baker. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY. + + La discretion d'un homme est d'autant plus grande qu'on lui +demande davantage. + +"I want you to ask me to dinner!" + +The Count de Lloseta bowed as he made this remark, and looked at his +companion with a smile. + +At times Mrs. Harrington gave way to a momentary panic in respect to +Cipriani de Lloseta--when she was not feeling very well, perhaps. +Her situation seemed to be somewhat that of a commander holding an +impregnable position against a cunning foe. For every position of +such a nature is impenetrable only so long as it can meet and defy +each new engine of warfare that is brought against it. And one day +the fatal engine is invented. + +Mrs. Harrington looked into his face with a flicker in her drawn +grey eyes. Then she gave a little laugh which was not quite free +from uneasiness. + +"Why?" she asked sardonically. "Have you fallen in love with some +one at last?" + +She knew that this taunt would hurt him. Besides, she liked to +throw it at the memory of a woman whom she had hated--Cipriani de +Lloseta's dead wife. + +"I should like to be of your party to-night," he said quietly. + +She gave another scornful laugh, with that ring of malice in it +which thrills in the voice of some elderly women when they speak of +young girls. + +"Eve is to be of our party to-night," she said. "Ah--that would be +too absurd--a new Adam! You! But, mind you, Agatha will be here +too. You will have to be careful how you play your cards, Don Juan! +However, we dine at eight, and I shall be glad to see you." + +De Lloseta took up his hat and stick. With Mrs. Harrington, and +with no one else perhaps in London, he still observed the stiff +Spanish manner. He bowed without offering to shake hands, and left +her. + +Mrs. Harrington--cold, calculating, essentially worldly--looked at +the closed door with deep speculation in her eyes. They were hard +eyes, such as are only to be seen in a woman's face; for an old man +has usually picked up a little charity somewhere on the road through +life. + +Then she looked at a hundred-pound note which he had tossed across +the table to her with a silent Catalonian contempt earlier in the +proceedings. + +"I thought he was rather easy to manage," she said, examining the +note. "I thought he wanted something. He has paid this--for his +dinner." + +The Count moreover appeared to consider the entertainment cheap at +the price, if his manner was to be relied upon. For he entered the +drawing-room at eight o'clock the same evening with an unusually +pleasant air of anticipatory enjoyment. He shook hands quite gaily +with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, who bridled stoutly, and thought that he was +a very distinguished-looking man despite his dark airs. He received +Agatha's careless nod and shake of the hand with a murmured +politeness; with Eve he shook hands in silence. Then he turned +rather suddenly upon Fitz and held out his hand gravely. + +"I congratulate you," he said. "When I last had the pleasure of +seeing you, I did not suspect that I was entertaining a great man +unawares--you were too humble." + +Fitz involuntarily glanced towards Eve, knowing that the speaker had +a second meaning. Eve was watching the Count rather curiously, as +if wondering how he would greet Fitz. Every one in the room was +looking at the Count de Lloseta; for this quiet-spoken Spaniard was +a distinct factor in the life of each one of them. + +They fell to talking of commonplace matters, and presently Mrs. +Harrington rustled in. The servants were only awaiting her arrival +to announce that dinner was ready. + +She looked round. + +"We are short of men," she said. "We miss Luke, do we not?" + +She looked straight at Agatha, who returned her stare with audacious +imperturbability. It was only Luke's presence that unsteadied her. +When he was away, she could hold her own against the world. + +"I have never seen Luke," said Eve to the Count, who had been +commanded to offer her his arm. "I am so sorry to have missed him." + +Agatha, who was in front, beneath them on the stairs, turned and +looked up at her with a strange smile. She either did not heed the +Count, or she undervalued his powers of observation. + +"You would undoubtedly have liked him," said the Spaniard. + +At the table there was considerable arranging of the seats, and +finally De Lloseta was placed at one side with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +while the two girls sat side by side opposite to them. + +Fitz was at the foot of the table. + +In the course of conversation the Spaniard leant across and said to +Agatha - + +"Have you seen this month's Commentator, Miss Ingham-Baker?" + +An unaccountable silence fell upon the assembled guests. Eve +Challoner's face turned quite white. Her eyes were lowered to her +plate. No one looked at her except the Count, and his glance was +momentary. + +"Yes--and of course I have read the Spanish sketch. I suppose every +one in London has! It makes me want to go to Spain." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker bridled and glanced at the Spaniard. Agatha might +be a countess yet--a foreign one, but still a countess. Fitz was +looking at De Lloseta. He naturally concluded that it was he who +had written the article. He was still watching his face when the +Spaniard turned to him and said - + +"And you, Fitz? You know something about the matter too!" + +And Eve Challoner betrayed herself completely. No one happened to +be looking at her except Cipriani de Lloseta, and he saw that not +only had she written the celebrated articles, but that she loved +Fitz. Fitz's opinion was the only one worth hearing. In her +anxiety to hear it, she quite forgot to guard her secret. + +"Yes," answered Fitz, wondering what De Lloseta was leading up to. +"I have read them both, of course. I hope there are more. The man +knows what he is writing about." + +"He does," said the Count, smiling across the table at Eve. + +The girl was moistening her lips, which seemed suddenly to have +become dry and feverish. Her hands were trembling. She had +evidently been terribly afraid of the opinion so innocently asked by +the Spaniard. + +De Lloseta changed the subject at once. He had found out all that +he wanted to know, and more. He had no intention of forcing a +confidence upon Eve. + +The burthen of the conversation fell upon his shoulders. Fitz, no +great talker at any time, was markedly quiet. He had nothing to +offer for the general delectation. His remarks upon all subjects +mooted were laconic and valueless. The duties as temporary host +occupied him for the moment, and his thoughts were obviously +elsewhere. His attitude towards Eve had been friendly, but rather +reserved. There was no suggestion of sulkiness, but on the other +hand he had failed to take advantage of one or two opportunities +which she had given him of referring to the past and to any mutual +obligations or common interests they had had therein. It happened +that Agatha had heard her give him these openings, and had noticed +his lack of enterprise. + +Agatha Ingham-Baker had long before conceived a strange suspicion-- +namely, that Eve and Fitz loved each other. She had absolutely +nothing to base her suspicions upon, not so much even as the gossips +of Majorca. And nevertheless her suspicions throve, as such do, and +grew into conviction. + +Agatha had come down early to the drawing-room on purpose to +establish her right over Fitz. She found De Lloseta in the hall, +and he followed her into the room. Whenever she attempted to +demonstrate her right to the attention of the only young man present +by one of those little glances or words with which women hurt each +other, De Lloseta seemed to step in, intercepting with his dark +smile. At dinner, when Fitz was absent-minded, Agatha managed to +show the others that she alone could follow him into the land of his +reflections and call him back from thence. But on several +occasions, when she was about to turn to him with a smile which was +especially reserved for certain young men under certain +circumstances, Cipriani de Lloseta spoke to her and spoilt the small +manoeuvre. + +Eve saw it all. She saw more than the acute Spaniard. Firstly, +because she was a woman. Secondly, because she loved Fitz. +Thirdly, because the inken curse was hers in a small degree, and +people who dabble in ink often wade deep into human nature. + + + +CHAPTER VII. A VOYAGE. + + And hence one master passion in the breast, + Like Aaron's serpent, swallows all the rest. + +Life is, after all, a matter of habit. In those families where +rapid consumption is hereditary, the succeeding generations seem to +get into the habit of dying early. They take it, without complaint, +as a matter of course. Sailors and other persons who lead a rough +and hazardous life seem also to acquire this philosophy of +existence. Luke FitzHenry went to sea again on the day appointed +for the Croonah to leave London, without so much as a snarl at Fate. + +It was a great wrench to him to leave Agatha again so soon, in the +first full force of his passion. But he left her almost happily. +His love for her was rising up and filling his whole existence. And +it is not those lives that are frittered away in a thousand pastimes +that are happy. It is the strong life wholly absorbed by one great +interest, be it love or be it merely money-making. + +Luke had hitherto been rather an aimless man. He was a brilliant +sailor, not because he set himself to the task, but merely because +seamanship was born in him, together with a dogged steadiness of +nerve and a complete fearlessness. It was so easy to be a good +sailor that he had not even the satisfaction of having to make an +effort. His heart was empty. He had indeed the sea, but his love +of it was unconscious. Away from it, he was ill at ease; on its +breast, he was not actively happy--he was merely at home. But he +had no career. He had no great prize to aim for, and his combative +nature required one. He had no career to make, for he was already +near the summit of the humble ladder on which Fate had set his feet. + +Then came Agatha, and the empty heart was filled with a dangerous +suddenness. + +The pain which this parting caused him had something of pleasure in +it. There are some men and many women who doubt love unless it +bring actual pain with it. Luke had always mistrusted fate, and had +love brought happiness with it he would probably have doubted its +genuineness. He hugged all his doubts, his jealousies, his +passionate thoughts to himself. He had nothing to cling to. Agatha +had never told him that she loved him. But she was for him so +entirely apart from all other women that it seemed necessary that he +also should not be as other men for her. Not much for a lover to +live upon during four or five months! + +Agatha had given him a photograph of herself--a fashionable picture +in an affected pose in evening dress--but she had absolutely refused +to write. This photograph Luke put into a frame, and as soon as the +Croonah was out of dock he hung it up in his little cabin. His +servant saw it and recognised the fair passenger of a former voyage, +but he knew his place and his master too well to offer any comment. + +Unlike the ordinary young man, whose thoughts are lightly turned to +love, Luke was no worse a sailor for his self-absorption. All his +care, all his keen, fearless judgment were required; for the Croonah +ran through a misty channel into a boisterous Atlantic. + +He stood motionless at his post, as was his wont, keen and alert for +the moment, but living in the past. He saw again Mrs. Harrington's +drawing-room as he had last seen it, with Agatha sitting in a low +chair near the fire, while Mrs. Harrington wrote at her desk, and +Mrs. Ingham-Baker read the Times. + +"I have come," he remembered saying, "to bid you good-bye." + +He heard again the rustle of Mrs. Ingham-Baker's newspaper, and +again he saw the look in Agatha's eyes as they met his. He would +remember that look to the end of his life; he was living on it now. +Agatha, in her rather high-pitched society tones, was the first to +speak. + +"If I were a sailor," she said, "I would never say good-bye. It is +better to drop in and pay a call; at the end one might casually +mention the words." + +"Oh! we grow accustomed to it," Luke answered. + +"Do you?" the girl inquired, with an enigmatical smile, and her +answer was in his eyes. She did not want him to grow accustomed to +saying farewell to her. + +Luke FitzHenry was not inclined to sociability--the stronger sort of +man rarely is. On board the Croonah he was usually considered +morose and self absorbed. He did his duty, and in this was second +to no man on board; but he was content to get the passengers to +their destination, looking upon the Croonah as a mere conveyance for +a certain number of chattering, gossiping, mischief-making live- +stock. He utterly failed in his social duties; he did not cultivate +the art of making his ship a sort of floating "hydro". + +The boisterous weather kept the decks fairly select until Gibraltar +had been left behind in the luminous haze that hangs over the mouth +of the Mediterranean in a westerly breeze. But in the smoother +waters of the Southern seas the passengers plucked up courage, and +one morning at breakfast Luke perceived a tall, heavy-shouldered man +nodding vigorously, and wiping his mouth with a napkin, which he +subsequently waved with friendly jocularity. + +"Morning--morning!" he cried. + +"Good morning," replied Luke, passing to his seat at the after-end +of the saloon. He had recognised the man at once, although he had +only exchanged a few words with him in a crowded ball-room. +Everything connected with Agatha, however remotely, seemed to +engrave itself indelibly on his mind. This was Willie Carr, the man +to whom Agatha had introduced him at the naval orphanage ball. +Willie Carr was on board the Croonah, evidently quite at home, and +bound for India, for he was seated at the Indian table. + +It was not necessary for Luke to make inquiries about this +passenger, because his brother officers soon began to speak of him. +By some means Carr made himself popular among the officers, and +gradually began to enjoy privileges denied to his fellow passengers. +He frequently visited the engine-room, and was always to be seen +after meals in, or in the neighbourhood of, the smoking-room, in +conversation with one or other of the Croonah's officers, who were +generally found to be smoking Carr's cigars. + +Despite many obvious and rather noisy overtures of friendship, Luke +FitzHenry held aloof until the Aden light was left behind. He +succeeded in limiting his intercourse to an exchange of passing +remarks on the weather until the Croonah had rounded Pointe de Galle +and was heading northwards. Then arose circumstances which brought +them together, and possibly served Willie Carr's deliberate purpose. + +Carr was travelling without his wife--he was the sort of man who +does travel without his wife. She, poor woman, had made one initial +mistake, namely, in marrying him, and such mistakes are sometimes +paid for by a life of atonement to the gods. She remained at home +to care for an ever-increasing family on a small housekeeping +allowance, which was not always paid. + +This wife was the only point in his favour which had presented +itself to Luke's mind, for the latter resented a certain tone of +easy familiarity, which Agatha seemed to take as a matter of course. + +Luke was afraid of being questioned about Agatha, and he therefore +kept Carr at a respectful distance. He harboured no personal +dislike towards the man, whose bluff and honest manner made him +popular among his fellows. + +It was the evening of the first day in the Bay of Bengal that a +steamer passed the Croonah, running south, and flying a string of +signals. The Croonah replied, and the homeward-bound vessel +disappeared in the gathering twilight with her code flags still +flying. + +"What did she say?" asked the passengers. + +"Nothing," replied the officers; "only the weather. It is the +change of the monsoon." + +At dinner the captain was remarkably grave; he left the table early, +having eaten little. The officers were reticent, as was their wont. +Luke FitzHenry, it was remarked and remembered afterwards, alone +appeared to be in good spirits. + +After dinner a busybody in the shape of a too intelligent young +coffee-planter, who possessed an aneroid barometer, brought that +instrument to the smoking-room with a scared face. The needle was +deflected to a part of the dial which the intelligent young planter +had hitherto considered to be merely ornamental and not intended for +practical use. His elders and betters told him to put it away and +not to tell the ladies. Then they continued smoking; but they knew +that they had just seen such a barometer as few men care to look +upon. + +The word "cyclone" was whispered in one corner of the cabin, and a +white-moustached general was understood to mutter - + +"Damned young fool!" as he pulled at his cheroot. + +The whisperer did not hear the remark, and went on to give further +information on atmospheric disturbances. Suddenly the field-officer +jumped to his feet. + +"Look here, sir!" he cried. "If we are in for a cyclone, I trust +that we know how to behave as men--and die as men, if need be! But +don't let us have any whispering in corners, like a lot of +schoolgirls. We are in the care of good men, and all we have to do +is to obey orders, and--damn it, sir!--to remember we're +Englishmen!" + +The general walked out of the smoking-saloon, and the first sight +that greeted his eyes was Luke FitzHenry, quick, keen, and +supernaturally calm, standing over a group of Malay sailors who were +hard at work getting in awnings. The white-haired soldier stood and +watched with the grim silence which he had showed to death before +now. He was of the Indian army. He had led the black man to +victory and death, and he knew to a nerve the sensitive Asiatic +organisation. He saw that it was good and not for the first time he +noted the sheep-like dependence with which the black men grouped +themselves round their white leader, watching his face, taking their +cue in expression, in attitude, even in their feelings from him. + +"Good man," muttered the general to himself. + +He stood there alone while the ship was stripped of every awning, +while the decks were cleared of all that hamper which makes the +passenger an encumbrance at sea. There was no shouting, no +confusion, no sign of fear. In a marvellously short time the broad +decks were lying bare and clear, all loose things were stowed away +or made fast, and the Croonah stood ready for her great fight. + +All the while an arc of black cloud had been growing on the horizon. +There was not a breath of wind. From the engine-rooms the thud of +the piston-rods came throbbing up with a singular distinctness. The +arc of cloud had risen halfway to the meridian. There were streaks +in it--streaks of yellow on black. Far away to the north, at the +point of contact with the horizon, a single waterspout rose like a +black pillar from sea to cloud. Dwellers in the cool and temperate +zones would have thought that the end of the world was about to +come. Men, standing quite still, felt the drops of perspiration +trickling beneath their ears. The air taken into the lungs seemed +powerless to expand them. The desire to take a deeper breath was +constant and oppressive. + +A quartermaster brought a message to the general that he must go +below or else come up to the lower bridge. He could not stay where +he was. The captain said that the cyclone might break at any +moment. The old soldier nodded, and made his way to the lower +bridge. Before he had been there long he was joined by Carr, who +carried a mackintosh over his arm. The two men nodded. The general +rather liked Carr. He was a Harrovian, and the general's son was at +Harrow. + +"Going to see it out on deck?" he inquired. + +"Rather. I'm not going to be drowned like a rat in a trap!" replied +Carr, jovial still, and brave. + +Luke came to the bridge and took up his position by the side of the +captain. No one spoke. + +From the distant horizon--from the north where the waterspout still +was--a long groan floated over the water. There was a green line on +the black surface of the ocean, dark green flecked with white; it +was spreading over the sea, and coming towards them. Luke turned +and said one word to the quartermaster. The man went to the +wheelhouse and brought out three long black oilskin coats--two for +the captain and Luke, the other for himself. + +The groan, like that of an animal in pain, was repeated. It seemed +farther off. Then a sound like the escape of steam from an engine +came apparently from the sky. + +Luke said something to the captain, and pointed with his right hand. +They consulted together in a whisper, and the captain made a signal +to the two steersmen motionless in the wheelhouse. The well-greased +chains ran smoothly, and the great black prow of the Croonah crept +slowly round the horizon pointing out to sea, away from the land. +Ceylon lay astern of them in the darkness which was almost like +night. + +The captain and Luke stood side by side on the little bridge, far +above the deck. They had exchanged their gold-braided caps for +sou'westers. The outline of their black forms was just +distinguishable against the sky. They were looking straight ahead +into the yellow streaks, out over the flecked sea. And not a breath +of wind stirred the leaden atmosphere. + +Looking down on the broad decks, it would seem at first that they +were deserted, but as the eye became accustomed to the gloom, men +standing like shadows could be perceived here and there--at their +posts--waiting. + +All the skylights had been doubly tarpaulined. Some of them had +been strengthened with battens lashed transversely over the canvas. +All that mortal brain could devise mortal hand had done. The rest +was with God. + +The decks were quite dark, for the skylights were covered, even +those of the engine-room, and the men at work down there in the +stifling heat knew not what the next moment might bring. They had +nothing to guide them as to the moment when the hurricane would +strike the ship. For the last five minutes they had been holding on +to their life-rails with both hands, expecting to be thrown among +the machinery at every second. + +Still there was no breath of wind. The darkness was less intense. +A yellow glow seemed to be behind the cloud. + +Then a strange feeling of being drawn upward came to all, and strong +men gasped for breath. It was only for a moment. But the sensation +was that the air was being sucked up to the sky, leaving a vacuum on +the face of the waters. + +Suddenly the captain's voice startled the night, rising trumpet-like +above the hiss of the steam. + +"Stand BY!" he cried. + +Luke looked down to the lower bridge. + +"You had better hold on to something," he called, and as he spoke +the hurricane struck the Croonah. It can only be described as a +pushing smack. She rolled slowly over before it, and it seemed that +she would never stop. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A GREAT FIGHT. + + Who knows? The man is proven by the hour. + +The sea seemed to rise up and fall on the disabled ship with a wild +fury. There was a strange suggestion of passion in every wave as it +crashed over the bulwarks. In the roar of the hurricane there was a +faint sound of crackling wood. The deck was at an angle of thirty. +The port boats on their davits were invisible; they were under +water. If the Croonah righted quickly those boats would break up +like old baskets. + +The two men on the lower bridge stood on the uprights of the rail, +leaning against the deck as against a wall. The crackling sound +like breaking matchwood seemed to come from above. Carr looked up +and saw the captain and Luke at the wheel. The wheelhouse had +collapsed like a card house; it had simply been blown away, and one +of the helmsmen with it. The other was lying huddled up at the +lower end of the narrow bridge. + +For a moment the darkness lifted and the survivors saw a weird +sight. One of the starboard boats, attached to the davit by only +one fall, was held by the wind like a flag straight out over the +deck. Already two men were clambering to the upper bridge to take +the place of the helmsmen who were dead. Relieved from the wheel, +Luke dragged himself up to the ladder leading from the upper to the +lower deck. A few moments later they saw him cutting with a hatchet +at the ropes holding the boat to the davit. There were four, for it +was a heavy boat, held by a double block. He cut two at a stroke: +the others ran out instantly. The boat disappeared to leeward like +a runaway hat, and fell with a splash into the foaming sea. + +The Croonah seemed to feel the relief. She rose a little to +windward, but her lee-rail was still under water. Down in the +scuppers, in the tangle of ropes and splintered wood, sundry dark +forms, looking more like bundles of dirty rags than anything else, +rolled and tossed helplessly. These were dead and drowning men. +Already the European sailors were at work, some cutting away useless +top-hamper, others attempting to drag the terror-stricken Malays to +a place of comparative safety. Luke FitzHenry took command of these +men, as was his duty, working like one of them, with infinite +daring. He could only communicate with his captain by signs, speech +being impossible. It was a seaman's fight. Each man did that which +seemed to him expedient for the safety of the ship. The Croonah was +fully equipped for fine weather--for cleaning brasses and swabbing +decks and bending awnings; but for bad weather--notably for a +cyclone--she was perilously undermanned. Half of the native crew +were paralysed by fear, many were killed, others drowned from a mere +incapacity to hold on. + +The other officers of the ship had their hands more than full. The +doctor was below in the saloon surrounded by a babel of shrieking +women and white-faced men; the engineers were on watch at their +deadly posts in the heart of the ship. + +Carr turned and clambered down the iron ladder to the upper deck. +He was half a sailor and quite an Englishman. Moreover he came from +Harrow, where they teach a certain bull-dog courage. + +Luke, working half blinded by spray and salt water, presently found +a strong man working at his side. Together they cut away the +submerged boats, standing to their waists in water, at infinite +peril of their lives; together they made their way forward to help +the chief officer and his devoted gang, who were cutting away the +foremast and the wreckage of forward boats. + +Through the long hours of the night these dauntless men worked +unceasingly, and--incongruous practical details--the stewards +brought them food at stated intervals, while two men served out +spirits all the while. Slowly, inch by inch, they righted the ship, +bringing her stubborn prow gradually into the wind; and all the +while the engines throbbed, all the while the grimy stokers +shovelled coal into the furnaces, all the while the engineers stood +and watched their engines. + +Dawn broke on a terrific sea and a falling wind. The night was over +and the dread Bay had had her thousand lives and more, for a cyclone +simply wipes out the native craft like writing on a slate. The +Croonah had been right through the corner of the worst cyclone of a +generation. Luke crawled back to the bridge where the captain +stood, as he had stood all night, motionless. Sheer skill and a +great experience had pulled the Croonah through. + +When the danger was past those who were on deck saw a man in shirt +and trousers only, his grey hair ruffled, his clothes glued to his +limbs by perspiration, emerge from the bowels of the ship. He came +on deck, passed by those who scarce knew him without his gold braid, +and slowly climbed the ladder to the bridge. There, in the early +morning light, the two men who had saved three hundred lives--the +captain and the chief engineer--silently shook hands. + +"I had to keep you down there for the safety of the ship," said the +captain gruffly. + +"All right, old man, I knew that." + +The old engineer turned and looked fore and aft over the wrecked +decks with a curious smile as if he had come back from another +world. + +While they stood there the saloon doors were opened and a haggard +row of faces peered out. A quarter-master held the passengers back, +for the decks were unsafe. Railings and bulwarks were gone, boats +smashed, awning stanchions twisted and bent. No landsmen could be +trusted to move safely amid such confusion. + +And all the while the engines throbbed, and the Croonah held proudly +on her course to the north--battered, torn, and sore stricken, yet a +victor. + +After changing their clothes, Luke and Carr breakfasted together at +the after-end of the second officer's table in the saloon. With a +certain humour the captain allowed of no relaxation in the +discipline of the ship. The breakfast bell was rung at the usual +time, the meal was served with the usual profusion, even the menus +were written as carefully as ever; and some good ladies opined that +the captain must be a godless man, because forsooth he did not +cringe beneath the wing of the passing Angel of Death. + +"I am glad I saw that," said Carr, neat and clean, hearty and +smiling as usual. + +Luke looked up from a generous plate. He thought that Carr was +indulging in bravado, but he relinquished this opinion when he saw +the man's face and his helping of bacon and eggs. Carr seemed to +have enjoyed the cyclone, as he had no doubt enjoyed many a game of +football in his youth, and many a spin across country later. For +this man kept his hunters. He was moved thereto by that form of +self-respect which urges some men to live like gentlemen, to, as +they express it, "do themselves well," whether their mere monetary +circumstances allow of it or no; and some one usually pays for these +philosophers--that is the annoying part of it. + +"By gad! I didn't think it could blow like that, though!" Carr went +on, with his mouth full. + +"I don't think it can often," replied Luke. He could not help +liking this man, despite his first prejudice against him. Besides, +they had stood shoulder to shoulder, with death around them, and +such moments draw differing men together. It is the required touch +of Nature, this same death, which frightens us before it comes and +seems so gentle when it is here. + +"I always wanted to see a cyclone," went on Carr conversationally, +"and now I'm satisfied. I have had enough. I shouldn't have cared +for more. Pass, cyclones!" + +"It is not many men who have your laudable thirst for experience," +said Luke. "It is rather a strenuous form of pleasure." + +"Pleasure!" answered Carr, with one of his sharp glances. +"Pleasure, be d--d! It's business, sir, business. I mean to make +money out of cyclones." + +"How? Bottle them up and make them turn a windmill?" + +"No, sir." + +Carr turned round to make sure that he could not be overheard. + +"No, sir. Your idea is not bad in the main, though hardly +practicable. No. I know a dodge worth two of that! I told you +before that I am in the marine insurance line. Now, the funny part +of the marine insurance line is that the majority of the men engaged +in it do not know their business. Now I propose to teach these +gentlemen their business." + +"Will they thank you for it?" asked Luke. + +"They'll pay me for it, which is better, by a long chalk! Ha, ha! +Butter, please." + +"And what have cyclones got to do with it?" + +Again one of the sharp glances which sat so strangely on Carr's open +countenance. + +"I understand there is a science of cyclones," he said quietly. + +"Yes." + +"Which means that you chaps knew what was coming forty-eight hours +ago?" + +"Yes," replied Luke. + +"That that steamer flying signals yesterday was talking to you about +it?" + +"Yes." + +"And that when you got into it you knew exactly whereabout you were +in it; where the centre was, and which was the shortest way out of +it, to get clear away from the vortex and beyond the axis line, so +as not to get into it again?" + +"Yes. You're quite a Fitzroy." + +Carr winked cheerily. + +"And all this is a certainty?" + +"A dead certainty," replied Luke. "It is a science." + +Carr laid down his knife and fork. + +"Suppose," he said, "that the next cyclone sends forty ships to +kingdom come, and I've got a line of five hundred or a thousand +insured on every one of them. I'll study these jolly old cyclones. +It will be easy enough to know about when they'll be coming. When +one is about I'll have a line on every ship at sea between Colombo +and Penang--do you see? I'll get a man on the coast here to watch +the weather. When there's a cyclone in the Bay of Bengal he will +wire me home one word, 'Milksop,' or 'Spongecake,' or something soft +and innocent. I'll do the rest, my boy." + +Luke was only pretending to eat. The desire to make money was +strong upon him--as indeed were all his desires--it was almost a +passion; for money meant Agatha, and Agatha had grown to be the one +absorbing passion of his heart. Agatha had been at the back of the +superhuman fight which he had waged all night against death. Agatha +was behind Carr's words. The thought of her was tempting him +through the man's arguments. + +"But what will you insure?" he asked. + +"Profit," replied Carr, in a whisper. "It is done every day--policy +proof of interest--the fools!" + +"What is policy proof of interest?" + +"It means that they admit your insurance to be valid, whether you +have anything on board the ship or not. It is not legal, but they +know it when they sign the policy; and they know that it would ruin +them if they refused to pay an 'honour policy.' I tell you they +don't know their business and they have no combination. They all +distrust each other, and tell lies to each other about their profits +and their losses. If I insure profit I have only to say that I +shall lose money if the ship does not reach her destination and +deliver her cargo safely. The cargo may be mine; I may be buying it +or selling it; no one can tell, and the underwriters don't ask. +They pocket their premium, and if they have to pay, and think they +have been rooked, they keep it to themselves, because each man is +against his neighbour." + +"But do they know nothing about cyclones?" inquired Luke. + +"My good sir, they hardly know the difference between Calcutta and +Bombay. Half of them think that a cyclone and a monsoon are the +same thing, and not one in ten could tell you the difference between +a brig and a barquentine." + +Luke gave a little half-convinced laugh. The man was so open and +honest that his arguments had nothing underhand or crafty in them. + +"It sounds very simple," he said. + +"It is; d--d simple! So are the underwriters; but that is not our +business. You see, FitzHenry, in all commerce there are a certain +number of fools for the wise men to outwit. In marine insurance +there are a large number. All insurance is nothing but a bet, and +betting is a matter of intelligence. We bring more intelligence to +bear upon it than the other chap, therefore we win." + +He helped himself to marmalade with a jaunty hand. Luke hardly +noticed the easy transition from "I" to "we." He had had no +intention of suggesting a partnership in this easy manner of making +money, but the partnership seemed to have formed itself. + +"But--" Carr paused, holding in the air an emphatic spoon. "But, my +boy, we want capital, we want to lay our hands on fifty thousand +pounds." + +"I am afraid I could not lay my hand on fifty thousand pence," said +Luke. + +Carr glanced at him sharply. There was a little pause while Carr +ate marmalade and toast. + +"Oh yes, you could," he said in a low tone. "Between us we could +raise fifty thousand as easy as winking." + +As if to demonstrate the facility of the latter, he looked up and +closed his left eye confidentially. + +"You're a sailor," he went on to say, "and a ripping good one at +that. You know the perils of the deep, as the parsons say. It +wouldn't be hard for you to tell when the Croonah was running into a +tight place like yesterday. All you have to do is to wire home one +word to me. My telegraphic address is 'Simple, London.' Say you +wire home 'Milksop.' We could fix on 'Milksop'; it sounds so +innocent! In twenty-four hours I'd have fifty thousand done on the +Croonah in London, Glasgow, Liverpool, New York, Paris, and Germany- +-spread about, you know. In four or five days the Croonah goes to +the bottom, and we scoop in, your name never appearing--see?" + +There was a little pause. + +"See?" repeated Carr, in little more than a whisper. Luke looked +up. He met Carr's eyes and knew that he was dealing with a villain. +The strange part of it was that he felt no anger. He could not free +his mind from the thought of Agatha. There was one corner of the +steamer which was almost sacred to him--the little space behind the +deckhouse where he had held Agatha in his arms for one moment of +intense happiness--where she told him that she could not be poor. + +Carr rose and threw down his table napkin with a certain grand air +which was his. + +"It would be the making of you," he said. "It is worth thinking +about." + +He threw back his shoulders--a trick common enough with strongly +built men who incline to stoutness--nodded, and left him. He passed +down the length of the saloon, seeking his cigar-case in the pocket +of his coat, exchanging loud and hearty greetings with those among +the passengers whom he knew. He was popular on account of the open +British frankness which he cultivated, and which is supposed to be +the outward sign of an honest heart. He seemed to be thinking of +his great scheme no longer, but he left Luke to brood over it--to +try and chase the word "Milksop" from his brain, where it seemed to +be indelibly engraved. + +He left Luke to fight against a great temptation alone and heavily +handicapped, for Luke FitzHenry was held as in a vice by his +passionate love for Agatha. It is not all men who can love. It is +only a few who are capable of a deep passion. This is as rare as +genius. A man of genius is usually a failure in all except his own +special line. The man who can and does love passionately must be a +good man indeed if his love do not make a villain of him. + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE EDITOR'S ROOM. + + The greater man, the greater courtesy. + +The Count de Lloseta and John Craik were sitting together in the +editorial room of the Commentator. + +It was a quiet room, with double windows and a permanent odour of +tobacco smoke. An empty teacup stood on the table by John Craik's +elbow. + +"Name of God!" Cipriani de Lloseta had ejaculated when he saw it. +"At eleven o'clock in the morning!" + +"Must stir the brain up," was the reply. + +"I would not do it with a teaspoon," De Lloseta had answered, and +then he sat down to correct the proof of Eve's fourth article on +"Spain and Spanish Life." + +They had been sitting thus together for half an hour in friendly +silence, only broken by an occasional high-class Spanish anathema +hurled at the head of the printer. + +"A dog's trade!" ejaculated De Lloseta at last, leaning back and +throwing down his pen, "a dog's trade, my friend!" + +"It is mine," replied Craik, without looking up. In fiction he was +celebrated for a certain smartness of dialogue. His printed +conversations were pretty displays of social sword-play. It had +become a sort of habit with him to thrust and parry quickly; but the +sudden smile on his lined face, the kindly glance from behind the +spectacles, always took away the sting and demonstrated that it was +mere "copy," to fill up the dull columns of life and throw in a +sparkle here and there. + +"Have you finished?" he inquired. + +"Yes, thank Heaven! I was not intended for a literary calling. +That is number four, and I am not paid--I am not paid; there lies +the sting." + +"Number four, yes; two published and two in hand," replied John +Craik. His mind was busy elsewhere; it was with the creatures of +his own imagination, living their lives, rejoicing with them, +sorrowing with them. + +The Count rose and walked gravely to the hearthrug, holding the +proof-sheets in his hand. + +"Number four," he reiterated. "Will they go on, my friend?" + +John Craik looked up sharply. + +"No." + +"How many more will you accept?" + +"Two more at the outside, making six in all. The public is like a +greedy child, it must be stopped before it makes itself sick. +Nausea leaves a lasting distaste for that which preceded it." + +The Count nodded. + +"And this worldly wisdom--is it the editor or the man who speaks?" + +"The editor. The editor is a man who lives by saying 'No.'" + +"And you will say 'No' to any more from this--writer's pen?" + +"To any more about Spain I most certainly shall." + +The Count reflected. What little light the London day afforded fell +full upon his long narrow face, upon the pointed Velasquez chin, the +receding iron-grey hair brushed straight back. + +"And the fact that the writer is supporting herself and a worn-out +old uncle by her pen will make no difference?" + +John Craik hesitated for a moment. + +"Not the least," he then said. "You seem to know the writer." + +"I do, and I am interested in her." + +"A lady?" John Craik was dotting his i's with the contemplativeness +of artistic finish. + +"Essentially so." + +"And poor?" + +"Yes, and proud as--" + +"A Spaniard," suggested John Craik. + +"If you will. It is a vice which has almost become a virtue in +these democratic days." + +John Craik looked up. + +"I will do what I can, Lloseta," he said. "But she is not a great +writer, and will never become one." + +"I know that. Some day she will become a great lady, or I know +nothing of them." + +Craik was still busy touching up his manuscript. + +"I have never seen her," he said. "But the impression I received +from her manuscripts is that she is a girl who has lived a simple +life among a simple people. She has seen a great deal of nature, +out-of-door nature, which is pure, and cannot be too deeply studied. +She has seen very little of human nature, which is not so pure as it +might be. That is her chief charm of style, a high-minded purity. +She does not describe the gutter and think she is writing of the +street. By the way, I am expecting her here" (he paused, and looked +at the clock on the mantelpiece) "in exactly two minutes." + +The Count rose quickly and took his hat. As he extended his hand to +say "Good-bye" there was a rap at the door. The discreet youth who +told John Craik's falsehoods for him came in and handed his master a +slip of paper with a name written thereon. + +Craik read the inscription, crumpled up the paper, and threw it into +the waste-paper basket. + +"In one minute," he said, and the liar withdrew. + +Cipriani de Lloseta, with a quiet deliberation which was sometimes +almost dramatic, stooped over the paper basket and recovered the +crumpled slip of paper. He did not unfold it, but held it out, +crushed up in his closed fist. + +"Miss Eve Challoner," he said. + +John Craik nodded. + +De Lloseta laughed and threw the paper into the fire. + +"I must not be seen. Where do you propose to put me?" + +"Go upstairs instead of down," replied John Craik, as if he had been +asked the same question before. "Wait on the next landing until you +hear this door close; you may then escape in safety." + +"Thanks--good-bye." + +"Good-bye." + +When Eve entered the room, John Craik was writing. He rose with a +bow savouring of a politer age than ours, and held out his hand. + +"At last," he said, "I have prevailed upon you to come and see me. +Will you sit down? The chair is shabby, but great men and women +have sat in it." + +He spoke pleasantly, with his twisted laugh, and when Eve was seated +he sat slowly, carefully down again. He was thinking not so much of +what he was saying as of his hearer. He saw that Eve was undeniably +beautiful--the man saw that. The novelist saw that she was probably +interesting. As he had just stated, great women had sat in the same +chair, and it was John Craik's impulse to save Eve from that same +greatness. He had, since a brilliant youth at Oxford, been steeped, +as it were, in literature. He had known all the great men and +women, and he held strong views of his own. These were probably +erroneous--many women will think so--but he held to them. They were +based on experience, which is not always the case with views +expressed in print and elsewhere. John Craik held that greatness is +not good for women. That it is not for their own happiness, he +knew. That it is not for the happiness of those around them, he +keenly suspected. Some of Eve's celebrated predecessors in that +chair had not quite understood John Craik. All thought that he was +not sufficiently impressed--not, that is, so impressed by them as +they were themselves when they reflected upon their own renown. + +He looked at Eve quickly, rubbing his hands together. + +"May I, as an old man, ask some impertinent questions?" he inquired, +with a cheerfulness which sat strangely on the wan face. + +"Yes." + +"Why do you write?" he said. "Take time; answer me after +reflection." + +Eve reflected while the great editor stared into the fire. + +"To make money," she answered at last. + +He looked up, and saw that she was answering in simple good faith. + +"That is right." + +He did not tell her that he was sick and tired of the jargon of art +for art's sake, literature for literature's sake. He did not tell +that--practical man of the world that he was--he had no faith in +literary art; that he believed the power of writing to be a gift and +nothing else; that the chief art in literature is that which is +unconscious of itself. + +"Do you feel within yourself the makings of a great author?" + +Eve laughed, a sudden girlish laugh, which made John Craik reduce +his estimate of her age by five years. + +"No," she answered. + +He sat up and looked at her with a kind admiration. + +"You are refreshing," he said, "very, especially to a man who has +seen stout and elderly females sit in that same chair and state +their conviction that they were destined to be George Eliots or +Charlotte Brontes, women who had written one improper or irreligious +novel, which had obtained a certain success in the foolish circles." + +"Do you think I have," asked Eve, "the--the makings of an income?" + +John Craik reflected. + +"A small one," he said bluntly. + +"That is all I want." + +Craik raised his eyebrows. + +"And renown," he said, "do you want that?" + +"Not in the least, except for its intrinsic value." + +Craik banged his hand down on the arm of his chair and laughed +aloud. + +"This is splendid!" he cried. "I have never met such a practical +person. Then you would be content to work for a sufficient income +without ever being known to the world?" + +"Yes, provided that the work was genuine and not given to me out of +mere charity." + +The editor of the Commentator looked at her gravely. He had +suddenly remembered Cipriani de Lloseta. + +"Oh, you are proud!" he said. + +Eve laughed with a negative shake of the head. + +"Not more than other people," she answered. + +"Not more than other people. Well, we will have it so. And not +ambitious." + +"No, I think not." + +"You may thank God for that," said John Craik, half to himself. "An +ambitious woman is not a pleasant person." + +There was a little pause, during which John Craik rubbed his chin +reflectively with his bony fingers. + +"And now," he said, "that I know something about you, I will tell +you why I asked you to be good enough to come and see me. To begin +with, I am an old man; you can see that for yourself. I am a martyr +to rheumatism, and I frequently suffer from asthma, otherwise I +should have done myself the pleasure of calling on you. I wanted to +see you, because lady authors are uncertain creatures. A large +majority of them have nothing better to do, and therefore write. +Others do not care for the money, but they do most decidedly for the +renown. The nudge and whisper of society is nectar to them. Others +again are brilliant in flashes and dull in long periods. Few, very +few are content to work with their pen as their poorer sisters are +forced to work with their needles. In that lies the secret of the +more permanent success of men journalists and men authors. The +journalism and the authorship are not the men, but merely the +business of their lives. Now will you be content to work hard and +steadily without any great hope of renown--to work, in fact, +anonymously for a small but certain income?" + +"Yes," answered Eve, without hesitation. + +Craik nodded his head gravely and thoughtfully. He was too deeply +experienced to fall into the error of thinking that Eve was +different from other women. He did not for a moment imagine that he +had secured in her a permanent subscriber to the Commentator-- +possibly he did not want her as such. He was merely doing a good +deed--no new thing to him, although his right hand hardly knew what +his left was doing. He liked Eve, he admired her, and was +interested in her. Cipriani de Lloseta he was deeply interested in, +and he knew, with the keen instinct of the novelist, that he was +being drawn into one of those romances of real life which exists in +the matter-of-fact nineteenth century atmosphere that we breathe. + +So Eve Challoner left John Craik's office an independent woman for +the time being, and the charity was so deeply hidden that her ever- +combative pride had failed to detect it. + + + +CHAPTER X. THE CURTAIN LOWERS. + + The shadow, cloaked from head to foot, + Who keeps the keys of all the creeds. + +As she walked back to Grosvenor Gardens, Eve reflected with some +satisfaction that the Ingham-Bakers had left Mrs. Harrington's +hospitable roof. From this shelter they had gone forth into a world +which is reputed cold, and has nevertheless some shelter still for +such as are prepared to cringe to the overbearing, to flatter the +vain, to worship riches. + +Eve wanted time to think over her new position, to reflect with +satisfaction over her new independence, for the Caballero Challoner, +if he had bequeathed little else, had left to her a very active +pride. She knew so little of the world that she never paused to +wonder why John Craik should have made her a proposal which could +hardly be beneficial to himself. She was innocent enough to think +that the good things of this world are given just where and when +they are wanted. + +Captain Bontnor was the chief object of her thoughts, and she was +already dreaming of restoring him to Malabar Cottage and his bits of +things. So engrossed was she in these reflections, that she noticed +nothing unusual in the face of the butler who opened the door which +had shut upon Luke FitzHenry some years before. + +"I'm glad you're back, miss," he said gravely. + +Something in his tone--cold and correct--caught Eve's attention. + +"Why?" she asked, and a consoling knowledge that the Terrific was +safe in Chatham Dockyard leapt into her mind. + +"Mrs. Harrington's been took rather bad, miss." + +The man's manner said more than his words. Eve hurried upstairs to +Mrs. Harrington's bedroom. She tapped at the door and went in +without waiting. There was a strong smell of ammonia in the air. +The blinds were half lowered, and in the dim light Eve did not see +very clearly. Presently, from the depths of a huge four-poster bed, +she descried a pair of keen eyes--the face of Mrs. Harrington. The +face, the eyes, the mind were alive, the body was stricken; it was +almost dead already. Mrs. Harrington looked down at the shapeless +limbs beneath the coverlet with something like fear in her eyes, +something of the expression of a dog that has been run over. This +woman meant to die hard. + +Eve knew little of life, but she was no stranger to death. She +recognised our last enemy in the grey face beneath the canopy of the +four-poster. + +"Where have you been so long, child?" said Mrs. Harrington +querulously, "leaving me to these fools of servants. I have been +unwell, but I'm better now. They've sent for the doctor. I shall +be better presently. I have no pain, only--only a sort of +numbness." + +She looked down at her left hand, which lay outside the coverlet, +and fear was in her eyes. She had defied men too long to be afraid +of God, but she did not want to die; she had too keen an enjoyment +for the good things of this world. + +Eve came to the bedside. + +Mrs. Harrington's face was drawn together in anger. She was annoyed +that Death should have come for her, and, true to herself, she +insulted him by deliberately ignoring his presence. There was +something defiant in her cold eyes still, something unbeaten, +although she knew that there was no one on her side. The general +feeling was against her. So far as the world was concerned, Death +could have her. + +Eve turned away from the bed and faced the doctor, who was coming +into the room with Mrs. Harrington's maid. No one displayed the +slightest emotion. A selfish life and a happy death are rarely +vouchsafed to the same person. The doctor did not ask Eve to stay, +so she went downstairs and wrote to Fitz, sending the note round to +his rooms in Jermyn Street by a servant. It was the second time in +her life that she had sent for Fitz. + +When the doctor came downstairs, Eve went out into the hall. He +pointed with his finger to the room from which she came, and +followed her back there. He was a middle-aged man, educated to the +finger-tips--all science and no heart. + +"Are you a relation of Mrs. Harrington's?" he inquired. + +"We are distantly connected," answered Eve. + +The doctor was not giving much attention to her answer. He had a +habit of tapping his teeth with his thumbnail, which made Eve +dislike him at sight. + +"Has she any one else?" he asked. "Any one who--cares?" + +He was quite without the intention of being rude but he was absorbed +in his profession, and had a large practice. He wanted to go. + +"She has a nephew. I have sent for him." + +The doctor nodded. He glanced at Eve, then he said quietly - + +"She will live about an hour. She wants me to come again and bring +another man. I will do it, although it is useless. There are some +things money cannot buy." + +With a quick mechanical smile he was gone. + +Eve went upstairs again to the room where Mrs. Harrington was +fighting her last fight. As she passed up the stairs, she noticed +two letters on the hall table awaiting postage; one was addressed to +Mrs. Ingham-Baker, the other to Luke, at Malta. + +Mrs. Harrington had ordered the blinds to be pulled up, and the +daylight showed her face to be little changed. It had always been +grey; the shadows on it now were grey; the eyes were active and +bright. It was only the body that was dying; Mrs. Harrington's mind +was bright and keen as ever. + +"That doctor is a fool," she said. "I have told him to come back +and bring Sir James Harlow with him. And will you please send and +tell Fitz that I should like to see him? You must arrange to stay +on a few days until I am better. Captain Bontnor will have to do +without you. My servants are not to be trusted alone. I shall want +you to keep them in order; they require a tight reign." + +"I have sent for Fitz," said Eve. + +"Why?" snapped Mrs. Harrington. "To come and make love to you? +Leave that to Agatha. She has been teaching them both to do that +for the last three years. Her idea is to marry the one who gets my +money. I've known that all along." + +Eve's dark eyes hardened suddenly. She could not believe what the +doctor had told her five minutes earlier. Five minutes--one-twelfth +part of Mrs. Harrington's life ebbed away. + +"Pray do not talk like that," said the girl quietly. + +Mrs. Harrington's cold grey eyes fell before Eve's glance of mingled +wonder and contempt; her right hand was feebly plucking at the +counterpane. + +Far below, in the basement, a bell rang, and soon after there was a +step on the stairs. + +"Who is that?" inquired Mrs. Harrington. + +"Fitz." + +The dying woman was looking at the door with an unwonted longing in +her eyes. + +"You seem to know his step," she said, with a jealous laugh. + +Eve said nothing. The door opened, and Fitz came in. + +Mrs. Harrington was the first to speak. + +"I am not well this morning, dear," she said. "I sent for you +because I have a few things I want you to do for me." + +"Pleasure," murmured Fitz, glancing at Eve. He either did not know +how ill Mrs Harrington was, or he did not care. It is probable that +these two persons now at the dying woman's bed were the only two +people who would be in any degree sorry at her death. + +Eve, with a woman's instinct, busied herself with the pillow--with +the little adjuncts of a sick-room which had already found their way +to the bedside. She looked at Mrs. Harrington's face, saw the hard +eyes fixed on Fitz, and something in the glance made her leave the +room. + +"Just leave me alone," the dying woman said peevishly as Eve went +away; "I don't want a lot of people bothering about." + +But Fitz stayed, and when Eve had closed the door the sudden look of +cunning that came over the faded face did not appear to surprise +him. + +"Quick!" whispered Mrs. Harrington, "quick! I do not believe I am +dying, as that doctor said I was, but it is better to make sure. +Open the left-hand drawer in the dressing-table; you will find my +keys." + +Fitz obeyed her, bringing the bunch of keys, rusty and black from +being concealed in a thousand different hiding-places. + +"Now," she said, "open that desk; it was--your father's. Bring it +here. Be quick! Some one may come." + +Her shrivelled fingers fumbled hastily among some old papers. +Finally she found an envelope, brown with age, on which was written, +in her own spidery handwriting, "Recipe for apple jelly." + +She thrust the envelope into Fitz's hands, and he smilingly read the +superscription. + +"That's nothing," she explained sharply; "that's only for the +servants. One cannot be too careful. Inside there is some money. +I saved it up. It will help to furnish your new cabin." + +"Thank you," said Fitz, looking critically at the envelope. "But--" + +"You must take it," she interrupted; "it is the only money I ever +saved." She broke off with a malicious laugh. "All these fools +thought I was rich," she went on. "They have been scheming and +plotting to get my money. There is no money. That is all there is. +You and Luke were the only two who never thought about it. You are +both like your father. Here, shut the desk up again. Put it back +on the table. Now hide the keys--left-hand corner, under the box of +hairpins." + +Fitz obeyed her and came back towards the bed. His large mind felt +a sudden contempt for this petty and mean woman. He did not +understand her, and the contempt he felt for her in some way hurt +him. He was afraid of what she was going to say next. + +"But," she said, "if I get better you must give me the money back." + +Fitz gave a little laugh. Something prompted him to open the +envelope and look at the contents. There were five notes of ten +pounds each. The rich Mrs. Harrington of Grosvenor Gardens had +saved fifty pounds, and she lay on her death-bed watching Fitz count +this vast hoard with a quiet deliberation. In its way it was a +tragedy--the grimmest of all--for its dominant note was the +contemptibility of human nature. + +"I do not want the money. I should not keep it under any +circumstances." + +"What would you do with it?" she asked sharply. + +"Give it to a charity." + +"No, no, you must not do that; they are all swindles!" + +In her eagerness she tried to sit up, and fell back with a puzzled +look on her face, as if some one had struck her. + +"Here," she gasped, "give it to me! give it to me!" + +She clutched the envelope in her unsteady hands, and suddenly her +jaw dropped. + +Fitz ran to the door. On the stairs were the two doctors, followed +closely by Eve. In a moment the doctors were at the bedside. + +"Yes," said one of them--the younger of the two--and he glanced at +his watch. "I gave her an hour." + +The elder man took the dead woman's hand in his. He released the +envelope from her grasp and read the superscription, "Recipe for +apple jelly." With a grave smile he handed the envelope to Eve as +Fitz took her out of the room. + +They went downstairs together, and both were thinking of D'Erraha. +They went into the library, which was silent and gloomy. Fitz had +not spoken yet, but she seemed to understand his silence, just as +she had understood it once before. She had told him then. She did +not do so now. + +Eve was not thinking of the dead woman upstairs. This death came to +her only as a faint reflection of the one great grief which had cut +her life in two--as great griefs do. She was perhaps wondering how +it was that Fitz seemed always to come to her at those moments when +she could not do without him. She was more probably not thinking at +all, but resting as it were in the sense of complete safety and +protection which this man's presence gave her. + +There was a little silence, broken only by the sound of street +traffic faintly heard through the plate-glass windows. Fitz was +looking at her, his blue eyes grave and searching. This was not a +man to miss his opportunity, this youngest commander on the list. + +"Eve," he said, "I used to think at D'Erraha that you cared for me." + +"I have always cared for you," she answered, with a queer little +smile, half bold, half shy. + +So Love came in at the windows as Death crept up the stairs. + +Before long they heard the doctors go away, but they heeded not. +They only forgot each other when Cipriani de Lloseta came into the +room. The Spaniard's quick eyes read something in Eve's face. He +looked sharply at Fitz, but he said nothing of what he saw. + +"So our dear lady has been taken from us," he said quietly, with an +upward jerk of the head. + +Fitz nodded. Cipriani de Lloseta walked to the window and quietly +drew down the blind. + +"So falls the curtain," he said, "on the little drama of my humble +life." + +He turned and looked from one to the other with that sudden warmth +of love which either of them seemed able to draw from him. + +"Some day," he said, "I will tell you--you two--the story, but not +now." + +He stepped forward and raised Eve's fingers to his lips. A quaint, +half-Spanish grace marked the picture of Southern chivalry. + +"My child," said Lloseta, "may Heaven always bless you!" And he +left them. + + + +CHAPTER XI. "MILKSOP". + + What have we made each other? + +The cathedral bells were calling good Papists to their morning +devotion as the Croonah moved into Valetta harbour. No sooner did +her black prow appear between the pier heads than a score of boats +left the steps, their rowers gesticulating, quarrelling, laughing +among themselves with Maltese vivacity. + +One boat, flying the Croonah's houseflag, made its way more +leisurely through the still, clear water. This boat was bringing +mails to the Croonah, and in the letter-bag Mrs. Harrington's last +missive to Luke had found its place. This letter had been posted by +the well-trained footman while Eve and Fitz stood at Mrs. +Harrington's bedside. Before it was stamped at the district office +the hand that wrote it was still. And it contained mischief. Even +after her death Mrs. Harrington brought trouble to the man whose +life she had spoilt by her caprice. The letter ran - + +"DEAR LUKE,--Just a line to tell you that you may bring your +portmanteau straight up to Grosvenor Gardens when your ship arrives +in London. I read of your fortunate escape from the cyclone, and +congratulate you. I dare say I shall be having a few friends to +stay when you are with me, so you need not fear dulness. Yours +affectionately, + "MARIAN HARRINGTON. + +"P.S.--I always suspect you of having, consciously or unconsciously, +possessed yourself of the affections of a young lady who shall be +nameless. A word to the wise: make good use of your opportunities, +for there are other aspirants in the field--a certain brilliant +young naval officer not unknown to you. Moreover his chance appears +to be a good one. You must waste no more time." + +It happened that Luke FitzHenry was in a dangerous mood when he read +this letter. He had been up half the night. The captain had been +cross-grained and unreasonable. Even the mildest of us has his +moments of clear-sightedness when he sees the world and the +hollowness thereof. Luke saw this and more when he had read Mrs. +Harrington's evil communication. He seemed to have reached the end +of things, when his present life became no longer tolerable. It +must be remembered that this man was passionate and very resolute. +Moreover he had been handicapped from the beginning of his life by a +tendency to go wrong. He was not a good subject for ill-fortune. + +It was his duty to go ashore with papers to be delivered at the +agent's office. He delivered his papers and then he went to the +cable office. He telegraphed the single word "Milksop" to Willie +Carr in London. When he got back to the Croonah, worn out, dirty, +and morose, the passengers were not yet astir. He had an +unsatisfactory breakfast, and went to his cabin for a few hours' +necessary sleep. He had given way to a great temptation, not as the +weak give way, on the spur of the moment, with hesitation, but as a +strong man--strong, even in his weaknesses. + +He did it after mature deliberation--did it thoroughly and +carefully, without the least intention of regretting it afterwards. +He was desperate and driven. He could not think of life without +Agatha, and he did not see why he should be called upon to do so. +Ill fortune had dogged him from his childhood. He had borne it all, +morosely but without a murmur. He was going to turn at last. The +Croonah must go. She was well insured, he knew that. That the +cargo was fully covered against loss he could safely suppose. As to +the passengers and the crew, none of them should suffer; he thought +he was a clever enough sailor for that. + +So he laid him down in his little cabin to sleep, while the sun rose +over the blue Mediterranean, while some passengers went ashore and +others came on board, while the single word "Milksop" was spelt over +a continent; and he was still sleeping when the anchor was jerked up +from its muddy bed, and the watchers on pier and harbour looked +their last on the grand old Croonah. + +A breeze was blowing out in the open, one of those bright westerly +breezes that bring a breath of the Atlantic into the Mediterranean, +and often make the short passage from Malta to Gibraltar the worst +part of the voyage from India to the Channel. + +None of the passengers took any interest in the morose second +officer, and few of them remarked his absence from table during the +two days' passage. The Croonah arrived at Gibraltar after dark, +took her mails and passengers on board, and proceeded down the +Straits about eight o'clock in the evening. It was late autumn, and +the breeze from the cool Atlantic still hurried in over the parched +lands of Africa and Southern Europe. + +Tarifa light was sighted and left twinkling behind. Trafalgar +stared out of the darkness ahead, and in its turn was left behind. +A few of the passengers had recovered their Mediterranean ill-usage +sufficiently to dine in the Straits, but the Atlantic swell soon +sent them below. The decks were deserted, for many of these people +were returning to England after long years in India, and the first +chill northern breeze they met made them shiver while it delighted +them. + +Luke FitzHenry was on the bridge from eight o'clock till midnight, +motionless at his post--a mere navigating machine, respected and +feared by all who worked with him, understood of none. + +When midnight came he exchanged a few words with the first officer, +and together they superintended the shaking out of the foresails +before the watch went below. The wind was on the quarter, strong +and steady. Almost immediately the good steamer felt the canvas, +leaning gently over to leeward, adding another mile to her great +speed. The sea was black, and the air seemed to be full of the +sounds of waves breaking and hissing. Ahead the mast-head and the +side-lights shone down on the face of the waters and lighted up an +occasional white-capped wave. In the air, brisk and masterful, +there was a sense of purpose and tension which sailors understand, +while mere printed words cannot convey it to landsmen. It was a +very dark night. + +"St. Vincent," said Luke tersely, as he turned to leave the bridge. +The first officer, a man grown old at his post, followed the +direction of his junior's gaze, but some seconds elapsed before he +distinguished the light twinkling feebly low down on the horizon. + +Luke went to his cabin and lay down on his berth all dressed. He +was due on the bridge again at four o'clock. The Croonah sailed by +time-table, subjecting the winds and seas, as the great steamships +do nowadays. Luke FitzHenry had calculated this to a minute before +he telegraphed the single word "Milksop" to Willie Carr in London. + +He was on the bridge a few minutes before eight bells rang, and +found the captain. He knew his chief's customs. He knew that this +wise old sailor was in the habit of accumulating as much sleep in +his brain as possible before passing Ushant light, because he lived +on the bridge when the Croonah had once turned eastward up the +Channel. Whenever the captain took a night's rest, he broke it at +four o'clock, at the change of the watch. He stood muffled in a big +coat over his pyjamas, and exchanged a few words with his +subordinates. After the first officer had gone below, Luke went to +his post at the starboard end of the bridge, while the captain +walked slowly backwards and forwards. They remained thus for half +an hour. The ship was all quiet. The breeze had fallen a little. +There was as yet no sign of daybreak towards the east. A steamer +passed, showing a red light and a white mast-head light. + +Presently the captain paused in his walk near to Luke. + +"Call me," he said, "when you raise the Burling light." + +Luke answered with a monosyllable, and the elder sailor went towards +the ladder. + +No one had heard the order given. Luke followed him to the ladder, +and watched him go down into the darkness. They had sailed together +six years in fair weather and foul; they had fought and conquered a +cyclone in the Bay together from that bridge; but Agatha Ingham- +Baker was stronger than these things. Woman is the strongest thing +in a man's life. + +There was still no sign of daylight, no faintest gleam in the +eastern sky, when the Burling light was sighted right ahead. The +look-out on the forecastle did not "sing out" the lights on board +the Croonah, but sent a companion aft to the bridge with the report. +This was done for the comfort of the passengers. + +Luke altered the course half a point. From the wheel-house the men +could not see the light, which was hidden by the fore-mast. Luke +went aft and looked at the patent log. His calculations were all +correct. He glanced at his watch--he had to go to the wheel-house +to do this, and the binnacle-lights showed his face to be still and +pale. He moved and had the air of a man upon whose shoulders an +immense responsibility was weighing. He was going to wreck the +Croonah, but he had two hundred and ninety lives to save. He +carefully studied the eastern sky. He did not want daylight yet. + +The Burling light is not a very big one--not so big, some mariners +think, as it should be. It is visible twenty-five miles away; but +Luke's knowledge told him that in thick and misty weather, such as +hovers over this coast in a westerly wind, the glare of the +revolving lamp could not be distinguished at a greater distance than +ten or twelve miles. + +The Croonah raced on, a ship full of sleeping human beings. There +came a faint blue tinge into the eastern sky, a gleam over the +eastern sea. + +The Burling light--an eye looking round into the darkness, seeming +to open and shut sleepily--grew brighter and brighter. It was right +ahead! it rose as they approached it until it stood right above the +bowsprit. + +Then Luke FitzHenry changed the course. The Croonah turned her +blunt prow half a point out into the Atlantic, and she raced on; she +passed by Burling Island, leaving the slowly winking eye on her +starboard quarter. Ahead lay the complete darkness of the north- +west horizon. + +Luke stood at his post, his eyes hidden by his binoculars. He was +studying the horizon in front of him--in front of the Croonah. +There was a little lump on the horizon, like the top of a mountain +sticking out of the sea; this he knew to be the rock called the +Great Farilhao. Again he altered the course, still seeking the +Atlantic, another quarter point to the west. He was going to pass +the Great Farilhao as he had passed the Burling, within a stone's +throw. This he actually did, the rugged outline of the barren rock +standing out sharply against the eastern sky. There was now nothing +ahead; the horizon lay before him, clear, unbroken. + +Luke moved a few paces. He went and stood by the engine-room +telegraph. The engines throbbed merrily, but the steamer was still +asleep. There was no sound but the thud of the piston-rods and the +whispering swirl of the water lashed by the huge screw. + +The Croonah raced on, her sails set, her engines working at full +speed. Suddenly Luke FitzHenry grasped the handle of the engine- +room signal. He wrenched it to one side--"Stand by." Instantly the +gong answered, "Stand by." "Half speed ahead." + +And half speed ahead it was. Luke FitzHenry was clever even in his +crime; he had three hundred lives to save. He stood motionless as a +statue, gazing at the smooth unbroken water in front of him; he +grasped the rail and set his teeth; he stood well back with his feet +firmly planted. And there was a grinding crash. The Croonah seemed +to climb up into the air, then she stopped dead, and below--inside +her--there was a long, rumbling crash, as if all that was inside her +had been cast forward in confusion. She had run on to the sunken +rocks that lie north-west of the Farilhoes. + +A great silence followed and immediately the pattering of bare feet. +A confused murmuring of voices rose from the saloon gangway--a +buzzing sound, like that of a hive disturbed. A single voice rose +in a shriek of mortal terror, and immediately there followed a +chorus of confused shouts. + +Luke already had his lips at the speaking-tube. He was telling the +engineer on watch to steam ahead; he knew the danger of the Croonah +slipping back into deep water and sinking. + +In a marvellously short time the decks were thronged with people, +some standing white-faced and calm in the dim light of early +morning; others, mad with terror, rushing from side to side. + +The strange part of it was that Luke remained alone on the bridge. +The captain and the other officers were busy with the passengers. +The second officer remained motionless at his post; he commanded the +steersman by a wave of the arm to stay at the wheel, although he +knew that the Croonah would never answer her helm again; her +travelling days were done. + +In the dim light now increasing momentarily, Luke FitzHenry looked +down upon the wildly confused decks and saw discipline slowly assert +itself. He saw the captain commanding by sheer force of individual +power; he saw the quartermasters form in line across the deck and +drive the passengers farther aft, leaving room to get out the boats. + +In a few moments--in a marvellously short space of time--the work of +saving life began. A boat was lowered, the crew slipped into their +places, and a certain number of lady passengers were hastily handed +down the gangway. The first boat eased away. The oars were thrown +out. It was off, and some of the passengers cheered. One can never +tell what men, especially Englishmen, may do when they actually see +death face to face. The boat was headed to the south-east, towards +the Carreiro do Mosteiro, on Burling Island, the only possible +landing-place. + +Luke felt a touch on his arm and turned sharply. It was a +quartermaster, breathless but cool. + +"Captain wants you, sir. I'll take the bridge." + +Luke turned to obey orders. + +"Keep her steaming full speed ahead," he said, jerking his head +towards the engine-room telegraph. + +"Ay, sir," the man replied. + +"Until the water gets to the furnaces," he added to himself, "and +then we're dead men." + +Luke ran lightly down the iron ladder to the lower bridge, which was +deserted. From thence he made his way aft to the quarter-deck. As +he passed the saloon staircase he ran against two women; one was +dragging the other, or attempting to do so, towards the group of +passengers huddled together amidships. + +"You go," the younger woman was saying, "if you want to. I will +wait." + +Luke stopped. The elder woman was apparently wild with terror. She +had not even stopped to put on a dressing-gown. Her thin grey hair +fluttered in the breeze. She was stout and an object of ridicule +even with death clutching at her. + +"Go on, mother," said the younger woman, with contempt in her voice. + +"Agatha!" cried Luke. "You here?" + +"Yes; we came on board at Malta." + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE END OF THE "CROONAH". + + Our life is given us as a blank; + Ourselves must make it blest or curst. + +A man came running along and clutched at Luke's arm. + +"Captain wants you, sir, immediate!" he cried. + +"All right," answered Luke. "Here, take this lady and put her into +a boat." + +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was clinging to him. + +"Luke," she said firmly, "you must provide us with a lifeboat--a +safe one. I will not stand this neglect." + +"Here!" cried Luke to the man. "Take her away." + +"You come along o' me, marm," said the man, with a twinkle in his +eye. "I'll pervide ye with a lifeboat, bless yer heart!" + +And in the dim light of the saloon stairhead lamp, Luke and Agatha +were left facing each other. + +"Why did you not let me know you were coming?" he asked sharply. He +looked round with haggard eyes; they were quite alone. + +"I had no time. We just caught the boat by an hour." + +She was singularly quiet. Both of them seemed to forget that every +moment lost increased the danger of their position. + +"Why did you come?" he asked. + +She looked at him, and there was that in her eyes that makes men +mad. + +"Because I could not stay away from you." + +His breath came sharply with a catch. + +For a few moments they forgot such things as life and death. They +did more, they defied death; for surely such love as this is +stronger than the mere end of life. Again it was the possibility of +something good and something strong that lurked hidden behind the +worldliness of Agatha Ingham-Baker, and Luke FitzHenry, of all men, +alone had the power of bringing that possibility to the surface. + +All around them the wind moaned and shrieked through the rigging; +the waves, beating against the sheer side of the doomed Croonah, +filled the air with a sound of great foreboding--the deep voice of +an elemental power that knows no mercy. Within twenty feet of them +men and women were struggling like dumb and driven animals for bare +life--struggling, shouting, quarrelling over a paltry precedence of +a minute or so in going to the boats; within a hundred yards of +them, out over the dark waters, Agatha's mother, thrown from an +overturned boat, was struggling her last struggle, with her silly +old face turned indignantly up to heaven. But they saw none of +these things. + +All the good men were wanted for the boats, and the captain, with +two officers only and a few stewards, defended the gangway against +the rush of the panic-stricken native crew. + +"FitzHenry! FitzHenry!" the old captain shouted. "For God's sake, +come here!" For Luke alone was dreaded by the lascars. + +But Luke and Agatha heeded nothing. These people, these lives, were +nothing to them, for a passionate love is the acme of selfishness. + +They heard the sounds, however; they heard the captain calling for +the man who had never failed him. + +"I wrecked her for you," said Luke, in Agatha's hungry ears. "I did +it all for you." + +And at last the woman's vanity was satisfied; it was thrown a sop +that would suffice for its eternal greed. Luke had done this thing +for her. She was quick enough to guess how and why, for she knew +Willie Carr. She knew that good ships are thrown away for money's +sake. The Croonah had been thrown away for her sake--the Croonah, +the patient, obedient servant to Luke's slightest word, almost an +animal in its mechanical intelligence, filling that place in the +sailor's heart that some men reserve for their horses and others for +their wives. Women have been jealous of a ship before now. Eve was +jealous of the Terrific; Agatha had always been jealous of the +Croonah. And now the ship had been thrown away for her, and with +his ship Luke had cast away his unrivalled reputation as a seaman, +his honour as a gentleman, his conscience. He was a criminal, a +thief, a murderer for Agatha's sake. She, true to her school, to +her generation, to her training, was proud of it; for she was one of +those unhappy women who will not have their lovers love honour more. + +There was a sudden roar far down in the bowels of the vessel, and +immediately volumes of steam issued from every skylight. The +inrushing sea had broken down the bulk-heads, the water had reached +the engine-rooms. In an instant Luke was alive to the danger--the +good sailor that was within the man all awake. His trained ears and +the tread of his feet on the deck told him that the screw was still. + +"Come," he cried to Agatha, "you must get away in the next boat." + +But Agatha resisted his arm. That which had hitherto been mere +pertness in her manner and carriage had suddenly grown into a strong +determination. The woman was cool and fearless. + +"Not without you," she answered. "I will not leave the ship until +you do." + +"I must stay till the last," he said. + +She looked at him with a little smile, for women love courage, +though it sometimes frightens them. She never dreamt of danger to +either of them. Her trust in Luke was all-sufficient, without +reserve, without hesitation. + +"Then I will stay too." + +For a moment his iron nerve--a nerve which had deliberately planned +all this destruction--wavered. + +"Why did you not let me know you were coming?" he asked desperately. + +"I had no time," she answered, with a singular shortness, for she +could not tell him that a letter from Mrs. Harrington to her mother- +-the companion to that received by Luke at Valetta--had brought +about this sudden decision. She could not tell him that, egged on +by a transparent hint from Mrs. Harrington that Luke was to be her +heir, she and her mother had taken the first boat to Malta; that she +had deliberately planned to marry him for the money that was to be +his. Such a confession was impossible at that time; with his arms +still round her, the mere thought of it nauseated her. For a +moment, she saw herself as others had seen her--a punishment which +for some women is quite sufficient. + +At this moment a man came running along the deck--the same +quartermaster who had taken charge of Mrs. Ingham-Baker. He was a +man of no nerves whatever, and of considerable humour. + +"Any more ladies?" he was shouting as he ran. "Any more for the +shore?" + +He laughed at his own conceit as he ran--the same fearless laugh +with which he sent Mrs. Ingham-Baker down the gangway to her death. +He paused, saw Luke and Agatha standing together beneath the lamp. + +"Captain's callin' you like hell!" he cried. "Engine-room's full. +The old ship's got it this time, sir." + +"All right, I know," answered Luke curtly; and the man ran on, +shouting as he went. + +At this moment the Croonah gave a shiver, and Luke looked round +hastily. He ran to the rail and looked over with a quick sailor's +glance fore and aft. He turned towards Agatha again, but before he +could reach her the steamer gave a lurch over to starboard. The +deck seemed to rise between them. For a moment Agatha stood above +him, then she half ran, half fell, down the short steep incline into +his arms. Luke was ready for her, with one foot against the rail-- +for the deck was at an angle of thirty and more; no one could stand +on it. He caught her deftly, and the breeze whirling round the +deck-house blew her long hair across his face. + +She never changed colour. There was the nucleus of a good and +strong woman somewhere in Agatha Ingham-Baker. She clung to her +lover's arms and watched his face with a faith that nothing could +shake. Thus they stood during three eternal seconds while the +Croonah seemed to hesitate, poised on the brink. Then the great +steamer slowly slid backwards, turning a little as she did so. + +There was a sickening sound of gurgling water. The Croonah was +afloat, but only for a few seconds. There was no time to lower +another boat, and all on board knew it. There were not many +remaining, for the passengers had all left the ship--the stokers, +the engineers. Amidships the captain stood, surrounded by his +officers and a few European sailors--faithful to the end. They had +only one boat left, and that was forward, half under water--out of +the question. So they stood and waited for the ship to sink beneath +them. + +In the distance, on the rough sea, now grey in the light of a sullen +dawn, two boats were approaching, having landed their human freight +on Burling Island. + +"Now, my lads," cried the captain, "if any of you are feeling like +going overboard, over you go." + +One man slowly took off his coat. He stooped down and unlaced his +boots, while the others watched him. It seemed to take him hours. +The bows of the great steamer were almost buried in the broken seas; +her stern was raised high in the air, showing the screw and the +rudder. + +The man who preferred to swim for it looked round with a strange +smile into the quiet, rough faces of his undismayed companions. It +seemed to be merely a choice of deaths. + +"Well, mates," he said, "so long!" + +He dived overboard and swam slowly away. + +Luke watched him speculatively. He knew that had he been alone he +could have saved himself quite easily. With Agatha his chances were +less certain. Agatha it was who had spoilt his careful calculation. +Without conceit--for he was a stubbornly self-depreciating man--he +knew that his absence from his captain's side had just made the +difference--the little difference between life and death--to twenty +or thirty people. Had he been beside the captain and the other +officers the native crew would have worked quietly and intrepidly; +there would have been time for all hands to leave the Croonah before +she slipped back into deep water. + +The great steamer rolled slowly from side to side, like a helpless +dumb animal in death agony, but she never righted herself, her decks +were never level. At length she gave a roll to leeward and failed +to recover herself. From some air-shaft there came a ceaseless +whistle, deep and sonorous, like the emission of air from the +bunghole of a beer-barrel. The engines were quite still, even the +steam had ceased to rise. + +Luke stood holding Agatha with one arm. He was watching the two +boats making their way through the choppy sea towards them, and +Agatha was watching his face. + +The Croonah was now lying right over on her beam ends. Luke was +standing on the wire network of the rail. Suddenly he threw himself +backwards, and as they fell through space Agatha heard the captain's +voice quite distinctly, as from the silence of another world. + +"She's going!" he cried. + +They struck the water together, Luke undermost, as he had intended. +Agatha shut her eyes and clung to him. They seemed to go down and +down. Then suddenly she heard Luke's voice. + +"Take a breath," he gasped short and sharp. His voice was +singularly stern. + +With his disengaged hand he put her hair from her face. She opened +her eyes and saw him smiling at her; she saw a huge piece of +wreckage poised on the edge of a wave over his head; she saw it +fall; she felt the shock of it. + +Luke's arm lost its hold; he rolled over feebly in the water, the +blood running down his face, a sudden sense of sleep in his brain. +He awoke again to find himself swimming mechanically, and opened his +eyes. Close to him something white was floating half under water. +Spread out over the surface of the wave Agatha's long hair rose and +fell like seaweed, almost within his grasp. It was like a horrible +nightmare. He tried to reach it, but his arms were powerless; he +could not make an inch of progress; he could only keep himself +afloat. Agatha's face was under water. On the rise of a wave he +saw her little bare foot; it was quite still. He knew that she was +dead, and the blessed sleepiness took him again, dragging him down. + + . . . . . + +So the last of the Croonah was her good name written large on a +yellow telegram form, nailed to the panel of the room technically +known as the Chamber of Horrors at Lloyd's. + +Around this telegram a group of grave-faced men stood in silence, or +with muttered words of surprise. + +"The Croonah!" they said, "the Croonah!" as if a pillar of their +faith had fallen. For once no one had a theory: no carpet mariner +could explain this thing. + +Against the jamb of the window, behind them all, Willie Carr stood +leaning. + +"Done anything on her?" some one asked him. + +"Yes, bad luck," he answered. "Had friends on her, too." + +It was a long and expansive telegram, giving the list of the lost, +twenty-nine in all, and among the names were mentioned Mrs. Ingham- +Baker and her daughter. + +"Ship in charge of second officer," said the telegram. And lower +down, at the foot of the fatal list: "Second officer picked up +unconscious. Doing well." + +Suddenly Willie Carr moved, and, turning his back somewhat hastily, +looked out of the window. + +Fitz had just come into the dreary, fateful little room, conducted +thither by the Admiralty agent. He read the telegram carefully from +beginning to end. + +"Luke on the Burlings!" he muttered, as he turned to go. "Luke! I +can't understand it. He must have been mad!" + +And after all Fitz only spoke the truth; but it was a madness to +which we are all subject. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. AT D'ERRAHA AGAIN. + + There is no statute so sublime + As Love's in all the world; and e'en to kiss + The pedestal is still a better bliss + Than all ambitions. + +Three years later Eve was sitting on the terrace of the Casa +d'Erraha. It was late autumn, and we who live in Northern latitudes +do not quite realise what the autumn of Southern Europe is. Artists +and others interested in the beauties of nature love a dry summer +for the autumn that is sure to follow it. In Spain and in the +islands of the Mediterranean every summer is dry, and every autumn +is beautiful. + +The Casa d'Erraha has not changed in any way--nothing changes in the +Balearics. The same soft Southern odours creep up from the valley +to battle with the strong resinous scent of the pines that crown the +mountains. + +Eve had been a year in D'Erraha--the whole of her married life. The +Count de Lloseta placed the house at their disposal for the +honeymoon. Fitz and she came to stay a month; they had remained +twelve. It is often so in Majorca. A number of Spaniards came six +hundred years ago--nine families; the nine names are there to-day. + +Fitz had taken D'Erraha on the Minorcan rotas lease, so the old +valley, the old house, was his. + +Eve was not alone on the terrace, for a certain small gentleman, +called Henry Cyprian FitzHenry, a prospective sailor, lay in a pink +and perfect slumber on her lap. Henry Cyprian fully appreciated the +valley of repose. + +Eve was reading a letter--a lamentable scrawl, by the way--obviously +the work of a hand little used to the pen. + +"My dearie," the letter ran; and it bore the address--Malabar +Cottage, Somarsh, Suffolk. + + +"MY DEARIE,--Please thank your good husband for his letter to me +announcing the birth of your son. I hope the little man is doing +well. Make a sailor of him. Being one myself I have had +opportunity of noticing seafaring men under different circumstances, +and I have never had an occasion to be ashamed of a shipmate, only +excepting when he was drunk, which is human, so to speak. Thanking +the captain kindly for his inquiries, I have to advise that all is +going well at Malabar Cottage. The cottage keeps taut and staunch; +and now that my old shipmate Creary has joined me, we keep to the +weather side of the butcher's bill without any difficulty. We pull +along on a even keel wonderfully well, Creary being a good-natured +man, and as pleasant a shipmate as one could wish. He has brought +his bits of things with him, and alongside of mine they make a +homely look. I miss your voice about the house, and sometimes I +feel a bit lonely, but being a rough seafaring man I know that +Malabar Cottage was hardly fit for a lady like yourself. The Count +de Lloseta has twice been down to see me, sitting affable down to +our bit of lunch with us and making Creary laugh till he choked. I +don't rightly understand how it was that the Count and your good +husband the captain (R.N.) fixed up my money affairs, getting so +much of it back from Merton's while others haven't had a halfpenny. +I asked the Count to explain, which he did at some length. But I +didn't rightly understand it, never having had a good head for +figures, though I could always work out my sums near enough to fix +her position on the chart at mid-day. I take it that Mr. Lloseta +has got a gift for financials, leastwise he pays me my money most +regular, and last time there was two pounds more. I am sure I ought +to feel thankful that I have such good friends, and people, too, so +much above me. I understand that the Count de Lloseta is going out +to Majorca this autumn. He is a good man.--Your affectionate uncle, + + "WILLIAM JOHN BONTNOR (Master)." + +Eve read this effusion with a queer little smile which had no mirth +in it. She folded the letter carefully and laid it aside for her +husband to see when he returned. Then she fell into a reverie, +looking down over the great silent valley that lay between her and +the sea. She had been out into the world and had come back to +D'Erraha again. In the world she had had a somewhat singular +experience. She had never loved a woman, she had never known a +woman's love. One man after another had come into her life, passing +across the field of her mental vision when it was most susceptible +to impression, each influencing her life in his own way, each loving +her in his own way, each claiming her love. Here was a woman, the +mother of a boy, whose every thought had been formed by men, whose +knowledge had been acquired from men, whose world was a world of +men. She would not have known what to do with a daughter, so Fate +had sent her a son. From the Caballero Challoner to Fitz, from Fitz +to Captain Bontnor, from Captain Bontnor to John Craik, and from +Craik back to Fitz, this, with Cipriani de Lloseta ever coming and +going, in and out, had been Eve FitzHenry's life. + +These men had only taught her to be a woman, as men ever do; but +from them she had acquired the broader way of taking life, the +larger way of thinking, which promised well for Henry Cyprian lying +asleep on her lap. + +She was thinking of these men, for all they had taught her, of all +she had learnt from them without their knowing it, when one of them +came to her. Fitz had dismounted in the patio and came walking +somewhat stiffly through to the terrace. He had been out all day on +a distant part of the D'Erraha property, for he combined the farmer +and the sailor. He had applied for a year's leave after having +served his country for fifteen. The year had run into fifteen +months, and there was talk of the time when he should go to sea no +longer. + +Fitz had changed little. The cloud, however, that had formerly hung +as it were in his eyes had vanished. Eve had driven it away, slowly +and surely. Perhaps Henry Cyprian had something to do in the matter +also by pushing his uncle Luke out of the place he had hitherto +occupied in Fitz's heart. Luke had voluntarily relinquished the +place to a certain degree. He had left England three years before +to seek his fortune in other seas, and Fortune had come to him as +she often does when she is sought half-heartedly. Luke commanded +one of the finest war-ships afloat, but she sailed under the Chilean +flag. + +"Letters," said Fitz. + +Eve smiled and handed him Captain Bontnor's epistle. She watched +his face as he read--she had a trick of watching her husband's face. +This was a hopelessly taciturn man, but Eve seemed to understand +him. + +There was another letter unopened and addressed to Fitz. He took it +up and opened it leisurely, after the manner of one who has all he +wants and looks for nothing by post. + +Eve saw his face brighten with surprise. He read the letter +through, and then he handed it to her. + +"Lloseta," he said, "is coming. He is in Barcelona." + +Eve read the letter. She leant back in her deep chair with a +pensiveness, a faint suggestion of weariness bespeaking the end of a +convalescence, which was perhaps climatic. + +"I have never understood the Count," she said. "There are so many +people one does not understand." + +She broke off with a little laugh, half impatient. + +"Yes," said her husband quietly. "Whom are you thinking of?" + +"Agatha." + +Fitz was gazing at the fine quartz gravel beneath his feet. + +"Agatha cared for Luke," he said. + +A faint flicker of anxiety passed across Eve's eyes--the mention of +Luke's name always brought it. She had never seen this twin +brother--this shadow as it were of Fitz's life--and it had been +slowly borne in upon her--perhaps Henry Cyprian had taught her--that +there is a tie between twins which no man can gauge nor tell whither +it may lead. + +"Yes," she said quietly, "I know." + +"How do you know? Did she tell you?" + +Eve smiled. + +"No; but I knew long ago. I do not think she was good, Fitz, but +that was good in her--quite good. People say that it sometimes +saves men. It often saves women. I think it is better for a girl +to have no mother at all than to have a foolish mother, much better, +I am sure of it." + +"Women like Mrs. Ingham-Baker," said Fitz gruffly, "do more harm in +the world than women who are merely bad. She made Agatha what she +was, and Agatha made Luke throw away the Croonah." + +"But the Court decided that it was an unusual current," said Eve, +who had followed every word of the official inquiry. + +Fitz shrugged his shoulders. + +"He threw the ship away," he said. "Sailors like Luke do not get +wrecked on the Burlings." + +Eve did not pursue the subject, for this was the shadow on her +happiness. It has been ruled that we are not to be quite happy +here, and those are happiest who have a shadow that comes from +outside--from elsewhere than from themselves or their own love. + +Eve, womanlike, had thought of these things, analysing them as women +do, and she recognised the shadow frankly. She was too intelligent, +too far-sighted to expect perfect bliss, but she knew that she had +as near an approach to it as is offered for human delectation, +neutralised as it was by that vague regret which is only the +reflection of the active sorrows of others. + +Fitz had handed the Count's letter to his wife. She read it slowly +and allowed it to drop. As it fluttered to her lap she caught sight +of some writing on the back. + +"Did you see the postscript?" she asked. + +"No." + +She turned the letter and read aloud. + +"I saw Craik just before I left. He was, I think, in better health. +His mind is much too brilliant, his brain too active, his humour too +keen to be that of a sick man. When I told him your good news he +quite forgot to be rheumatic. 'Glad to hear it, glad to hear it,' +he said. 'She was much too good to be a mere writing woman.' By +the way, I imagine Eve never learnt that all the Spanish articles, +except the first, passed through my hands as well as Craik's before +publication. I knew who wrote them, and am still one of their +profoundest admirers, but, like John Craik, I am well content that +the gifted author should turn her attention to other things, notably +to my godson, to whom salutations. Did either of you ever meet +young Lord Seahampton, an excellent fellow, with the appearance of a +cleanly groom and the heart of a true knight? He was killed while +riding a steeplechase last week. I regret him deeply. He was one +of my few friends." + +Eve laid the letter down with a little sigh, a species of sigh which +she reserved for Cipriani de Lloseta. + +"He is a nineteenth-century Quixote," she said. "No one ever knows +what good he may be doing." + +Then they fell to talking of this man, of what he had done and what +he had left undone. They guessed at what he had suffered, and of +the suffering which he had spared others they knew a little; but of +his own feelings they were ignorant, his motives they only knew in +part. His life had been lived out to a certain extent before them, +but they knew nothing of it; it was a mere superficies without +perspective, and Eve, woman-like, wanted to put a background to it. + +"But why," she persisted, from the height of her own happiness, +which had apparently been so easy to reach, "why does he lead such a +lonely, gloomy life? Why has he so few friends? Why does he not +come and live at Lloseta instead of in the gloomy palace in the +Calle de la Paz?" + +"His life is all whys," answered Fitz; "it is one big note of +interrogation. He said that some day he would tell us; no doubt he +will." + +"Yes; perhaps so." + +Eve reflected, and again she indulged in a short sigh. + +"And after he has told us there will be nothing to be done, that is +the worst of it; there will be nothing to be done, Fitz." + +"There never has been anything to be done," replied Fitz slowly, as +was his wont. "That has been the keynote of his life as long as I +have known him. If there had been anything to do, you may be sure +that De Lloseta would have done it." + +Eve was bending over the small beginnings of a man lying supine on +her knees. She drew Henry Cyprian's wraps closer around him +preparatory to taking him indoors. + +"Then his is surely the saddest life imaginable," she said. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE COUNT'S STORY. + + And yet I know + That tears lie deep in all I do. + +The pine forests on the mountain-tops were beginning to gather the +darkness as the Count de Lloseta rode up the last slope to the Casa +d'Erraha. The sun had just set behind the rocky land that hides +Miramar from D'Erraha. A stillness seemed to be creeping down from +the mountain to the valley. The wind had gone down with the sun. + +The Count rode alone beneath the gloom of the maritime pines which +grow to their finest European stature on the northern slope of +D'Erraha. He had been in the saddle all day; but Cipriani de +Lloseta was a Spaniard, and a Spaniard is a different man when he +has thrown his leg across a horse. The suave indolence of manner +seems to vanish, the courtly indifference, the sloth and +contemplativeness which stand as a bar between our northern nature +and the peninsular habit. De Lloseta was a fine horseman--even in +Spain, the nation of finest horsemen in the world; also he was on +Majorcan soil again. He had landed at Palma that morning from the +Barcelona steamer, and he had found Fitz awaiting him with a servant +and a led horse on the quay. + +There was a strangely excited gleam in De Lloseta's dark eyes which +Fitz did not fail to notice. The Count looked around over the dark +wild faces of his countrymen and met no glance of recognition, for +he had been absent forty years. Then he raised his eyes to the old +city towering on the hillside above them, the city that has not +changed these six hundred years, and he smiled a wan smile. + +"I have brought a horse for you," said Fitz, "either to ride back to +D'Erraha with me now or to take you to Lloseta, should you care to +go direct there. Eve has packed up some lunch for you in the +saddle-bag if you think of going to Lloseta first." + +The Count nodded. + +"Yes," he said, "that is like Eve; she would think of such things." + +He went up to the horse, patted it, measured the length of the +stirrup-leather, and then turned to Fitz. + +"I will go to Lloseta," he said. "It is only natural after forty +years. I will be with you by seven o'clock to-night at D'Erraha." + +Fitz did not offer to accompany him, and Cipriani de Lloseta rode +that strange ride alone; unknown, an outcast in his own land, he +rode through the most fertile valley in the world, of which every +tree was dear to him; and no man knew his thoughts. The labourers +in the fields, men and women, brown, sunburnt, half Moorish, wholly +simple and natural, paused in their toil and looked wonderingly at +the lonely horseman; the patient mules walking their ceaseless round +at the Moorish wells blinked lazily at him; the eagles of Lloseta +swept slowly round in a great circle far above the old castle, as +they had swept in his childhood, and he looked up at them with his +strange patient smile. He pushed the great olive-wood gate open and +passed into the terraced garden, all overgrown, neglected, mournful. +It was a strange home-coming, with no one near to see. + +He spent the whole day at Lloseta engaged in the very practical work +of employing men to labour at the garden and in the house. It was, +he said, his intention to come back to his "possession," as these +Majorcan country houses are called, to inhabit it the larger part of +the year, and to pass the remaining winter months at his palace in +Palma. + +In the afternoon he mounted his horse, and in the evening, as has +been said, he reached D'Erraha. + +A servant must have been watching his approach, for the large door +was thrown open and he rode into the patio. Fitz was here to +welcome him; and behind him Eve, with Henry Cyprian in her arms. No +one spoke. It was rather singular. The Count dismounted. He took +off his hat and held it in the Spanish mode in his hand while he +shook hands with Fitz and Eve. He looked round the patio. He noted +the old marble well, yellow with stupendous age, the orange trees +clustering over it, the palms and the banana trees, then he smiled +at Eve. + +"After many years," he said. + +There was a little pause. + +"I should have wished to see your father," he said, "amidst these +surroundings." + +Eve gave a little nod. From long association with men she had +learnt a manlike reticence. She moved a little towards the open +archway leading through to the terrace. + +"We have some tea," she said, "waiting for you. Will you come to +the terrace?" + +He followed her, while the servant led the tired horse away. + +They sat at the northern end of the terrace, where the garden-chairs +always stood, and before, beneath, all around them rose and fell the +finest of all the fine Majorcan scenery--scenery which only Sardinia +can rival in Europe. + +Eve poured out his tea, which he drank, and set the cup aside. + +They all knew that the time had come for the Count de Lloseta to +tell his story--to redeem the promise made to Eve and Fitz long ago, +before they were married. + +Cipriani de Lloseta leant back in his deep garden-chair nursing one +booted leg over the other. He was dusty and travel-stained, but the +natural hardiness of his frame seemed to be more apparent than ever +in his native land, on his native mountains. + +"My poor little tale," he said; "you will have it?" + +"Yes," said Eve; and Fitz nodded. + +Cipriani de Lloseta did not look at them, but down into the +gathering blue of the valley beneath them. His quiet, patient eyes +never turned elsewhere during his narrative, as if he were telling +the story to the valley and the hills. + +"When I was quite a young man everything was too prosperous with me. +I was rich, I had health and liberty and many friends; life was +altogether too simple and easy for me. Before I was twenty-one I +met my dear Rosa and fell in love with her. Here again it was too +easy, too convenient. Fate is cruellest when she is too kind. The +parents wished it. The two families were equally old, equally rich; +and lastly Rosa--Rosa was kind enough to be--kind to me." + +He paused, pensively rubbing his clean-shaven chin with his +forefinger, his long profile was turned towards Eve, standing out +like brown marble against the gloom of the valley. Eve wondered +about this woman, this Rosa, who had been forty years in her grave. +She wondered what manner of woman this must have been to have kept +the love of a man through all these years by a mere memory, but she +did not wonder that Rosa had been kind. + +"She saw things in me that do not exist," Cipriani de Lloseta went +on quietly. "It is so with women when--and men may thank God that +it is so." + +He gave a little laugh, unpleasant to the ear--the laugh of a man +who has been right down to the bottom of life and comes up again +with a sneer. + +Eve and Fitz made no sign. This story was like wine that has lain +forgotten in the dark for many years, it needed careful handling. +Henry Cyprian turned on his silken cushion, and opening his great +dark eyes watched the speaker with that infantine steadfastness of +gaze which may perchance see more than we suspect. + +"We were married"--he paused and gave a jerk of the head towards +Palma, behind him to the left--"in the cathedral, and were quite +happy. At that time the Harringtons were living, or rather staying, +in this house with your good father. Neither of you ever saw the +Honourable George Harrington; your loss is infinitesimal. For some +reason they began to come to Lloseta a good deal--some reason of +Mrs. Harrington's. She was always a singular woman, with a reason +for all that she did, which I, in my old-fashioned way, do not think +good in a woman. She disliked my wife. I could see that through +her affectionate ways. I do not know why. Men cannot understand +these things. Rosa was very beautiful." + +Eve, who was watching his face, gave a little nod--a mental nod, as +it were, for her own edification. It is possible that she, being a +woman, understood. + +"Finally they came to stay a few days--you know the Spanish +hospitality. She forced it on us against our will. I was +particularly averse to it because of--Rosa. I wanted to be quietly +at Lloseta. We intended to live almost entirely in Majorca. We +wanted our children to be Majorcans, and especially a son. The +Harringtons stayed longer than we invited them for. They were well- +bred adventurers. I have met many such in English country houses-- +people who shoot, and fish, and hunt at the expense of others. It +suited them to stay at Lloseta, and they did so. They were people +who got the best of everything by asking for it--by looking upon it +in a well-bred way as their right. I did not mind that, but I +wanted them to go, on account of Rosa. Also I disliked the woman's +manner towards myself; it altered when Rosa was not there, you +understand. We have a word for it in Spain, but I will not say it +because the woman is dead." + +There was a rasping sound as he drew his first and second fingers +across his closely shaven chin. It is a singular thing that cynics +usually reserve their keenest shafts for women. + +"At last I informed Rosa that they must be told to go, and Rosa was +very angry. It was her pride--the pride of a new-fledged hostess, +of a young matron. She was Spanish, and hot tempered. My +inhospitality was terrible to her, and she spoke sharply. I was +quicker to feel and to act then than I am now. I answered her. I +would not give way, thinking, as I was, of the son we hoped for. It +was nothing, but we raised our voices. In the heat of the argument +I lifted my hand. Rosa thought that I was going to strike her--a +strange mistake. She stepped back and fell. You know our marble +floors. She struck her temple against the floor, and she lay quite +still. I heard a sound, and turning, saw Mrs. Harrington in the +doorway. She had been listening; she had seen everything. Rosa +never recovered consciousness; she died. It was terribly easy for +her to die. It was equally hard for me to continue living. Mrs. +Harrington helped me in my great sorrow to a certain extent, but she +would not help me by going away. Then, as soon as Rosa was buried, +she told me that unless I gave her money she would tell all Spain +that I had murdered my wife. At first I did not understand. I did +not know that God had created women such as this. But she made her +meaning quite clear. Indeed to do this thoroughly, she hinted to +the neighbours that she knew more than she had disclosed. All +Majorca would turn its back upon me--all except Challoner. I paid +the woman. I have paid her ever since, and I do not regret it. +What else could I do? After many generations of honour and +uprightness I could not let the name of Lloseta fall into the hands +of a low woman such as Mrs. Harrington. I had to pay heavily, but +it was still cheap. I saved the name. No breath of dishonour has +reached the name of De Lloseta de Mallorca. I got her out of +Majorca, and my old friend Challoner set himself the task of +silencing the gossips. But I found that I had to leave Lloseta--for +the name's sake I quitted my home." + +He spread out his hands with a patient gesture of resignation. + +"Such has been my life," he went on. "It has been spent in +preserving the name unspotted, in paying Mrs. Harrington, and in +praying the good God to make her life unhappy and short. In His +greater wisdom He prolonged her life, but it was never a happy one, +for God is just. I am the last of the Llosetas. The name will die, +but it has lived for six hundred years, and it dies as it lived-- +unspotted--one of the great names of the world." + +He broke off with a little laugh. + +"Spanish pride," he said. "I must beg your indulgence. My life you +know. It has not been a happy one. I have never forgotten Rosa; I +have never even tried. I have had several objects however in life; +it has not been uninteresting. One of the chief of these objects +has been to repay to a minute extent the true friendship of my dear +Challoner. He was a friend in need. He taught me to look upon the +English as the finest race of men on this planet. I may be wrong, +but I shall adhere to my opinion. In my small way I attempted to +repay in part to Challoner's daughter all that I owed to him; but I +only ran against a pride as strong, as sensitive as my own. My +child, you did quite right!" + +He turned to Eve, smiling his patient smile. + +"And now," he went on, "I shall have my way after all." + +He laid his hand on Henry Cyprian, who was conscientiously putting +the Valley of Repose to its best use. + +"After all, this little caballero was born at D'Erraha. D'Erraha is +his; is it not so?" + +And Eve, giving up her pride to him--casting it down before his +loftier pride--came round to his chair, and bending over, kissed him +silently. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE GREY LADY *** + +This file should be named grld10.txt or grld10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, grld11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, grld10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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TWO IN THE FIELD.<br />II. +A MAN DOWN.<br />III. A SEA DOG.<br />IV. + PURGATORIO.<br />V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE.<br />VI. + AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE.<br />VII. + IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE.<br />VIII. THE DEAL.<br />IX. + CUT FOR PARTNERS.<br />X. THE GAME +OPENS.<br />XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA.<br />XII. + A SHUFFLE.<br />XIII. A CHOICE.<br />XIV. + A QUATRE.<br />XV. DON QUIXOTE.<br />XVI. + BROKEN.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>BOOK THE SECOND</p> +<p>I. BITS OF LIFE.<br />II. +A COMPACT.<br />III. BAFFLED.<br />IV. +FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER.<br />V. THE TEAR ON THE +SWORD.<br />VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY.<br />VII. + A VOYAGE.<br />VIII. A GREAT FIGHT.<br />IX. + THE EDITOR’S ROOM.<br />X. +THE CURTAIN LOWERS.<br />XI. “MILKSOP”.<br />XII. + THE END OF THE “CROONAH.”<br />XIII. +AT D’ERRAHA AGAIN.<br />XIV. THE COUNT’S STORY.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>BOOK THE FIRST.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I. TWO IN THE FIELD.</h3> +<p> <i>Qui n’accepte pas le regret +n’accepte pas la vie</i>.</p> +<p>The train technically known as the “Flying Dutchman,” +tearing through the plains of Taunton, and in a first-class carriage +by themselves, facing each other, two boys.</p> +<p>One of these boys remembers the moment to this day. A journey +accomplished with Care for a travelling companion usually adheres to +the wheels of memory until those wheels are still. Grim Care was +with these boys in the railway carriage. A great catastrophe had +come to them. A FitzHenry had failed to pass into her Majesty’s +Navy. Back and back through the generations - back to the days +when England had no navy - she had always been served at sea by a FitzHenry. +Moreover, there had always been a Henry of that name on the books. +Henry, the son of Henry, had, as a matter of course, gone down to the +sea in a ship, had done his country’s business in the great waters.</p> +<p>There was, if they could have looked at it from a racial point of +view, one small grain of consolation. The record was not even +now snapped - for Henry had succeeded, Luke it was who had failed.</p> +<p>Henry sat with his back to the engine, looking out over the flat +meadow-land, with some moisture remarkably like a tear in either eye. +The eyes were blue, deep, and dark like the eastern horizon when the +sun is setting over the sea. The face was brown, and oval, and +still. It looked like a face that belonged to a race, something +that had been handed down with the inherent love of blue water. +It is probable that many centuries ago, a man with features such as +these, with eyes such as these, and crisp, closely curling hair, had +leaped ashore from his open Viking boat, shouting defiance to the Briton.</p> +<p>This son of countless Henrys sat and thought the world was hollow, +with no joy in it, and no hope, because Luke had failed.</p> +<p>We are told that there shall be two in the field, that the one shall +be taken and the other left. But we have yet to learn why, in +our limited vision, the choice seems invariably to be mistaken. +We have yet to learn why he who is doing good work is called from the +field, leaving there the man whose tastes are urban.</p> +<p>Except for the sake of the record - and we cannot really be expected +in these busy times to live for generations past or yet unborn - except +for the record it would have been more expedient that Henry should fail +and Luke succeed. Everybody knew this. It was the common +talk on board the <i>Britannia</i>. Even the examiners knew it. +Luke himself was aware of it. But there had always been a fatality +about Luke.</p> +<p>And now, when it was quite apparent that Luke was a sailor and nothing +else, the Navy would have none of him. Those who knew him - his +kindly old captain and others - averred that, with a strict and unquestionable +discipline, Luke FitzHenry could be made a first-class officer and a +brilliant sailor. No one quite understood him, not even his brother +Henry, usually known as Fitz. Fitz did not understand him now; +he had not understood him since the fatal notice had been posted on +the broad mainmast, of which some may wot. He did not know what +to say, so, like the wise old Duke, he said nothing.</p> +<p>In the meantime the train raced on. Every moment brought them +nearer to London and to the Honourable Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>Fitz seemed to be realising this, for he glanced uneasily at his +brother, whose morose, sullen face was turned resolutely towards the +window.</p> +<p>“She’ll be a fool,” he said, “if she does +not give you another chance.”</p> +<p>“I would not take it,” answered Luke mechanically.</p> +<p>He was darker than his brother, with a longer chin and a peculiar +twist of the lips. His eyes were lighter in colour, and rather +too close together. A keen observer would have put him down as +a boy who in manhood might go wrong. The strange thing was that +no one could have hesitated for a moment in selecting Luke as the cleverer +of the two.</p> +<p>Fitz paused. He was not so quick with his tongue as with his +limbs. He knew his brother well enough to foresee the effect of +failure. Luke FitzHenry was destined to be one of those unfortunate +men who fail ungracefully.</p> +<p>“Do not decide in too great a hurry,” said Fitz at length, +rather lamely. “Don’t be a fool!”</p> +<p>“No, it has been decided for me by my beastly bad luck.”</p> +<p>“It <i>was</i> bad luck - deuced bad luck.”</p> +<p>They had bought a packet of cigarettes at Exeter, but that outward +sign of manhood lay untouched on the seat beside Fitz. It almost +seemed as if manhood had come to them both in a more serious form than +a swaggering indulgence in tobacco.</p> +<p>The boys were obviously brothers, but not aggressively twins. +For Luke was darker than Fitz, and somewhat shorter in stature.</p> +<p>It is probable that neither of them had ever seriously contemplated +the possibility of failure for one and not for the other. Neither +had ever looked onward, as it were, into life to see himself there without +the other. The life that they both anticipated was that life on +the ocean wave, of which home-keeping poets sing so eloquently; and +it had always been vaguely taken for granted that no great difference +in rank or success could sever them. Fitz was too simple-minded, +too honest to himself, to look for great honours in his country’s +service. He mistrusted himself. Luke mistrusted Providence.</p> +<p>Such was the difference between these two boys - the thin end of +a wedge of years which, spreading out in after days, turned each life +into a path of its own, sending each man inexorably on his separate +way.</p> +<p>These two boys were almost alone in the world. Their mother +had died in giving them birth. Their father, an old man when he +married, reached his allotted span when his sons first donned Her Majesty’s +brass buttons, and quietly went to keep his watch below. Discipline +had been his guiding star through life, and when Death called him he +obeyed without a murmur, trusting confidently to the Naval Department +in the first place, and the good God in the second, to look after his +boys.</p> +<p>That the late Admiral FitzHenry had sorely misplaced his confidence +in the first instance was a fact which the two boys were now called +upon to face alone in their youthful ignorance of the world. Fitz +was uneasily conscious of a feeling of helplessness, as if some all-powerful +protector had suddenly been withdrawn. Their two lives had been +pre-committed to the parental care of their country, and now it almost +took their breath away to realise that Luke had no such protector.</p> +<p>His was the pride that depreciates self. During the last twenty-four +hours Fitz had heard him boast of his failure, holding it up with a +singularly triumphant sneer, as if he had always distrusted his destiny +and took a certain pleasure in verifying his own prognostications. +There are some men who find a satisfaction in bad luck which good fortune +could never afford them.</p> +<p>In a large house in Grosvenor Gardens two ladies were at that same +moment speaking of the FitzHenrys. It was quite easy to see that +the smaller lady of the two was the mistress of the house, as also of +that vague abstract called the situation. She sat in the most +comfortable chair, which was, by the way, considerably too spacious +for her, and there was a certain aggressive sense of possession about +her attitude and manner.</p> +<p>Had she been a man, one would have said at once that here was a <i>nouveau +riche</i>, ever heedful of the fact that the big room and all the appurtenances +thereof were the fruits of toil and perseverance. There was a +distinct suggestion of self-manufacture about Mrs. Harrington - distinct, +that is to say, to the more subtle-minded. For she was not vulgar, +neither did she boast. But the expression of her keen and somewhat +worldly countenance betokened the intention of holding her own.</p> +<p>The Honourable Mrs. Harrington was not only beautifully dressed, +but knew how to wear her clothes <i>en grande dame</i>.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she was saying, “Luke has failed to pass +off the <i>Britannia</i>. It is a rare occurrence. I suppose +the boy is a fool.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington was rather addicted to the practice of calling other +people names. If the butler made a mistake she dubbed him an idiot +at once. She did not actually call her present companion, Mrs. +Ingham-Baker, a fool, possibly because she considered the fact too apparent +to require note.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, smoothed out the piece of +silken needlework with which she moved through life, and glanced at +her companion. She wanted to say the right thing. And Mrs. +Harrington was what the French call “difficult.” One +could never tell what the right thing might be. The art of saying +it is, moreover, like an ear for music, it is not to be acquired. +And Mrs. Ingham-Baker had not been gifted thus.</p> +<p>“And yet,” she said, “their father was a clever +man - as I have been told.”</p> +<p>“By whom?” inquired Mrs. Harrington blandly.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker paused in distress.</p> +<p>“I wonder who it was,” she pretended to reflect.</p> +<p>“So do I,” snapped Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s imagination was a somewhat ponderous affair, +and, when she trusted to it, it usually ran her violently down a steep +place. She concluded to say nothing more about the late Admiral +FitzHenry.</p> +<p>“The boy,” said Mrs. Harrington, returning to the hapless +Luke, “has had every advantage. I suppose he will try to +explain matters when he comes. I could explain it in one word +- stupidity.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker nervously, “the +brains have all gone to the other brother, Henry. It is sometimes +so with twins.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington laughed rather derisively.</p> +<p>“Stupid woman to have twins,” she muttered.</p> +<p>This was apparently one of several grievances against the late Mrs. +FitzHenry.</p> +<p>“They have a little money of their own, have they not?” +inquired Mrs. Ingham-Baker, with the soft blandness of one for whom +money has absolutely no attraction.</p> +<p>“About enough to pay their washerwoman.”</p> +<p>There was a pause, and then Mrs. Ingham-Baker heaved a little sigh.</p> +<p>“I am sure, dear,” she said, “that in some way +you will be rewarded for your great kindness to these poor orphan boys.”</p> +<p>She shook her head wisely, as if reflecting over the numerous cases +of rewarded virtue which had come under her notice, and the action made +two jet ornaments in her cap wobble, in a ludicrous manner, from side +to side.</p> +<p>“That may be,” admitted the lady of the house, “though +I wish I felt as sure about it as you do.”</p> +<p>“But then,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, in a low and +feeling tone, “you always were the soul of generosity.”</p> +<p>The “soul of generosity” gave an exceedingly wise little +smile - almost as if she knew better - and looked up sharply towards +the door. At the same moment the butler appeared.</p> +<p>“Mr. Pawson, ma’am,” he said.</p> +<p>The little nod with which this information was received seemed to +indicate that Mr. Pawson had been expected.</p> +<p>Beneath her black curls Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s beady eyes were +very much on the alert.</p> +<p>“In the library, James,” said Mrs. Harrington - and the +two jet ornaments bending over the silken needlework gave a little throb +of disappointment.</p> +<p>“Mr. Pawson,” announced the lady of the house, “is +the legal light who casts a shadow of obscurity over my affairs.”</p> +<p>And with that she left the room.</p> +<p>As soon as the door was closed Mrs. Ingham-Baker was on her feet. +She crossed the room to where her hostess’s key-basket and other +belongings stood upon a table near the window. She stood looking +eagerly at these without touching them. She even stooped down +to examine the address of an envelope.</p> +<p>“Mr. Pawson!” she said, in a breathless whisper. +“Mr. Pawson - what does that mean? Can she be going +to alter her - no! But - yes, it may be! Perhaps Susan knows.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker then rang the bell twice, and resumed her seat.</p> +<p>Presently an aged servant came into the room. It was easy to +see at a glance that she was a very old woman, but the years seemed +to weigh less on her mind than on her body.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said composedly.</p> +<p>“Oh - eh, Susan,” began Mrs. Ingham-Baker almost cringingly. +“I rang because I wanted to know if a parcel has come for me - +a parcel of floss-silk - from that shop in Buckingham Palace Road, you +know.”</p> +<p>“If it had come,” replied Susan, with withering composure, +“it would have been sent up to you.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, of course I know that, Susan. But I thought +that perhaps it might have been insufficiently addressed or something +- that you or Mary might have thought that it was for Mrs. Harrington.”</p> +<p>“She don’t use floss silks,” replied the imperturbable +Susan.</p> +<p>“I was just going to ask her about it, when she was called +away by some one. I think she said that it was her lawyer.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Mr. Pawson.”</p> +<p>Susan’s manner implied - very subtly and gently - that her +place in this pleasant house was more assured than that of Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +and perhaps that stout diplomatist awoke to this implication, for she +pulled herself up with considerable dignity.</p> +<p>“I hope that nothing is wrong,” she said, in a tone that +was intended to disclaim all intention of discussing such matters with +a menial. “I should be sorry if Mrs. Harrington was drawn +into any legal difficulty; the law is so complicated.”</p> +<p>Susan was engaged in looking for a speck of dust on the mantelpiece, +not for its own intrinsic value, but for the sake of Mary’s future. +She had apparently no observation of value to offer upon the vexed subject +of the law.</p> +<p>“I was rather afraid,” pursued Mrs. Ingham-Baker gravely, +“that Mrs. Harrington might be unduly incensed against that poor +boy, Luke FitzHenry; that in a moment of disappointment, you know, she +might be making some - well, some alteration in her will to the detriment +of the boy.”</p> +<p>Susan stood for a moment in front of the lady, with a strange little +smile of amusement among the wrinkles of her face.</p> +<p>“Yes, that may be,” she said, and quietly left the room.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II. A MAN DOWN.</h3> +<p><i> Caress the favourites, avoid the +unfortunate, and trust nobody</i>.</p> +<p>The atmosphere of Mrs. Harrington’s drawing-room seemed to +absorb the new-found manhood of the two boys, for they came forward +shyly, overawed by the consciousness of their own boots, by the conviction +that they carried with them the odour of cigarette smoke and failure.</p> +<p>“Well, my dears,” said the Honourable Mrs. Harrington, +suddenly softened despite herself by the sight of their brown young +faces. “Well, come here and kiss me.”</p> +<p>All the while she was vaguely conscious that she was surprising herself +and others. She had not intended to treat them thus. Mrs. +Harrington was a woman who had a theory of life - not a theory to talk +about, but to act upon. Her theory was that “heart” +is all nonsense. She looked upon existence here below as a series +of contracts entered into with one’s neighbour for purposes of +mutual enjoyment or advantage. She thought that life could be +put down in black and white. Which was a mistake. She had +gone through fifty years of it without discovering that for the sake +of some memory - possibly a girlish one - hidden away behind her cold +grey eyes, she could never be sure of herself in dealing with man or +boy whose being bore the impress of the sea.</p> +<p>The strange thing was that she had never found it out. We speak +pityingly of animals that do not know their own strength. Which +of us knows his own weakness? There was a man connected with Mrs. +Harrington’s life, one of the contractors in black and white, +who had found out this effect of a brown face and a blue coat upon a +woman otherwise immovable. This man, Cipriani de Lloseta, who +contemplated life, as it were, from a quiet corner of the dress circle, +kept his knowledge for his own use.</p> +<p>Fitz and Luke obeyed her invitation without much enthusiasm. +They were boyish enough to object to kissing on principle. They +then shook hands awkwardly with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, and drifted together +again with that vague physical attraction which seems to qualify twins +for double harness on the road of life. There was trouble ahead +of them; and without defining the situation, like soldiers surprised, +they instinctively touched shoulders.</p> +<p>It was the psychological moment. There was a little pause, +during which Mrs. Harrington seemed to stiffen herself, morally and +physically. Had she not stiffened herself, had she only allowed +herself, as it were, to go - to call Luke to her and comfort him and +sympathise with him - it would have altered every life in that room, +and others outside of it. Even blundering, cringing, foolish Mrs. +Ingham-Baker would have acted more wisely, for she would have followed +the dictates of an exceedingly soft, if shallow, heart.</p> +<p>“I had hoped for a more satisfactory home-coming than this,” +said Mrs. Harrington in her hardest voice. When she spoke in this +tone there was the faintest suggestion of a London accent.</p> +<p>Fitz made a little movement, a step forward, as if she had been unconsciously +approaching the brink of some danger, and he wished to warn her. +The peculiar twist in Luke’s lips became momentarily more visible, +and he kept his deep, despondent eyes fixed on the speaker’s face.</p> +<p>There are two kinds of rich women. The one spends her money +in doing good, the other pays it away to gratify her love of power. +Of the Honourable Mrs. Harrington it was never reported that she was +lavish in her charities.</p> +<p>“I think,” she said, “that I ought to tell you +that I have been paying the expenses of your education almost entirely. +I was in no way bound to do so. I took charge of you at your father’s +death because I - because he was a true friend to me. I do not +grudge the money, but in return I expected you to work hard and get +on in your profession.”</p> +<p>She stiffened herself with a rustling sound of silk, proudly conscious +of injured virtue, full of the charity that exacteth a high interest.</p> +<p>“We did our best,” replied Fitz, with a simple intrepidity +which rather spoilt the awesomeness of the situation.</p> +<p>“I am not speaking to you,” returned the lady. +“You have worked and have passed your examination satisfactorily. +You are not clever - I know that; but you have managed to get into the +Navy, where your father was before you, and your grandfather before +him. I have no doubt you will give satisfaction to your superior +officers. I was talking to Luke.”</p> +<p>“We all knew that,” said Luke, in a dangerous voice, +which trite observation she chose to ignore.</p> +<p>“You have had equal advantages,” pursued the dispenser +of charity. “I have shown no favour; I have treated you +alike. It had been my intention to do so all your lives and after +my death.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker was so interested at this juncture that she leant +forward with parted lips, listening eagerly. The Honourable Mrs. +Harrington allowed herself the plebeian pleasure of returning the stare +with a questioning glance which broke off into a little laugh.</p> +<p>“Have you,” she continued, addressing Luke directly, +“any reason to offer for your failure - beyond the usual one of +bad luck?”</p> +<p>Luke looked at her in a lowering way and made no reply. Had +Mrs. Harrington been a poor woman, she would have recognised that the +boy was at the end of his tether. But she had always been surrounded +- as such women are - by men, and more especially by women, who would +swallow any insult, any insolence, so long as it was gilded. The +world had, in fact, accepted the Honourable Mrs. Harrington because +she could afford to gild herself.</p> +<p>“It was bad luck, and nothing else,” burst out Fitz, +heedless of her sarcastic tones. “Luke is a better sailor +than I am. But he always was weak in his astronomy, and it all +turned on astronomy.”</p> +<p>“I should imagine it all turned on stupidity,” said Mrs. +Harrington.</p> +<p>“I’m stupid, if you like,” said Fitz; “Luke +isn’t. Luke is clever; ask any chap on board!”</p> +<p>“I do not need to ask any chap on board,” said Mrs. Harrington. +“My own common sense tells me that he is clever. He has +proved it.”</p> +<p>“It’s like a woman - to hit a fellow when he’s +down,” said Luke, with his hands deep in his pockets.</p> +<p>He turned to Mrs. Ingham-Baker for sympathy in this sentiment, and +that soft-hearted lady deemed it expedient to turn hastily away, avoiding +his glance, denying all partisanship.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker was not a person given to the disguise of her own +feelings. She was plausible enough to the outer world. To +herself she was quite frank, and hardly seemed to recognise this as +the event she had most desired. It is to be presumed that her +heart was like her physical self, a large, unwieldy thing, over which +she had not a proper control. The organ mentioned had a way of +tripping her up. It tripped her now, and she quite forgot that +this quarrel was precisely what she had wanted for years. She +had looked forward to it as the turning-point in her daughter Agatha’s +fortunes.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker had, in fact, wondered more than a thousand times +why the Honourable Mrs. Harrington should do all for the FitzHenrys +and nothing for Agatha. She did not attempt to attribute reasons. +She knew her sex too well for that. She merely wondered, which +means that she cherished a question until it grew into a grievance. +The end of it she knew would be a quarrel. This might not come +until the FitzHenrys should have grown to man’s estate and man’s +privilege of quarrelling with his female relatives about the youthful +female relative of some other person. But it would come, surely. +Mrs. Ingham-Baker, the parasite, knew her victim, Mrs. Harrington, well +enough to be sure of that.</p> +<p>And now that this quarrel had arisen - much sooner than she could +have hoped - providentially brought about by an astronomical examination-paper, +Mrs. Ingham-Baker was forced to face the humiliating fact that she felt +sorry for Luke.</p> +<p>It would have been different had Agatha been present, but that ingenious +maiden was at school at Brighton. Had her daughter been in the +room, Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s motherly instinct would have narrowed +itself down to her. But in the absence of her own child, Luke’s +sorry plight appealed to that larger maternal instinct which makes good +women in unlikely places.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker was, however, one of the many who learn to curb +the impulse of a charitable intention. She looked out of the window, +and pretended not to notice that the culprit had addressed his remark +to her. To complete this convenient deafness she gave a simulated +little cough of abstraction, which entirely gave her away.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington chose to ignore Luke’s taunt.</p> +<p>“And,” she inquired sweetly, “what do you intend +to do now?”</p> +<p>Quite suddenly the boy turned on her.</p> +<p>“I intend,” he cried, “to make my own life - whatever +it may be. If I am starving I will not come to you. If half-a-crown +would save me, I would rather die than borrow it from you. You +think that you can buy everything with your cursed money. You +can’t buy me. You can’t buy a FitzHenry. You +- you can’t - ”</p> +<p>He gave a little sob, remembered his new manhood - that sudden, complete +manhood which comes of sorrow - pulled himself up, and walked to the +door. He opened it, turned once and glanced at his brother, and +passed out of the room.</p> +<p>So Luke FitzHenry passed out into his life - a life which he was +to make for himself. Passionate - quick to love, to hate, to suffer; +deep in his feeling, susceptible to ridicule or sarcasm - an orphan. +The stairs were dark as he went down them.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington gave a little laugh as the door closed behind him. +She had always been able to repurchase the friendship of her friends.</p> +<p>Fitz made a few steps towards the door before her voice arrested +him. “Stop!” she cried.</p> +<p>He paused, and the old sense of discipline that was in his blood +made him obey. He thought that he would find Luke upstairs on +the bed with his face buried in his folded arms, as he had found him +a score of times during their short life.</p> +<p>“I think you are too hard on him,” he answered hotly. +“It is bad enough being ploughed, without having to stand abuse +afterwards.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” said Mrs. Harrington, “just you come +here and sit beside me. We will leave Luke to himself for a little. +It is much better. Let him think it out alone.”</p> +<p>What was there in this fair-haired boy’s demeanour, voice, +or being that appealed to Mrs. Harrington, despite her sterner self?</p> +<p>So Fitz was pacified by the lady’s gentler manner, and consented +to remain. He made good use of his time, pleading Luke’s +cause, explaining his bad fortune, and modestly disclaiming any credit +to himself for having succeeded where his brother failed. But +all the while the boy was restless, eager to get away and run upstairs +to Luke, who he felt sure was living years in every moment, as children +do in those griefs which we take upon ourselves to call childish.</p> +<p>At last he rose.</p> +<p>“May I go now?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, if you like. But do not bring Luke to me until +he is prepared to apologise for his ingratitude and rudeness.”</p> +<p>“What a dear boy he is!” ejaculated Mrs. Ingham-Baker +almost before the door was closed. “So upright and honest +and straightforward.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Harrington, with a sigh of anger.</p> +<p>“He will be a fine man,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker. +“I shall die quite happy if my Agatha marries such a man as Henry +will be.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington glanced at her voluminous friend rather critically.</p> +<p>“You do not look like dying yet,” she said.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker put her head on one side and looked resigned.</p> +<p>“One never knows,” she answered. “It is a +great responsibility, Marian, to have a daughter.”</p> +<p>“I should imagine, from what I have seen of Agatha, that the +child is quite capable of taking care of herself.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the fond mother, “she is intelligent. +But a girl is so helpless in the world, and when I am gone I should +feel happier if I knew that my child had a good husband, such as Fitz, +to take care of her.”</p> +<p>Neither of these ladies being of the modern school of feminine learning, +the vague theology underlying this remark was allowed to pass unnoticed.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington drummed with her thin wrinkled fingers on the arm +of her chair, and waited with a queer anticipatory little smile for +her friend to proceed.</p> +<p>“But, of course,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, blundering +into the little feminine snare, “a naval man can scarcely marry. +They are always so badly off. I suppose poor Fitz will not be +able to support a wife until he is quite middle-aged.”</p> +<p>“That remains to be seen,” said Mrs. Harrington, with +a gleam in her hard grey eyes, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker pricked her finger.</p> +<p>“I am sure,” said the latter lady unctuously, when she +had had time to think it out, “I am sure I should be content for +her to live very quietly if I only knew that she had married a good +man. I always say that riches do not make happiness.”</p> +<p>“Yes, a number of people say that,” answered Mrs. Harrington, +and at the same moment Fitz burst into the room.</p> +<p>“Aunt Marian,” he cried, “he has gone!”</p> +<p>“Who has gone?” asked the lady of the house coldly. +“Please close the door.”</p> +<p>“Luke! He has gone! He went straight out of the +house, and the butler does not know where he went to! It is all +your fault, Aunt Marian; you had no right to speak to him like that! +You know you hadn’t. I am going to look for him.”</p> +<p>“Now, do not get excited,” said Mrs. Harrington soothingly. +“Just come here and listen to me. Luke has behaved very +badly. He has been idle and stubborn on board the <i>Britannia</i>. +He has been rude and ungrateful to me.”</p> +<p>She found she had taken the boy’s hand, and she dropped it +suddenly, as if ashamed of showing so much emotion.</p> +<p>“I am not going to have my house upset by the tantrums of a +bad-tempered boy. It is nearly dinner time. Luke is sure +to come back. If he is not back by the time we have finished dinner +I will send one of the men out to look for him. He is probably +sulking in some corner of the gardens.”</p> +<p>Seeing that Fitz was white with anxiety, she forgot herself so much +as to draw him to her again.</p> +<p>“Now, Fitz,” she said, “you must obey me and leave +me to manage Luke in my own way. I know best. Just go and +dress for dinner. Luke will come back - never fear.”</p> +<p>But Luke did not come back.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III. A SEA DOG.</h3> +<p><i> There is one that slippeth in his +speech, but not from his heart.</i></p> +<p>The glass door of the dining-room of the Hotel of the Four Nations +at Barcelona was opened softly, almost nervously, by a shock-headed +little man, who peered into the room.</p> +<p>One of the waiters stepped forward and drew out a chair.</p> +<p>“Thank ye - thank ye,” said the new-comer, in a thick +though pleasant voice.</p> +<p>He looked around, rather bewildered - as if he had never seen a <i>table +d’hôte</i> before. It almost appeared as if a doubt +existed in his mind whether or not he was expected to go and shake hands +with some one present, explaining who he was.</p> +<p>As, however, no one appeared to invite this confidence he took the +chair offered and sat gravely down.</p> +<p>The waiter laid the menu at his side, and the elderly diner, whose +face and person bespoke a seafaring life, gazed politely at it. +He was obviously desirous of avoiding hurting the young man’s +feelings, but the card puzzled as much as it distressed him.</p> +<p>Observing with the brightest of blue eyes the manners and customs +of his neighbours, the old sailor helped himself to a little wine from +the decanter set in front of him, and filled up the glass with water.</p> +<p>The waiter drew forward a small dish of olives and another containing +slices of red sausage of the thickness, consistency, and flavour of +a postage stamp. The Englishman looked dubiously at these delicacies +and shook his head - still obviously desirous of giving no offence. +Soup was more comprehensible, and the sailor consumed his portion with +a non-committing countenance. But the fish, which happened to +be of a Mediterranean savour - served in little lumps - caused considerable +hesitation.</p> +<p>“Is it slugs?” inquired the mariner guardedly - as if +open to conviction - in a voice that penetrated half the length of the +table.</p> +<p>The waiter explained in fluent Castilian the nature of the dish.</p> +<p>“I want to know if it’s slugs,” repeated the sailor, +with a stout simplicity.</p> +<p>One or two commercial travellers, possessing a smattering of English, +smiled openly, and an English gentleman seated at the side of the inquirer +leant gravely towards him.</p> +<p>“That is a preparation of fish,” he explained. +“You won’t find it at all bad.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, sir,” replied the old man, helping himself +with an air of relief which would have been extremely comic had it been +shorn of its pathos. “I am afraid,” he went on confidentially, +“of gettin’ slugs to eat. I’m told that they +eat them in these parts.”</p> +<p>“This,” replied the other, with stupendous gravity, “is +not the slug season. Besides, if you did get ’em, I dare +say you would be pleasantly surprised.”</p> +<p>“Maybe, maybe! Though I don’t hold by foreign ways.”</p> +<p>Such was the beginning of a passing friendship between two men who +had nothing in common except their country; for one was a peer of the +realm, travelling in Spain for the transaction of his own private affairs, +or possibly for the edification of his own private mind, and the other +was Captain John Thomas Bontnor, late of the British mercantile service.</p> +<p>Being a simple-minded person, as many seamen are, Captain Bontnor +sought to make himself agreeable.</p> +<p>“This is the first time,” he said, “that I have +set foot in Spain, though I’ve heard the language spoken, having +sailed in the Spanish Main, and down to Manilla one voyage likewise. +It is a strange-sounding language, I take it - a lot of jabbering and +not much sense.”</p> +<p>He spoke somewhat slowly, after the manner of one who had always +had a silent tongue until grey hairs came to mellow it.</p> +<p>The young man, his hearer, looked slightly distressed, as if he was +suppressing some emotion. He was rather a vacuous-looking young +man - startlingly clean as to countenance and linen. He was shaven, +and had he not been distinctly a gentleman, he might have been a groom. +He apparently had a habit of thrusting forward his chin for the purpose +of scratching it pensively with his forefinger. This elegant trick +probably indicated bewilderment, or, at all events, a slight mystification +- he had recourse to it now - on the question of the Spanish language.</p> +<p>“Well,” he answered gravely, “if you come to analyse +it, I dare say there is as much sense in it as in other languages - +when you know it, you know.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” murmured the captain, with a glowing sense of +satisfaction at his own conversational powers. He felt he was +becoming quite a society man.</p> +<p>“But,” pursued the hereditary legislator, “it’s +tricky - deuced tricky. The nastiest lot of irregular verbs I’ve +come across yet. Still, I get along all right. Worst of +it is, you know, that when I’ve got a sentence out all right with +its verbs and things, I’m not in a fit state to catch the answer.”</p> +<p>“Knocks you on to your beam-ends,” suggested Captain +Bontnor.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Lord Seahampton settled his throat more comfortably in his spotless +collar, and proceeded to help himself to a fourth mutton cutlet.</p> +<p>“Staying here long?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“No, not long,” answered Captain Bontnor slowly, as if +meditating; then suddenly he burst into his story. “You +see, sir,” he said, “I’m getting on in years, and +I’m not quite the build for foreign travel. It sort of flurries +me. I’m a bit past it. I’m not here for pleasure, +you know.”</p> +<p>This seemed to have the effect of sending Lord Seahampton off into +a brown study - not apparently of great value so far as depth of thought +was concerned. He looked as if he were wondering whether he himself +was in Barcelona for pleasure or not.</p> +<p>“No,” he murmured encouragingly,</p> +<p>“It is like this,” pursued Captain Bontnor, confidentially. +“My sister, Amelia Ann, married above her.”</p> +<p>“Very much to her credit,” said Lord Seahampton, with +a stolid face and a twinkle in his eye. “And - ”</p> +<p>“Died.”</p> +<p>“Dear, dear!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” pursued the captain, “she died nineteen +years ago, leaving a little girl. He’s dead now - Mr. Challoner. +He’s my brother-in-law, but I call him Mr. Challoner, because +he’s above me.”</p> +<p>“I trust he is,” said Lord Seahampton, cheerfully, with +a glance at the painted ceiling. “I trust he is.”</p> +<p>The captain chuckled. “I mean in a social way,” +he explained. “And now he’s dead, his daughter Eve +is left quite alone in the world, and she telegraphed for me. +She is living in the Island of Majorca.”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>The kindly old blue eyes flashed round on his companion’s face.</p> +<p>“Do you know it?”</p> +<p>The peer thrust forward his chin and spoilt what small claims he +had to good looks.</p> +<p>“No; I’ve heard of it, though. I know of a wom +- a lady, who has large estates there - a Mrs. Harrington.”</p> +<p>“The Honourable Mrs. Harrington is a sort of relation of my +niece’s, Miss Challoner. I call her Miss Challoner, although +she is my niece, because she is above me.”</p> +<p>His lordship glanced at the ceiling again.</p> +<p>“I mean she is a lady. And I’m going to Majorca +to fetch her. At least, I’m trying to get there, but I cannot +somehow find out about the boat. They’re a bit irregular, +it seems, and this stupid jabbering of theirs does flurry me so. +Now, what’s this? Eh? Pudding, is it? Well, +it doesn’t look like it. No, thank ye!”</p> +<p>The poor old man was soon upset by insignificant trifles, and after +he had given way to a little burst of petulance like this, he had a +strange, half pathetic way of staring straight in front of him for a +few seconds, as if collecting himself again.</p> +<p>It happened that Lord Seahampton was a good-natured young man, with +rather a soft heart, such as many horsey persons possess. Something +in Captain Bontnor touched him; some simple British quality which he +was pleased to meet with, thus, in a foreign land.</p> +<p>“Look here,” he said, “I’ll go out with you +afterwards and find out all about the boat, take your ticket, and fix +the whole thing up.”</p> +<p>“I’m sure you’re very kind,” began the old +sailor hesitatingly. He fumbled at his necktie for a moment with +unsteady, weather-beaten hands. “But I shouldn’t like +to trespass on your time. I take it you’re here for pleasure?”</p> +<p>Lord Seahampton smiled.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m here for pleasure; that’s what I’m +in the world for.”</p> +<p>Still Captain Bontnor hesitated.</p> +<p>“You might meet some of your friends,” he began tentatively, +“in the streets, you know.” He paused and looked down +at his own hands; he turned one palm up, showing the faint tattoo on +the wrist. “I’m only a rough seafaring man,” +he went on. “They might think it strange - might wonder +whom you had picked up.”</p> +<p>The spotless collar seemed to be very uncomfortable.</p> +<p>“I’ve always made a practice,” mumbled Lord Seahampton, +rather incoherently, “of letting my friends think what they damned +well please. May I ask your name?”</p> +<p>“Bontnor’s my name. Captain Bontnor, at your service.”</p> +<p>“My name’s Seahampton.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor turned and looked at him.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m Lord Seahampton.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” ejaculated Captain Bontnor, under his breath. +His social facilities did not quite rise to an occasion like this.</p> +<p>“As soon as you’ve finished,” went on his companion +rather hurriedly, “we’ll go out and look up these steamer +people. Miss Challoner will be anxious for you to get there as +soon as you can.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes!”</p> +<p>The captain laid aside his napkin and began to show signs of getting +flurried again.</p> +<p>“Her name is Eve,” he said, in the hurried way which +was rather pathetic. “Now, I wonder what I should call her. +Poor young thing! if she’s distressed about her father’s +death - which is only natural, I’m sure - it would sound a bit +chilly like to call her Miss Challoner. What do you think, Mr. +- eh - er - Lord - sir?”</p> +<p>“Well, I think I should call her Eve - it’s a pretty +name - and take her by the hand, and - yes, I think I’d kiss her. +Especially if she was a nice-looking girl,” he added for his own +personal edification as he preceded his companion into the hall.</p> +<p>He was fumbling in the tail pocket of his short tweed coat as he +went. In the hall he turned.</p> +<p>“Got anything to smoke?” he asked, in his most abrupt +manner, as if the cut of his collar did not allow of verbosity.</p> +<p>The old man shyly produced some cigars in a leather case, which had +never been of great value, even in the far-off days of its youth.</p> +<p>“I hardly like to offer them to you,” he said slowly. +“T - they’re not expensive, and I couldn’t explain +to the young woman what I wanted.”</p> +<p>“Rather like the look of them,” said Lord Seahampton, +taking one and cutting the end off with a certain show of eagerness. +This young man’s reputation for personal bravery was a known quantity +on the hunting-field. “Old sailors,” he continued, +“generally know good tobacco.”</p> +<p>And all the while he had half-a-dozen of the best Havanas in his +pocket. Some instinct, which he was much too practical to define, +and possibly too stupid to detect, told him that this was one of those +occasions where it is much more blessed to receive than to give.</p> +<p>“And so,” continued Captain Bontnor, as they were walking +down the shady side of that noisiest street in the world, the Rambla, +“and so you would just call her Eve, if you was me?”</p> +<p>“I should.”</p> +<p>“Remember that she is a lady, you know. Quite a lady.”</p> +<p>“I am remembering that,” replied the peer stolidly; “that’s +why I am of the opinion just expressed.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor gave a little sigh of relief, as if one of his many +difficulties had been removed. At the same time he glanced furtively +towards the inexpensive cigar, which was affording distinct if somewhat +exaggerated enjoyment.</p> +<p>Together they walked down the broad street and turned along the quay. +And here Captain Bontnor found himself talking quite easily and affably +about palm-trees and tramways, and other matters of local interest, +to the first peer whom he had ever seen in the flesh.</p> +<p>Out of sheer good nature, and with a vague question in his mind as +to whether Miss Challoner knew what sort of help she had called in, +Lord Seahampton obtained the necessary information - no easy matter +in this country - and took the necessary ticket. Ticket and information +alike were obtained from a grave gentleman who smoked a cigarette, and +did the honours of his little office as if it had been a palace - showing +no desire to sell the ticket, and taking payment as if he were conferring +a distinct favour.</p> +<p>The steamer left that same afternoon, and Lord Seahampton sent his +<i>protégé</i> back rejoicing to the hotel to pack up. +Then the youthful peer bestowed the remainder of the cheap cigar on +an individual in reduced circumstances and lighted one of his own. +He was quite unconscious of having done a good action. Such actions +are supposed to bring their own reward, but experience suggests that +it is best not to count upon anything of a tangible nature.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV. PURGATORIO.</h3> +<p> <i>Like lutes of angels, touched so +near<br /> Hell’s confines, that +the damned can hear</i>.</p> +<p>Time: Five o’clock in the afternoon. Five o’clock, +that is to say, by the railway time. There is another time in +Barcelona - the town time, to wit - which differs from the hour of the +iron road by thirty minutes or thereabouts. But then the town +time is Spanish, that is to say that no one takes any notice of it. +For into Spanish life time comes but little. If one wishes to +catch a train - but, by the way, in Spain we do not catch, we take the +train - a subtle difference - if then we wish to take the train, we +arrive at the station three-quarters of an hour before the time indicated +for departure, and there we make our arrangements with due dignity.</p> +<p>Place: The Rambla, which for those who speak alien tongues has an +Arabic sound, and tells us that this, the finest promenade in the world, +was once a sandy river-bed. Here now the grave caballero promenades +himself from early morning to an eve that knows no dew.</p> +<p>Priest and peasant, the great lady and the gentleman who sells one +a glass of water for a centimo, brush past each other. The great +lady is dressed in black, as all Spanish ladies are, and on her head +she wears the long-lived mantilla, which will last our time and the +time of our grandsons. The humbler women-folk wear bright handkerchiefs +in place of the mantilla; in dress they affect bright colours.</p> +<p>With the sterner sex, the line of demarcation is equally distinct. +There is the man who wears the peasant’s blouse, and the man who +wears the cloak.</p> +<p>It is with one of the latter that we have to deal - a tall, grave +man, with quiet eyes and a long, pointed chin. The air is chilly, +and this promenader’s black cloak is thrown well over the shoulder, +displaying the bright-coloured lining of velvet, which is all the relief +the Spaniard allows his sombre self.</p> +<p>The caballero’s face is brown, as of one whose walk is not +always beneath the shady trees. The expression of it is chastened. +One sees the history of a country in the faces of its men. In +this there is the history of a past, it is the face of a man living +in a bygone day. He notes the interest of the moment with grave +surprise, but his life is behind him.</p> +<p>This man has the Spaniard’s thoughtful interest in a trifle. +He pauses to note the number of the sparrows, as thick as leaves upon +the trees. He carefully unfolds his cloak, gives the loose end +a little shake, and casts it skilfully over his shoulder, so that it +falls across his back, and, hanging there, displays the bright lining. +He pauses to watch the result of an infantile accident. The baby +picks itself up and brushes the dust from its diminutive frock with +all the earnestness of early youth. And the cavalier walks on.</p> +<p>All this with a contemplative grandeur of demeanour worthy of larger +if not better things.</p> +<p>In the roadway at the side of the broad promenade a carriage and +pair followed this gentleman - carriage and horses which were beautiful +even in this land of horses. For this was Cipriani de Lloseta +de Mallorca, a great man in Barcelona, if he wished it, a greater in +his own little island of Majorca, whether he wished it or not.</p> +<p>Leading out of this same fascinating Rambla, to the left, up towards +the impenetrable fortress of Juich - impenetrable excepting once, and +then it was the pestilent Englishman, as usual - leading then to the +left is the Calle de la Paz. In the Street of the Peace there +is a house, on the left hand also, into the door of which one could +not only drive a coach and four, but eke a load of straw. Moreover, +the driver could go to sleep and leave it to the horses, for there is +plenty of space. This is the Casa Lloseta, the town residence +since time immemorial of the family of that name. There are servants +at the door, there are servants on the broad marble staircase, there +are servants everywhere! for the Spaniard is unapproachable in the gentle +art of leaving things to others. In the patio, or marble courtyard, +there plays a monotonous little fountain, peacefully plashing away the +sunny hours.</p> +<p>In England el Señor Conde de Lloseta de Mallorca would be +looked upon as a mystery, because he lived in a large house by himself; +because it was not known what his tastes might be; because the interviewer +interviewed him not, and because the Society rags had no opportunity +of describing his drawing-room.</p> +<p>In Spain things are different. If the count chose to live in +his own cellar, his neighbours would shrug their shoulders and throw +the end of their capes well over to the back. That was surely +the business of the count.</p> +<p>Moreover, Cipriani de Lloseta was not the sort of man of whom it +is easy to ask questions. His was the pride of pride, which is +a vice unbreakable. When the Moors went to Majorca in the eighth +century they found Llosetas there, and Llosetas were left behind eight +hundred years later, when the southern conqueror was driven back to +his dark land. Among his friends it is known that Cipriani de +Lloseta lived alone because he was faithful to the memory of one who, +but for the hand of God, would have lived with him until she was an +old woman, filling, perhaps, the great gloomy house in the Calle de +la Paz with the prattle of children’s voices, with the clatter +of childish feet in the marble passages.</p> +<p>The younger women looked at him surreptitiously, and asked each other +what sort of wife this must have been; while their elders shrugged their +ample shoulders with a strange little Catalonian contraction of the +eyes, and said -</p> +<p>“It is not so much the woman herself as that which the man +makes her.”</p> +<p>For they are wise, these stout and elderly ladies. They were +once young, and they learnt the lesson.</p> +<p>This man, Cipriani de Lloseta, leads a somewhat lonely life, inasmuch +as he associates but little with the men of his rank and station. +It is, for instance, known that he walks on the Rambla, but no one of +any importance whatever, no one that is likely to recognise him, is +aware of the fact that another favourite promenade of his is the Muelle +de Ponente, that forsaken pier where the stone works are and where no +one ever promenades. Here Cipriani de Lloseta walks gravely in +the evening - to be more precise, on Tuesday or Friday evening - about +five o’clock, when the boat sails for Majorca.</p> +<p>He stands, a lonely, cloaked figure, at the end of the long stone +pier, and his dark Spanish eyes rest on the steamer as it glides away +into the darkening east and south.</p> +<p>Often, often this man watches the boats depart, but he never goes +himself. Often, often he gazes out in his chastened, impenetrable +silence over the horizon, as if seeking to pierce the distance and look +on the bare heights of the far-off island.</p> +<p>For there, over the glassy smoothness of the horizon, behind those +little grey clouds, is Majorca - and Lloseta.</p> +<p>Lloseta, a bare, brown village, standing on the hillside, as if it +had economically crept up there among the pines, so as to leave available +for cultivation every inch of the wonderful soil of the plain. +Below, the vast fertile plateau, tilled like a garden, lies to the westward, +while to the east the rising undulations terminate in the bare uplands +of Inca. Olive-trees cover the plain like an army, trees that +were planted by the Moors a thousand years ago.</p> +<p>Amid the rugged heights of the mountains, here at their highest, +and in the fastness of a gorge, lies Lloseta itself.</p> +<p>From the heights above a subtle invigorating odour of marjoram, rosemary, +lavender, growing wild like heather, comes down to mingle with the more +languid breath of tropic plant and flower.</p> +<p>Such is Lloseta - a home to live for, to die for, to dream of when +away from it. As a man is dreaming of it now, just across that +hundred miles of smooth sea, on the end of the Muelle de Ponente at +Barcelona,</p> +<p>He is always dreaming of it - in Spain, where he is a Spaniard - +in England, where he might be an Englishman. It is not every one +of us who has a home from whence his name is derived, who signs his +letters with a word that is marked upon the map.</p> +<p>Such is Cipriani of that name, who has now left the Rambla and is +wandering along the deserted pier.</p> +<p>The steamer has loosed its moorings, is slowly picking its way out +of the crowded harbour, and it will pass the pier-head by the time that +Cipriani de Lloseta reaches that point.</p> +<p>The man walks slowly, cloaked to the mouth, for the evening breeze +is chilly. He gravely descends the steps and begins to walk on +the little path around the circular tower at the end of the pier. +He usually stands at the very end, so as to be as near to Majorca as +possible, one might almost think.</p> +<p>He gravely walks on, and quite suddenly he comes upon a youthful +Briton smoking a cigar and dangling a thick stick.</p> +<p>“Ah!” the two men exclaim.</p> +<p>“What are you doing in Barcelona?” asks the Spaniard.</p> +<p>“The devil only knows, my dear man. I don’t.”</p> +<p>“I hope he had nothing to do with your coming here - idle hands, +you know.”</p> +<p>The Englishman sat gravely down on a small granite column and reflected.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered after a pause, “it was not that. +I left England because I wanted to get away from - Well, from an old +woman who wants me to marry her daughter. I went to Monte Carlo, +and, if you don’t mind my saying so, I’m hanged if she didn’t +follow me, bringing the poor girl with her.”</p> +<p>The Spaniard smiled gravely.</p> +<p>“A willing victim!”</p> +<p>“No, Lloseta, you’re wrong there. That’s +the beastly part of it. That girl, sir, was actually shivering +with fright one night when the old woman managed to leave us on the +terrace together. Some one else, you know!”</p> +<p>The dark eyes looking across towards Majorca were not pleasant to +contemplate.</p> +<p>“However,” pursued the ingenuous <i>parti</i>, “I +spoke to her as one might have done to another chap, you know. +I said, ‘You’re frightened of something.’ She +didn’t answer. ‘You’re afraid that I’m +going to ask you to marry me.’ ‘Yes,’ she answered. +‘Well, I’m not. I’m not such a cad.’ +And after that we got on all right. She would have told who it +was if I had let her. Two days later I sloped off here. +Spain choked her off - the old lady, I mean.”</p> +<p>Lloseta laughed, and the young man began to think that he had said +something rude.</p> +<p>“She did not know what a nice place it is,” he added, +with a transparency which did no harm. “Yes, you’re +right. The devil had something to do with my coming here. +Match-making old women are the devil.”</p> +<p>He paused and attended to his cigar. The steamer passed within +a hundred yards of them.</p> +<p>The Englishman nodded towards it.</p> +<p>“Steamer’s going to Majorca,” he said.</p> +<p>Lloseta nodded his head.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered gravely, “I know.”</p> +<p>“I came down to see it off!”</p> +<p>The Spaniard looked at him sharply.</p> +<p>“Why?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I know an old chap on board - going across to fetch an English +girl, a Miss Challoner. Her father’s dead.”</p> +<p>Lloseta said nothing. Presently he turned to go, and as they +walked back together he arranged to send a carriage for the Englishman +and his luggage to bring him to the big house in the Street of the Peace, +which he explained with a shadowy smile was more comfortable than the +hotel.</p> +<p>“So,” he said to himself, as he walked towards his vast +home alone, “so the Caballero Challoner is dead. They are +passing off the stage one by one.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE.</h3> +<p> <i>A home where exiled angels might +forbear<br /> Awhile to moan for paradise.</i></p> +<p>There is a valley far up in the mountains behind the ancient city +of Palma - the Val d’Erraha. Some thousand years ago the +Arabs found this place. After toils and labours, and many battles +by sea and land, a roaming sheikh settled here, calling it El Rahah +- the Repose.</p> +<p>He dug a well - for where the Moor has been there is always sparkling +water - he planted olive trees, and he built a mill. The well +is there to-day; the olive trees, old and huge and gnarled as are no +other olive trees on the earth, yield their yearly crop unceasingly; +the mill grinds the Spaniard’s corn to-day.</p> +<p>In the Val d’Erraha there stands a house - a rambling, ungainly +Farm, as such are called in Majorca. It runs off at strange angles, +presenting a broken face to all points of the compass. From a +distance it rather resembles a village, for the belfry of the little +chapel is visible and the buildings seem to be broken up and divided. +On closer inspection it is found to be self-contained, and a nearer +approach discloses the fact that it presents to the world four solid +walls, and that it is only to be entered by an arched gateway.</p> +<p>In the centre of the open <i>patio</i> stands the Moorish well, surrounded, +overhung by orange trees. This house could resist a siege - indeed, +it was built for that purpose; for the Moorish pirates made raids on +the island almost within the memory of living persons.</p> +<p>Such is the Casa d’Erraha - the House of Repose. It stands +with its back to the pine slopes, looking peacefully down the valley, +over terraces where grow the orange, the almond, the fig, the lemon, +the olive; and far below, where the water trickles, the feathery bamboo.</p> +<p>The city of Palma is but a few miles away, in its strong thirteenth-century +restriction within high ramparts. It has its cathedral, its court-house +- all the orthodox requirements of a city, and, moreover, it is the +capital of the whilom kingdom of Majorca. King Jaime is dead and +gone. Majorca, after many vicissitudes, has settled down into +an obscure possession of Spain; and to the old-world ways of that country +it has taken very kindly.</p> +<p>But with the unwritten history of Majorca we have little to do, and +we have much with the Casa d’Erraha and the owner thereof - a +plain Englishman of the name of Challoner - the last of his line, the +third of his race, to own the Casa d’Erraha.</p> +<p>Edward Challoner lay on his bed in the large room overlooking the +valley and the distant sea. In the House of Repose he lay awaiting +the call to a longer rest than earthly weariness can secure. The +grave old Padre of the neighbouring village of St. Pablo stood near +the bed. Eve Challoner had sent for him, with the instinct that +makes us wish to be seen off on a long journey by a good man, of whatsoever +creed or calling.</p> +<p>At times the old priest gently patted the hand of Eve Challoner as +she stood by his side.</p> +<p>Climate and country and habit have a greater influence over the human +frame than we ever realise. Eve Challoner had been subject to +these subtle influences to a rare extent. Tall and upright, clad +in black, as all Spanish ladies are, she was English and yet Spanish. +Of a clear white, her skin was touched slightly by the sun and the warm +air which blows ever from the sea, blow which way it may across the +little island.</p> +<p>Romance tells of Andalusian beauty, of Catalonian grace - and in +sober British earnest (a solid thing) there are few more beautiful women +than high-born Spanish ladies. Eve Challoner had caught something +- some trick of the head - which belongs to Spain alone. Her eyes +had a certain northern vivacity of glance, a small something which is +noticeable enough in Southern Europe, though we should hardly observe +it in England, for it means education. In the matter of learning, +be it noted in passing, the ladies of the Peninsula are not so very +far above their duskier sisters of the harem farther east.</p> +<p>The girl’s eyes were dull now, with a sort of surprised anguish, +for sorrow had come to her before its time. The man lying on the +bed before her had not reached the limit of his years. Quite suddenly, +twelve hours before, he had complained of a numb feeling in his head, +and the voice he spoke in was thick and strange. In a surprisingly +short time Edward Challoner was no longer himself - no longer the cynical, +polished gentleman of the world - but a hard-breathing, inert deformity, +hardly human. From that time to this he had never spoken, and +Heaven knew there was enough for him to say. Death had caught +him unawares as, after all, he generally does catch us. There +were several things to set in order as usual; for it is only in books +and on the stage that folks make a graceful exit, clearing up the little +mystery, forgiving the wrongs, boasting with feeble voice of the good +they have done - with lowering tone and soft music slowly working together +to the prompter’s bell. It is not in real life that dying +men find much time to prattle about their own souls. They usually +want all their breath for those they leave behind. And who knows! +Perhaps those waiting on the other side think no worse of the man who +dies fearing for others and not for himself.</p> +<p>In Edward Challoner’s paralysed brain there was a great wish +to speak to his daughter, but the words would not come. He looked +at those around him with a dreary indistinctness as from a distance, +almost as if he had begun his long journey and was looking back from +afar.</p> +<p>And so the afternoon wore on to the short southern twilight, and +the goat-bells came tinkling up from the valley - for nature must have +her way though men may die, and milking-time rules through all the changes.</p> +<p>While the light failed over the land two men were riding through +it as fast as horse could lay hoof to the ground. They were on +the small road running from the Soller highway up to the Val d’Erraha, +and he who led the way seemed to know every inch of it. This was +Henry FitzHenry, and his companion, ill at ease in a Spanish saddle, +was the doctor of Her Majesty’s gunboat <i>Kittiwake</i>.</p> +<p>Four months earlier, by one of those chances which seem no chance +when we look back to them, the <i>Kittiwake</i> had broken down on leaving +the anchorage of Port Mahon. Towed back by a consort, she had +been there ever since, awaiting some necessary pieces of machinery to +be made in England and sent out to her. Hearing by chance that +the navigating lieutenant of the <i>Kittiwake</i> was Henry FitzHenry +- usually known as Fitz - Mr. Challoner had written to Minorca from +the larger island, introducing himself as the Honourable Mrs. Harrington’s +cousin, and offering what poor hospitality the Val d’Erraha had +to dispense.</p> +<p>In a little island there is not very much to talk about, and the +gossips of Majorca had soon laid hold of Fitz. They said that +the English señorita up at the Casa d’Erraha had found +a lover, and a fine, handsome one at that; else, they opined, why should +this English sailor thrash his boat through any weather from Cuidadela +in Minorca to Soller in Majorca, riding subsequently from that small +and lovely town over the roughest country in the island to the Valley +of Repose as if the devil were at his heels. That was only their +way of saying it, for they knew as well as any of us that love in front +can make us move more quickly than ever the devil from behind.</p> +<p>At Alcudia they watched his boat labour through the evil seas. +The wind was never too boisterous for him, the waves never too high.</p> +<p>“It is,” they said, “the English mariner from Mahon +going to see the Señorita Challoner. Ah! but he has a firm +hand.”</p> +<p>And they smiled dreamily with their deep eyes, as knowing the malady +themselves.</p> +<p>This time there had been two figures clad in black oilskins in the +stern of the long white boat. Two horses had been ordered by cable +to be ready at Soller instead of one. For Eve Challoner had telegraphed +to her countrymen at Port Mahon when this strange and horrid numbness +seized her father.</p> +<p>The sun was setting behind the distant line of the sea when Fitz +and his companion urged their tired horses up the last slope to the +Casa d’Erraha. Within the gateway Mrs. Baines, the only +English servant in this English house, was awaiting them. She +curtsied in an old-fashioned way to the doctor, who had not seen an +Englishwoman’s face for two years and more, and asked him to follow +her. Fitz did not offer to accompany them - indeed, he made it +quite obvious that he did not want to do so. Two of the vague +attendants who are always to be found in their numbers about the doorway +and stableyard of a Spanish country-house took the horses, and Fitz +wandered round the <i>patio</i> to the southern door which led to the +terrace.</p> +<p>There was not very much change in Henry FitzHenry since we saw him +in Mrs. Harrington’s drawing-room six years earlier. The +promise of the boy had been fulfilled by the man, and here was a quiet +Englishman, chiefly remarkable for a certain directness of purpose which +was his, and seemed to pervade his being. Here was one who had +commanded men - who had directed skilled labour for the six impressionable +years of his life. And he who directs skilled labour is apt to +differ in manner, in thought and habit, from him whose commands are +obeyed mechanically.</p> +<p>The naval officer is a man of detail - he tells others to do that +which they know he can do better himself.</p> +<p>They said on board the <i>Kittiwake</i>, which was a small ship, +that Fitz, - “old” Fitz, they used to call him - was too +big for a seafaring life. In height, he was nearly six feet - +six feet of spare muscle and bone - such a man as one sees on the north-east +coast of England, the east coast of Scotland, or the west coast of Norway +- anywhere, in fact, where the Vikings passed.</p> +<p>The deep blue eyes had acquired a certain quiet which had been absent +in the boyish face - the quiet that comes of a burden on the heart; +of the certain knowledge that the burden can never be removed. +Luke’s life was not the only one that had been spoiled by an examination +paper. Examination papers have spoilt more lives than they have +benefited. A twin brother is something more than a brother, and +Fitz went through life as if one side of him was suffering a dull, aching +pain. The face of this man walking alone on the terrace of the +House of Repose was not happy. Perhaps it was too strong for complete +happiness - some men are so, and others are too wise. This was +the face, not of a very wise or a brilliant man, but of one who was +strong and simple - something in the nature of a granite rock. +Sandstone is more easily shaped into a thing of beauty, but it is also +the sandstone that is worn by weather, while a deep mark cut on granite +stays there till the end.</p> +<p>Fitz had no intention of going upstairs. He was not a man to +take the initiative in social matters. His instinct told him that +if Eve wanted him she would send for him. She had cabled to him +to bring the doctor. He had brought the doctor, and now he went +out on the terrace to “stand by,” as he put it to himself, +for further orders. If, as the gossips averred, he was the Señorita’s +lover, he deemed it wiser to relinquish that position just now.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, however, no word of love had passed between +them.</p> +<p>Fitz was standing by the low wall of the terrace looking down into +the hazy, dim depths of the valley, when the further orders which he +awaited came to him.</p> +<p>Hearing a light step on the pavement behind him, he turned, and faced +Eve, who was running towards him.</p> +<p>“Will you come upstairs?” she said. “I think +he wants to see you.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he answered.</p> +<p>She had hurried out, but they walked back rather slowly. Nevertheless, +they did not seem to have anything to say to each other.</p> +<p>When they entered the room upstairs together, a faint little smile +full of wisdom hovered for a second round the old priest’s clean-shaven +lips.</p> +<p>The dying man had evidently wanted something or some one. The +old priest knew human nature, hence the little shadowy smile called +up by Eve’s transparently partial interpretation of her father’s +desire.</p> +<p>Edward Challoner looked at him, but did not appear to recognise his +face. It seemed that he had left the earth so far behind now that +the faces of those walking on it were no longer distinguishable.</p> +<p>He gave a little half-pettish groan, and a stillness came over the +room.</p> +<p>The old padre and the doctor, who did not know a word of any common +language, exchanged a glance, and in a very business-like way, as of +one whose trade it was, the priest got down upon his knees. Then +the doctor, half-shyly, approached Eve, and taking her by the arm, led +her gently out of the room.</p> +<p>Fitz stayed where he was, standing by the dead man, looking down +at the priest’s bowed head, while the bell of the little chapel +attached to the Casa d’Erraha told the valley that a good man +had gone to his rest.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI. AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE.</h3> +<p> <i>We pass; the path that each man +trod<br /> Is dim, or will be dim, with +weeds.</i></p> +<p>The priest was the first to speak.</p> +<p>“You are his friend, I also; but we are of different nations.”</p> +<p>He paused, drawing the sheet up over the dead man’s face.</p> +<p>“He was not of my Church. You have your ways; will you +make the arrangements?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Fitz simply, “if you like.”</p> +<p>“It is better so, my son” - the padre took a pinch of +snuff - “because - he was not of my Church. You will stay +here, you and your friend. She, the Señorita Eve, cannot +be left alone, with her grief.”</p> +<p>He spoke Spanish, knowing that the Englishman understood it.</p> +<p>They drew down the blinds and passed out on to the terrace, where +they walked slowly backwards and forwards, talking over the future of +Eve and of the Casa d’Erraha.</p> +<p>In Spain, as in other southern lands, they speed the parting guest. +Two days later Edward Challoner was laid beside his father and grandfather +in the little churchyard in the valley below the Casa d’Erraha. +And who are we that we should say that his chance of reaching heaven +was diminished by the fact that part of the Roman Catholic burial service +was read over him by a Spanish priest?</p> +<p>Fitz had telegraphed to Eve’s only living relative, Captain +Bontnor, and Fitz it was who stayed on at the Casa d’Erraha until +that mariner should arrive; for the doctor was compelled to return to +his ship at Port Mahon, and the priest never slept in another but his +own little vicarage house.</p> +<p>And in the Casa d’Erraha was enacted at this time one of those +strange little comedies that will force themselves upon a tragic stage. +Fitz deemed it correct that he should avoid Eve as much as possible, +and Eve, on the other hand, feeling lonely and miserable, wanted the +society of the simple-minded young sailor.</p> +<p>“Why do you always avoid me?” she asked suddenly on the +evening after the funeral. He had gone out on to the terrace, +and thither she followed him in innocent anger, without afterthought. +She stood before him with her slim white hands clasped together, resting +against her black dress, a sombre, slight young figure in the moonlight, +looking at him with reproachful eyes.</p> +<p>He hesitated a second before answering her. She was only nineteen; +she had been born and brought up in the Valley of Repose amidst the +simple islanders. She knew nothing of the world and its ways. +And Fitz, with the burden of the unique situation suddenly thrust upon +him, was, in his chivalrous youthfulness, intensely anxious to avoid +giving her anything to look back to in after years when she should be +a woman. He was tenderly solicitous for the feelings which would +come later, though they were absent now.</p> +<p>“Because,” he answered, “I am not good at saying +things. I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am for +you.”</p> +<p>She turned away and looked across to the hills at the other side +of the valley, a rugged outline against the sky.</p> +<p>“But I know all that,” she said softly, “without +being told.”</p> +<p>A queer smile passed over his sunburnt face, as if she had unintentionally +and innocently made things more difficult for him.</p> +<p>“And,” she continued, “it is - oh, so lonely.”</p> +<p>She made an almost imperceptible little movement towards him. +Like the child that she was, she was yearning for sympathy and comfort.<br />“I +know - I know,” he said.</p> +<p>Outward circumstance was rather against Fitz. A clear, odorous +Spanish night, the young moon rising behind the pines, a thousand dreamy +tropic scents filling the air. And Eve, half tearful, wholly lovable, +standing before him, innocently treading on dangerous ground, guilelessly +asking him to love her.</p> +<p>She, having grown almost to womanhood, pure as the flowers of the +field, ignorant, a child, knew nothing of what she was doing. +She merely gave way to the instinct that was growing within her - the +instinct that made her turn to this man, claiming his strength, his +tenderness, his capability, as given to him for her use and for her +happiness.</p> +<p>“You must not avoid me,” she said. “Why do +you do it? Have I done anything you dislike? I have no one +to speak to, no one who understands, but you. There is the padre, +of course - and nurse; but they do not understand. They are - +so <i>old</i>! Let me stay here with you until it is time to go +to bed, will you?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” he answered quietly. “If you +care to. To-morrow I should think we shall hear from your uncle. +He may come by the boat sailing from Barcelona to-morrow night. +It will be a good thing if he does; you see, I must get back to my ship.”</p> +<p>“You said she would not be ready for sea till next month.”</p> +<p>“No, but there is discipline to be thought of.”</p> +<p>He looked past her, up to the stars, with a scrutinising maritime +eye, recognising them and naming them to himself. He did not meet +her eyes - dangerous, tear-laden.</p> +<p>“There is something the matter with you,” she said. +“You are different. Yes, you want my uncle to come the day +after to-morrow - you want to go away to Mahon as soon as you can. +I - Oh, Fitz, I don’t want to be a coward!”</p> +<p>She stood in front of him, clenching her little fists, forcing back +the tears that gleamed in the moonlight. He did not dare to cease +his astronomical observations.</p> +<p>“I <i>won’t</i> be a coward - if you will only speak. +If you will tell me what it is.”</p> +<p>Then Fitz told his first deliberate lie.</p> +<p>“I have had bad news,” he said, “about my brother +Luke. I am awfully anxious about him.”</p> +<p>He did it very well; for his motive was good. And we may take +it that such a lie as this is not writ very large in the Book.</p> +<p>The girl paused for a little, and then deliberately wiped the tears +from her eyes.</p> +<p>“How horribly selfish I have been!” she said. “Why +did you not tell me sooner? I have only been thinking of my own +troubles ever since - ever since poor papa - I am a selfish wretch! +I hate myself! Tell me about your brother.”</p> +<p>And so they walked slowly up and down the moss-grown terrace - alone +in this wonderful tropic night - while he told her the little tragedy +of his life. He told the story simply, with characteristic gaps +in the sequence, which she was left to fill up from her imagination.</p> +<p>“I shall not like Mrs. Harrington,” said Eve, when the +story was told. “I am glad that she cannot come much into +my life. My father wanted me to go and stay with her last summer, +but I would not leave him alone, and for some reason he would not accept +the invitation for himself. Do you know, Fitz, I sometimes think +there is a past - some mysterious past - which contained my father and +Mrs. Harrington and a man - the Count de Lloseta.”</p> +<p>“I have seen him,” put in Fitz, “at Mrs. Harrington’s +often.”</p> +<p>The girl nodded her head with a quaint little assumption of shrewdness +and deep suspicion.</p> +<p>“My father admired him - I do not know why. And pitied +him intensely - I do not know why.”</p> +<p>“He was always very nice to me,” answered Fitz, “but +I never understood him.”</p> +<p>Talking thus they forgot the flight of time. It sometimes happens +thus in youth. And the huge clock in the stable yard striking +ten aroused Eve suddenly to the lateness of the hour.</p> +<p>“I must go,” she said. “I am glad you told +me about - Luke. I feel as if I knew you better and understood +- a little more. Good-night.”</p> +<p>She left him on the terrace, and walked sorrowfully away to the house +which could never be the same again.</p> +<p>Fitz watched her slight young form disappear through an open doorway, +and then he became lost in the contemplation of the distant sea, lying +still and glass-like in the moonlight. He was looking to the north, +and it happened that from that same point of the compass there was coming +towards him the good steamer <i>Bellver</i>, on whose deck stood a little +shock-headed man - Captain Bontnor.</p> +<p>There is a regular service of steamers to and from the Island of +Majorca to the mainland, and, in addition, steamers make voyages when +pressure of traffic may demand. The <i>Bellver</i> was making +one of these supplemental journeys, and her arrival was not looked for +at Palma.</p> +<p>Eve and Fitz were having breakfast alone in the gloomy room overshadowed +by the trailing wings of the Angel of Death, when the servant announced +a gentleman to see the señorita. The señorita requested +that the gentleman might approach, and presently there stood in the +doorway the quaintest little figure imaginable.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor, with a certain sense of the fitness of things, had +put on his best clothes for this occasion, and it happened that the +most superior garment in his wardrobe was a thick pilot-jacket, which +stood out from his square person with solid angularity. He had +brushed his hair very carefully, applying water to compass a smoothness +which had been his life-long and hitherto unattained aim. His +shock hair - red turning to grey - stood up four inches from his honest, +wrinkled face. It was unfortunate that his best garments should +have been purchased for the amenities of a northern climate. His +trousers were as stiff as his jacket, and he wore a decorous black silk +tie as large as a counterpane.</p> +<p>He stood quaintly bowing in the doorway, his bright blue eyes veiled +with shyness and a pathetic dumb self-consciousness.</p> +<p>“Please come in,” said Eve in Spanish, quite at a loss +as to who this might be.</p> +<p>Then Fitz had an inspiration. Something of the sea seemed to +be wafted from the older to the younger sailor.</p> +<p>“Are you Captain Bontnor?” he asked, rising from the +table.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, yes! That’s my name!”</p> +<p>He stood nervously in the doorway, mistrusting the parquet-floor, +mistrusting himself, mistrusting everything.</p> +<p>Fitz went towards him holding out his hand, which the captain took +after a manfully repressed desire to wipe his own broad palm on the +seam of his trousers.</p> +<p>“Then you are my uncle?” said Eve, coming forward.</p> +<p>“Yes, miss, I’m afraid - that is - yes, I’m your +uncle. You see - I’m only a rough sort of fellow.”</p> +<p>He came a little nearer and held his arms apart, looking down at +his own person in humble deprecation.</p> +<p>Eve was holding out her hand. He took it with a vague, deep-rooted +chivalry, and she, stooping, very deliberately kissed him.</p> +<p>This seemed rather to bewilder the captain, for he shook hands again +with Fitz.</p> +<p>“I - ” he began, nodding into Fitz’s face. +“You are - eh? I didn’t expect - to see - I didn’t +know - ”</p> +<p>At that moment Eve saw. It came to her in a flash, as most +things do come to women. She even had time to doubt the story +about Luke.</p> +<p>“This,” she said, with crimson cheeks, “is Mr. +FitzHenry of the <i>Kittiwake</i>. He kindly came to us in our +trouble. You will have to thank him afterwards - uncle.”</p> +<p>“And in the meantime I expect you want breakfast?” put +in Fitz, carefully avoiding Eve.</p> +<p>“Yes,” added the girl, “of course. Sit down. +No, here!”</p> +<p>“Thankye - thankye, miss - my dear, I mean. Oh, anything’ll +do for me. A bit of bread and a cup o’ tea. I had +a bit and a sup on board before she sheered alongside the quay.”</p> +<p>He looked round rather helplessly, wondering where he should put +his hat - a solid, flat-crowned British affair. Eve took it from +him and laid it aside.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor sat very stiffly down. His square form did +not seem to lose any of its height by the change of position, and with +a stiff back he looked admiringly round the room, waiting like a child +at a school treat.</p> +<p>As the meal progressed he grew more at ease, telling them of the +little difficulties of his journey, avoiding with a tact not always +found inside a better coat all mention of the sad event which had caused +him to take this long journey after his travelling days were done.</p> +<p>That which set him at ease more than all else was the fact, at length +fully grasped, that Fitz was, like himself, a sailor. Here at +least was a topic upon which he could converse with any man. General +subjects only were discussed, as if by tacit consent. No mention +was made of the future until this was somewhat rudely brought before +their notice by the announcement that a second visitor desired to see +the señorita.</p> +<p>With a more assured manner than that of his predecessor, a small, +dark man came into the room, throwing off his cloak and handing it to +the servant. He bowed ceremoniously and with true Spanish grace +to Eve, with less ceremony and more dignity to the two men.</p> +<p>“I beg that your excellency will accept the sympathy of my +deepest heart,” he said. “I regret to trouble you +so soon after the great loss sustained by your excellency, indeed, by +the whole island of Majorca. But it is a matter of business. +Such things cannot be delayed. Have I your excellency’s +permission to proceed?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, señor.”</p> +<p>The man’s clean-shaven face was like a mask. The expressions +seemed to come and go as if worked by machinery. Sympathy was +turned off, and in its place Polite-Attention-to-Business appeared. +From under his arm he drew a leather portfolio, which he placed upon +the table.</p> +<p>“The affairs of the late Cavalier Challoner were perhaps known +to your excellency?”</p> +<p>“No; I knew nothing of my father’s affairs.”</p> +<p>Sympathy seemed to be struggling behind “Polite-Attention-to-Business,” +while for a moment a real look of distress flitted over the parchment +face. He paused for an instant, reflecting while he assorted his +papers.</p> +<p>“I am,” he said, “the lawyer of his excellency +the Count de Lloseta.”</p> +<p>Eve and Fitz exchanged a glance, and as silence was kept the lawyer +went on.</p> +<p>“Three generations ago,” he said, “a Count de Lloseta, +the grandfather of this present excellency, made over on ‘rotas’ +the estate and house known as the Val d’Erraha to the grandfather +of the late Cavalier Challoner - a Captain Challoner, one of Admiral +Byng’s men.”</p> +<p>Again he paused, arranging his papers.</p> +<p>“The Majorcan system ‘rotas’ is known to your excellency?”</p> +<p>“No, señor.”</p> +<p>“On this system an estate is made over for one or two or three +generations by the proprietor to the lessee who farms or sublets the +land, and in lieu of rent hands over to the proprietor a certain proportion +of the crops. Does your excellency follow me?”</p> +<p>Eve did not answer at once. Then the lawyer’s meaning +seemed to dawn upon her.</p> +<p>“Then,” she said, “the Casa d’Erraha never +belonged to my father?”</p> +<p>“Never” - with a grave bow.</p> +<p>“And I have nothing - nothing at all! I am penniless?”</p> +<p>The lawyer looked from her to Fitz, who was standing beside her listening +to the conversation, but not offering to take part in it.</p> +<p>“Unless your excellency has private means - in England, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“I do not know - I know nothing. And we must leave the +Casa d’Erraha. When, señor? Tell me when.”</p> +<p>The lawyer avoided her distressed eyes.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said slowly, “the law is rather summary. +I - your excellency understands I only do my duty. I am not the +principal. I have no authority whatever - except the law.”</p> +<p>“You mean that I must go at once?”</p> +<p>The lawyer’s parchment face was generously expressive of grief +now.</p> +<p>“Excellency, the lease terminated at the death of the late +Caballero Challoner.”</p> +<p>Eve stood for a moment, breathing hard. Fate seemed suddenly +to have turned against her at every point. At this moment Captain +Bontnor made bold - one could see him doing it - to take her hand.</p> +<p>“My dear,” he said, “I don’t quite understand +what this foreign gentleman and you are talkin’ about. But +if it’s trouble, dear, if it’s trouble - just let me try.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII. IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE.</h3> +<p> <i>Measure thy life by loss instead +of gain,<br /> Not by the wine drunk, but +the wine poured forth</i>.</p> +<p>“MY DEAR MISS CHALLONER, - I learn that you are in Barcelona, +and at the same time I find with some indignation that my lawyer in +Mallorca, with a deplorable excess of zeal, has been acting without +my orders in respect to the property of the Val d’Erraha. +I hasten to place myself and possessions at your disposition, and take +the liberty of writing to request an interview, instead of calling on +you at your hotel, for reasons which you will readily understand, knowing +as you do the gossiping ways of hotels. As an old friend of your +father’s, and one who moved and lived in neighbourly intercourse +with him before your birth, and before the deplorable death of your +mother, I now waive ceremony, and beg that you and your uncle will come +and take tea with me this afternoon at my humble abode in the ‘Calle +de la Paz.’ - Believe me, dear Miss Challoner, yours very sincerely,<br /> “CIPRIANI +DE LLOSETA DE MALLORCA.”</p> +<p>Eve read this letter in her room in the Hotel of the Four Nations +at Barcelona. She had only been on the mainland twenty-four hours +when it was delivered to her by a servant of the Count’s, who +came to her apartment and delivered it into her own hands, as is the +custom of Spanish servants.</p> +<p>Eve Challoner had grown older during the last few days. She +had been brought face to face with life as it really is, and not as +we dream it in the dreams of youth. She was not surprised to receive +this letter, although she had no idea that the Count de Lloseta was +in Spain. But the varying emotions of the last week had, as it +were, undermined the confident hopefulness with which we look forward +when we are young, and sometimes when we are old, to the management +of our own lives here below. She was beginning to understand certain +terms which she had heard applied to human existence, and to which she +had hitherto attached no special meaning as relating to herself. +More especially did she understand at this time that life may be compared +to a stream, for she was vaguely conscious of drifting she knew not +whither.</p> +<p>Fitz had come suddenly into her life; Captain Bontnor had come into +it; and now this man, Cipriani de Lloseta, seemed to be asserting his +right to come into it too. And she did not know quite what to +do with them all. She had never, in the quiet, dreamy days of +her youth, pictured a life with any of these men in it, and the future +was suddenly tremendous, unfathomable. There were vast possibilities +in it of misery, of danger, of difficulty; and behind these a vague, +new feeling of a possible happiness far exceeding the happiness of her +peaceful childhood.</p> +<p>Without consulting her uncle, who had gone out into the street to +walk backwards and forwards before the door, as he had walked backwards +and forwards on his deck for forty years, she sat down and accepted +the Count’s informal invitation. She seemed to do it without +reflection, as if impelled thereto by something stronger than <i>pro</i> +or <i>con</i>, as if acknowledging the Spaniard’s right to come +into her life, bringing to bear upon it an influence which she never +attempted to fathom.</p> +<p>Thus it came about that Eve and Captain Bontnor found themselves +awaiting their host in the massive, gloomy drawing-room of the Palace +in the Calle de la Paz at five o’clock that afternoon.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor had learnt a great deal during the last few days; +among other things he had learnt to love his niece with a simple, dog-like +devotion, which had a vein of pathos in it for those who see such things. +He placed himself well behind Eve, and looked around him with a wondering +awe.</p> +<p>“I think, my dear,” he said, “that it would have +been better if you had come alone. I - you know I am getting too +old to learn manners now - eh - he! he! Yes. Having been +so long at sea, you know.”</p> +<p>“I think the sea teaches men manners, uncle,” said Eve, +with a little smile which he did not understand. “At any +rate,” she went on, touching his rough sleeve affectionately, +“it teaches them something that I like.”</p> +<p>“Does it, now? What, now? Tell me.”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” answered the girl, as if speaking to +herself, and at this moment the door was opened. The man who came +in was of medium height, with a long, narrow face, and singularly patient +eyes.</p> +<p>“I should have known you,” he said, approaching Eve, +and holding out his hand. “You do not remember your mother? +I do, however. You are like her - and she was a good woman. +And this is Captain Bontnor - your uncle.”</p> +<p>He shook hands with the old sailor without the faintest flicker of +surprise at his somewhat incongruous appearance.</p> +<p>“I am glad,” he said suavely, “to make Captain +Bontnor’s acquaintance.”</p> +<p>He turned to draw forward a chair, and the light from the high, barred +window falling full on his head, betrayed the fact that his hair, close +cut as an English soldier’s, was touched and flecked with grey. +His lithe youthfulness of frame rather surprised Eve, who knew him to +be a contemporary of her father’s.</p> +<p>“It is very good of you to come,” he went on in a low +voice. “I took the privilege of the elder generation, you +see! Captain, pray take that chair.”</p> +<p>He did the honours with a British ease of manner, strangely touched +by a Spanish dignity.</p> +<p>“When I heard of your great bereavement,” he said, turning +to Eve with a grave bow, “I ought perhaps to have gone to Mallorca +at once to offer you what poor assistance was in my power. But +circumstances, over which I had no control, prevented my doing so. +My offer of help is tardy, I know, but it is none the less sincere.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” replied Eve, conscious of a feeling of pleasant +reliance in this new-found ally. “But I have good friends +- the Padre Fortis, my uncle, and - a friend of ours, Mr. FitzHenry.”</p> +<p>“Of the <i>Kittiwake</i> - at Mahon?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I have the pleasure of knowing Mr. FitzHenry,” murmured +the Count. “Now,” he said, with a sudden smile which +took her by surprise by reason of the alteration it made in the whole +man, “will you do me a great favour?”</p> +<p>“I should like to,” answered Eve, with some hesitation.</p> +<p>“And you?” said the Count, turning to Captain Bontnor.</p> +<p>“Oh yes,” replied that sailor bluntly, “if it’s +possible.”</p> +<p>“I want you,” continued the Count de Lloseta, “to +forget that this is the first time we meet, and to look upon me as a +friend - one of the most intimate - of your father.”</p> +<p>“My father,” said the girl, “always spoke of you +as such.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I am glad of that. Now, tell me, who have you +in the world besides Captain Bontnor?”</p> +<p>“I have no one. But - ”</p> +<p>“We was thinking,” put in the Captain, in ungrammatical +haste, “that Eve would come and live with me. It isn’t +a grand house - just a little cottage. But such as it is, she’ll +have a kindly welcome.”</p> +<p>“And, I have no doubt, a happy home”, added the Count, +with one of his dark smiles. “I was merely wondering whether +Miss Challoner intended to live in the Casa d’Erraha or to let +it?”‘</p> +<p>Eve looked up in surprise, and Captain Bontnor’s blue eyes +wandered from her face to the dark and courteous countenance of Cipriani +de Lloseta.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” continued the Spaniard imperturbably, “you +have not yet made up your mind on the subject.”</p> +<p>“But the Casa d’Erraha does not belong to me,” +said Eve, and Captain Bontnor wagged his head in confirmation. +“Your own lawyer explained to me that my father only held it on +‘rotas.’”</p> +<p>“My own lawyer, my dear young lady, thereby proved himself +an ass.”</p> +<p>“But,” said Eve, somewhat mystified, “the Val d’Erraha +belongs to you, and you must know it. I have no title-deeds - +I have nothing.”</p> +<p>“Except possession, which is nine points of the law. +Will you take tea, and cream? I do not know how many points the +law has, but one would naturally conclude that nine is a large proportion +of the whole.”</p> +<p>While he spoke he was pouring out the tea. He handed a cup +to her with a grave smile, as if the matter under discussion were one +of a small and passing importance.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he added, “you have learnt to love +the Casa d’Erraha. It is a place - a place one might easily +become attached to. Do you know” - he turned his back to +her, busying himself with the silver teapot - “Lloseta?” +he added jerkily.</p> +<p>“Yes. My father and I used to go there very often.”</p> +<p>“Ah - ” He waited - handing Captain Bontnor a cup of +tea in silence. But Eve was not thinking of Lloseta; she was thinking +of the Casa d’Erraha.</p> +<p>“My father did not speak to me of his affairs,” she said. +“He was naturally rather reserved, and - and it was very sudden.”</p> +<p>“Yes. So I learnt. That indeed is my excuse for +intruding myself upon your notice at this time. I surmised that +my poor friend’s affairs had been left in some confusion. +He was too thorough a gentleman to be competent in affairs. I +thought that perhaps my small influence and my diminutive knowledge +of Majorcan law - the Roman law, in point of fact - might be of some +use to you.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she answered; “I think we settled +everything before we left the island, although we did not see Señor +Peña, your lawyer. I - the Casa d’Erraha belongs +to you!” she added, suddenly descending to feminine reiteration.</p> +<p>“Prove it,” said the Count quietly.</p> +<p>“I cannot do that.”</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders with a smile.</p> +<p>“Then,” he said, “I am afraid you cannot shift +your responsibility to my shoulders.”</p> +<p>The girl looked at him with puzzled young eyes. He stood before +her, dignified, eminently worthy of the great name he bore - a solitary, +dark-eyed, inscrutable man, whose whole being subtly suggested hopelessness +and an empty life. She shook her head.</p> +<p>“But I cannot accept the Casa d’Erraha on those terms.”</p> +<p>The Count drew forward a chair and sat down.</p> +<p>“Listen,” he said, with an explanatory forefinger upheld. +“Three generations ago two men made a verbal agreement in respect +to the estate of the Val d’Erraha. To-day no one knows what +that agreement was. It may have been the ordinary ‘rotas’ +of Minorca. It may not. In those days the English held Minorca; +my ancestor may therefore have been indebted to your great-grandfather, +for we have some small estates in Minorca. You know what the islands +are to-day. They are two hundred years behind Northern Europe. +What must they have been a hundred and twenty years ago? We have +no means of finding out what passed between your great-grandfather and +my grandfather. We only know that three generations of Challoners +have lived in the Casa d’Erraha, paying to the Counts of Lloseta +a certain proportion of the product of the estate. I do not mind +telling you that the smallness of that proportion does away with the +argument that the agreement was the ordinary ‘rotas’ of +the Baleares. We know nothing - we can prove nothing. If +you claimed the estate I might possibly wrest it from you - not by proof, +but merely because the insular prejudice against a foreigner would militate +against you in a Majorcan court of law. I cannot legally force +you to hold the estate of the Val d’Erraha. I can only ask +you as the daughter of one of my best friends to accept the benefit +of a very small doubt.”</p> +<p>Eve hesitated. What woman would not?</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor set down his cup very gravely on the table.</p> +<p>“I don’t rightly understand,” he said sturdily, +“this ‘rotas’ business. But it seems to me pretty +plain that the estate never belonged to my late brother-in-law. +Now what I say is, if the place belongs by right to Miss Challoner she’ll +take it. If it don’t; well, then it don’t, and she +can’t accept it as a present from anybody. Much obliged +to you all the same.”</p> +<p>The Count laughed pleasantly.</p> +<p>“My dear sir, it is not a present.”</p> +<p>The Captain stuffed his hands very deeply into his pockets.</p> +<p>“Then it’s worse - it’s charity. And she +has no need of that. Thank ye all the same,” he replied.</p> +<p>He stared straight in front of him with a vague and rather painful +suggestion of incapability that sometimes came over him. He was +wondering whether he was doing right in this matter.</p> +<p>“If,” he added, half to himself, as a sort of afterthought +on the crying question of ways and means - “if it comes to that, +I can go to sea again. There’s plenty would be ready to +give me a ship.”</p> +<p>The Count was still smiling.</p> +<p>“There is no question,” he said, “of charity. +What has Miss Challoner done that I should offer her that? I am +in ignorance as to her affairs. I do not know the extent of her +income.”</p> +<p>“As far as we can make out,” said Eve gently, “there +is nothing. But I can work. I thought that my knowledge +of Spanish might enable me to make a living.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Captain Bontnor, “I’m d--- +I mean I should not like you to go governessing, my dear.”</p> +<p>The Count was apparently reflecting.</p> +<p>“I have a compromise to propose,” he said, addressing +himself to Eve. “If we place the property in the hands of +a third person - you know the value of land in Majorca - to farm and +tend; if at the end of each year the profits be divided between us?”</p> +<p>But Eve’s suspicions were aroused, and her woman’s instinct +took her further than did Captain Bontnor’s sturdy sense of right +and wrong.</p> +<p>“I am afraid,” she said, rising from her chair, “that +I must refuse. I - I think I understand why papa always spoke +of you as he did. I am very grateful to you. I know now +that you have been trying to give me D’Erraha. It was a +generous thing to do - a most generous thing. I think people would +hardly believe me if I told them. I can only thank you; for I +have no possible means of proving to you how deeply I feel it. +Somehow” - she paused, with tears and a sad little smile in her +eyes - “somehow it is not the gift that I appreciate so much as +- as your way of trying to give it.”</p> +<p>The Spaniard spread out his two hands in deprecation.</p> +<p>“My child,” he murmured gently, “I have not another +word to say.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII. THE DEAL.</h3> +<p> <i>Oh, the little more, and how much +it is!<br /> And the little less, and what +worlds away!</i></p> +<p>A howling gale of wind from the south-east, and driving snow and +darkness. The light of Cap Grisnez struggling out over the blackness +of the Channel, and the two Foreland lights twinkling feebly from their +snow-clad heights. A night to turn in one’s bed with a sleepy +word of thanksgiving that one has a bed to turn in, and no pressing +need to turn out of it.</p> +<p>The smaller fry of Channel shipping have crept into Dungeness or +the Downs. Some of them have gone to the bottom. Two of +them are breaking up on the Goodwins.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> Indian liner is pounding into it all, with white +decks and whistling shrouds. The passengers are below in their +berths. Some of them - and not only the ladies - are sending up +little shamefaced supplications to One who watches over the traveller +in all places and at all times.</p> +<p>And on the bridge of the <i>Croonah</i> a man all eyes and stern +resolve and maritime instinct. A man clad in his thickest clothes, +and over all of them his black oilskins. A man with three hundred +lives depending upon his keen eyes, his knowledge, and his judgment. +A man whose name is Luke FitzHenry.</p> +<p>The captain has gone below for a few minutes to thaw, leaving the +ship to FitzHenry. He does it with an easy conscience - as easy, +that is, as the maritime conscience can well be in a gale of wind, with +the Foreland lights ahead and infinite possibilities all around. +The captain drinks his whisky and hot water with a certain slow appreciation +of the merits of that reprehensible solution, and glances at the aneroid +barometer on the bulkhead of his cabin.</p> +<p>Overhead, on the spidery bridge, far up in the howling night, Luke +FitzHenry, returning from the enervating tropics, stares sternly into +the night, heedless of the elemental warfare. For Luke FitzHenry +has a grudge against the world, and people who have that take a certain +pleasure in evil weather.</p> +<p>“The finest sailor that ever stepped,” reflects the captain +of his second officer - and he no mean mariner himself.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> had groped her way up Channel through a snowstorm +of three days’ duration, and the brunt of it had fallen by right +of seniority on the captain and his second officer. Luke FitzHenry +was indefatigable, and, better still, he was without enthusiasm. +Here was the steady, unflinching combativeness which alone can master +the elements. Here was the true genius of the sea.</p> +<p>With his craft at his fingers’ ends, Luke had that instinct +of navigation by which some men seem to find their way upon the trackless +waters. There are sailors who are no navigators just as there +are hunting men who cannot ride. There are navigators who will +steer you from London to Petersburg without taking a sight, from the +Thames to the Suez Canal without looking at their sextant. Such +a sailor as this was Luke FitzHenry. Perfectly trained, he assimilated +each item of experience with an insatiable greed for knowledge - and +it was all maritime knowledge. He was a sailor and nothing else. +But it is already something - as they say in France - to be a good sailor.</p> +<p>Luke FitzHenry was a man of middle height, sturdy, with broad shoulders +and a slow step. His clean-shaven face was a long oval, with pessimistic, +brooding eyes - eyes that saw everything except the small modicum of +good which is in all human things, and to this they were persistently +blind. Taking into consideration the small, set mouth, it was +eminently a pugnacious face - a face that might easily degenerate to +the coarseness of passion in the trough of a losing fight. But, +fortunately, Luke’s lines were cast upon the great waters, and +he who fights the sea must learn to conquer, not by passionate effort, +but by consistent, cool resolve. Those who worked with him feared +him, and in so doing learnt the habit of his ways. The steersman, +with one eye on the binnacle, knew always where to find him with the +other; for Luke hardly moved during his entire watch on deck. +He took his station at the starboard end of the narrow bridge when he +came on duty, and from that spot he rarely moved. These little +things betray a man, if one only has the patience to piece them together.</p> +<p>Those who go down to the sea in ships, and even those who take their +pleasure on the great water, know the relative merits of the man who +goes to his post and stays there, and of him who is all over the ship +and restless.</p> +<p>Luke was standing now like a statue - black and gleaming amid the +universal grey of the winter night, and his deep eyes, cat-like, pierced +the surrounding gloom.</p> +<p>Here was a man militant. A man who must needs be fighting something, +and Fate, with unusual foresight, had placed him in a position to fight +Nature. Luke FitzHenry rather revelled in a night such as this +- the gloom, the horror, and the patent danger of it suited his morose, +combative nature. He loved danger and difficulty with the subtle +form of love which a fighting man experiences for a relentless foe.</p> +<p>From light to light he pushed his intrepid way through the darkness +and the bewildering intricacies of the Downs, and in due time, in the +full sunlight of the next day, the <i>Croonah</i> sidled alongside the +quay in the Tilbury Dock. The passengers, with their new lives +before them, stumbled ashore, already forgetting the men who, smoke-begrimed +and weary, had carried these lives within their hands during the last +month or more. They crowded down the gangway and left Luke to +go to his cabin.</p> +<p>There were two letters lying on the little table. One from +Fitz at Mahon, the other in a handwriting which Luke had almost forgotten. +He turned it over with the subtle smile of a man who has a grudge against +women. But he opened it before the other.</p> +<p>“DEAR LUKE, - I am glad to hear from Fitz that you are making +your way in the Merchant Service. He tells me that your steamer, +the <i>Croonah</i>, has quite a reputation on the Indian route, and +your fellow-officers are all gentlemen. I shall be pleased to +see you to dinner the first evening you have at your disposal. +I dine at seven-thirty. - Believe me, yours very truly, MARIAN HARRINGTON.</p> +<p>“<i>P.S</i>. - I shall deem it a favour if you will come in +dress clothes, as I have visitors.”</p> +<p>And, strange to say, it was the feminine stab in the postscript that +settled the matter. Luke sat down and wrote out a telegram at +once, accepting Mrs. Harrington’s invitation for the same evening.</p> +<p>When he rang the bell of the great house in Grosvenor Gardens at +precisely half-past seven that evening, he was conscious of a certain +sense of elation. He was quite sure of himself.</p> +<p>He thought that the large drawing-room was empty when the butler +ushered him into it, and some seconds elapsed before he discerned the +form of a young lady in a deep chair near the fire.</p> +<p>The girl turned her head and rose from the chair with a smile and +a certain grace of manner which seemed in some indefinite way to have +been put on with her evening dress. For a moment Luke gazed at +her, taken aback. Then he bowed gravely, and she burst into a +merry laugh.</p> +<p>“How funny!” she cried. “You do not know +me?”</p> +<p>“No-o-o,” he answered, searching his mind. For +he was a passenger sailor, and many men and women crossed his path during +the year.</p> +<p>She came forward with a coquettish little laugh and placed herself +beneath the gas, inviting his inspection, sure of herself, confident +in her dressmaker.</p> +<p>She was small and very upright, with a peculiarly confident carriage +of the head, which might indicate determination or, possibly, a mere +resolution to get her money’s worth. Her hair, perfectly +dressed, was of the colour of a slow-worm. She called it fair. +Her enemies said it reminded them of snakes. Her eyes were of +a darker shade of ashen grey, verging on hazel. Her mouth was +mobile, with thin lips and an expressive corner - the left-hand corner +- and at this moment it suggested pert inquiry. Some people thought +she had an expressive face, but then some people are singularly superficial +in their mode of observation. There was really no power of expressing +any feeling in the small, delicately cut face. It all lay in the +mouth, in the left-hand corner thereof.</p> +<p>“Well?” she said, and Luke’s wonder gradually faded +into admiration.</p> +<p>“I give it up,” he answered.</p> +<p>She shrugged her shoulders in pretended disgust.</p> +<p>“You are not polite,” she said, with a glance at his +stalwart person which might have indicated that there were atoning merits. +“I must say you are not polite, Luke. I do not think I will +tell you. It would be still more humiliating to learn that you +have forgotten my existence.”</p> +<p>“You cannot be Agatha!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Can I not? It happens that I <i>am</i> Agatha Ingham-Baker +- at your service!”</p> +<p>She swept him a low curtsey and sailed away to the mantelpiece, thereby +giving him the benefit of the exquisite fit of her dress. She +stood with one arm on the mantel-shelf, looking back at him over her +shoulder, summing him up with a little introspective nod.</p> +<p>“I should like to know why I cannot be Agatha,” she asked, +with that keen feminine scent for a personality which leads to the uttering +of so much nonsense, and the brewing of so much mischief.</p> +<p>“I never thought - ” he began.</p> +<p>“Yes?”</p> +<p>He laughed and refused to go any farther, although she certainly +made the way easy for him.</p> +<p>“In fact,” she said mockingly, “you are disappointed. +You never expected me to turn out such a horrid - ”</p> +<p>“You know it isn’t that,” he interrupted, with +a flash of his gloomy eyes.</p> +<p>“Not now,” she said quietly, glancing towards the door. +“I hear Mrs. Harrington coming downstairs. You can tell +me afterwards.”</p> +<p>Luke turned on his heel and greeted Mrs. Harrington with quite a +pleasant smile, which did not belong to her by rights, but to the girl +behind him.</p> +<p>Fitz had been away for two years. Mrs. Harrington in making +overtures of peace to Luke had been prompted by the one consistent motive +of her life, self-gratification. She was tired of the obsequious +society of persons like the Ingham-Bakers, whom she mentally set down +as parasites. There is a weariness of the flesh that comes to +rich women uncontrolled. They weary of their own power. +Tyranny palls. Mrs. Harrington was longing to be thwarted by some +one stronger than herself. The FitzHenrys even in their boyhood +had, by their sturdy independence, their simple, seamanlike self-assertion, +touched some chord in this lone woman’s heart which would not +vibrate to cringing fingers.</p> +<p>She had sent for Luke because Fitz was away. She wanted to +be thwarted. She would have liked to be bullied. And also +there was that subtle longing for the voice, the free gesture, the hearty +manliness of one whose home is on the sea.</p> +<p>As Luke turned to greet her with the rare smile on his face he was +marvellously like Fitz. He was well dressed. There was not +the slightest doubt that this was a gentleman. Nay, more, he looked +distinguished. And above all, he carried himself like a sailor. +So the reconciliation was sudden and therefore complete. A reconciliation +to be complete must be sudden. It is too delicate a thing to bear +handling.</p> +<p>Luke had come intending to curse. He began to feel like staying +to bless. He was quite genial and pleasant, greeting Mrs. Ingham-Baker +as an old friend, and thereby distinctly upsetting that lady’s +mental equilibrium. She had endeavoured to prevent this meeting, +because she thought it was not fair to Fitz. She noted the approval +with which Mrs. Harrington’s keen eyes rested on the young sailor, +and endeavoured somewhat obviously to draw Agatha’s attention +to it by frowns and heavily significant nods, which her dutiful daughter +ignored.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington glanced impatiently at the clock.</p> +<p>“That stupid Count is late,” she said.</p> +<p>“Is the Count de Lloseta coming?” asked Mrs. Ingham-Baker +eagerly.</p> +<p>From the strictly impartial standpoint of a mother she felt sure +that the Count admired Agatha.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Harrington, with a cynical smile.</p> +<p>And Mrs. Ingham-Baker, heedless of the sarcasm, was already engaged +in an exhaustive examination of Agatha’s dress. She crossed +the room and delicately rectified some microscopic disorder of the snake-like +hair. With a final glance up and down, she crossed her arms at +her waist and looked complacently towards the door.</p> +<p>The Count came in, and failed to realise the hope that apparently +buoyed Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s maternal heart. He did not strike +an attitude or cover his dazzled eyes when they rested on Agatha. +He merely came forward with his gravest smile and uttered the pleasant +fictions appropriate to the occasion. Mrs. Ingham-Baker was marked +in her gracious reception of the Spaniard, and the hostess watched her +effusions with a queer little smile.</p> +<p>At dinner Mrs. Ingham-Baker was opposite to the Count, who seemed +preoccupied and somewhat absent-minded. Her attention was divided +between an anticipatory appreciation of Mrs. Harrington’s cook +and an evident admiration for her own daughter.</p> +<p>“Agatha was just saying,” observed the stout lady between +the candle shades, “that we had not seen the Count de Lloseta +for quite a long time. Only yesterday, was it not, dear?”</p> +<p>Agatha acquiesced.</p> +<p>“The loss,” answered the Count, “is mine. +But it is more than made good by the news that my small absence was +noted. I have been abroad.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington at the end of the table looked up sharply, and a +few drops of soup fell from her upraised spoon with a splash.</p> +<p>“In Spain?” she asked.</p> +<p>“In Spain.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IX. CUT FOR PARTNERS.</h3> +<p> <i>Beware equally of a sudden friend +and a slow enemy.</i></p> +<p>A wise man had said of Cipriani de Lloseta that had he not been a +Count he would have been a great musician. He had that singular +facility with any instrument which is sometimes given to musical persons +in recompense for voicelessness. The Count spoke like one who +could sing, but his throat was delicate, and so the world lost a great +singer. Of most instruments he spoke with a half-concealed contempt. +But of the violin he said nothing. He was not a man to turn the +conversational overflow upon self-evident facts.</p> +<p>He invariably brought his violin to Grosvenor Gardens when Mrs. Harrington +invited him, in her commanding way, to dine. It amused Mrs. Harrington +to accompany his instrument on the piano. Her music was of the +accompanying order. It was heartless and correct. Some of +us, by the way, have friends of this same order, and, like Mrs. Harrington’s +music, they are not in themselves either interesting or pleasant.</p> +<p>The piano stood in the inner drawing-room, and thither the Count +and Mrs. Harrington repaired when the gentlemen had joined the ladies. +In the larger drawing-room Luke was fortunate enough to secure a seat +near to Agatha - quite near, and a long way from Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +digestively asleep in an armchair.</p> +<p>He did not exactly know how this arrangement was accomplished - it +seemed to come. Possibly Agatha knew.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington struck a keynote and began playing the prelude of +a piece well known to them both.</p> +<p>“Why did you not tell me that you were going to Spain?” +she asked somewhat tersely, under cover of her own chords.</p> +<p>“Had I known that it would interest you - ” murmured +De Lloseta, tightening his bow. There was a singular gleam in +his eye. The gleam that one sees in the eye of a dog which has +been thrashed, telling the wise that one day the dog will turn.</p> +<p>“I am always interested,” said the grey lady slowly, +“in Spain - and even in Mallorca.”</p> +<p>She used the Spanish name of the island with the soft roll in the +throat that English people rarely acquire. He was prepared for +it, standing with raised bow, looking past her iron-grey head to the +music. She glanced back over her shoulder into his face with the +cruel cat-like love of torture that some people possess. Far away +in the distant wisdom of Providence it had been decreed that this woman +should have no child less clever than herself to tease into hopelessness.</p> +<p>The Spaniard laid his magic bow to the strings, leaving her to follow. +He tucked the violin against his collar with a little caressing motion +of his chin, and in a few moments he seemed to forget all else than +the voice of the instrument. There are a few musicians who can +give to a violin the power of speech. They can make the instrument +tell some story - not a cheery tale, but rather like the story that +dogs tell us sometimes - a story which seems to have a sequence of its +own, and to be quite intelligible to its teller; but to us it is only +comprehensible in part, like a tale that is told dramatically in a tongue +unknown.</p> +<p>The Count stood up and played with no fine frenzy, no rolling eyes, +no swaying form; for such are the signs of a hopeless effort, hung out +by the man who has heard the story and tries in vain to tell it himself.</p> +<p>Even Agatha was outdone, for Luke drifted off into absent-mindedness, +and after a little effort she left him to return at his own time. +She listened to the music herself, but it did not seem to touch her. +For sound ascends, and this was already above Agatha Ingham-Baker’s +head. The piece over, Mrs. Harrington selected another.</p> +<p>“You did not go across to Mallorca?” she inquired, in +a voice that did not reach the other room. “No,” he +answered, “I did not go across to Mallorca.”</p> +<p>He stepped back a pace to move a chair which was too near to him, +and the movement made it impossible for her to continue the conversation +without raising her voice. She countered at once by rising and +laying the music aside.</p> +<p>“I am too tired for more,” she said. “You +must ask Agatha to accompany you. She plays beautifully. +I have it from her mother!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington stood for a moment looking into the other room. +Luke and Agatha were talking together with some animation.</p> +<p>“I have been very busy lately,” she said conversationally. +“Perhaps you have failed to notice that I have had this room redecorated?”</p> +<p>He looked round the apartments with a smile, which somehow conveyed +a colossal contempt. “Very charming,” he said.</p> +<p>“It was done by a good man and cost a round sum.” +She paused, looking at him with a mocking glance. “In fact, +I am rather in need of money. My balance at the bank is not so +large as I could wish.”</p> +<p>The Count’s dark eyes rested on her face with the small gleam +in their depths which has already been noted.</p> +<p>“I am not good at money matters,” he said. “But, +so far as I recollect, you have already exceeded our - ”</p> +<p>“Possibly.”</p> +<p>“And, unless my memory plays me false, there was a distinct +promise that this should not occur again. Perhaps a lady’s +promise - ”</p> +<p>“Possibly.”</p> +<p>The Count contented himself with a derisive laugh beneath his breath, +and waited for her to speak again. This she did as she moved towards +the other room.</p> +<p>“I think five hundred pounds would suffice - at present. +Agatha,” she continued, raising her voice, “come and play +the Count’s accompaniment. He finds fault with me to-night”</p> +<p>“No. I only suggested a little <i>più lento</i>! +You take it too fast.”</p> +<p>“Ah! Well, I want to talk to Luke. Come, Agatha.”</p> +<p>“I tremble at the thought of my own temerity,” said Miss +Ingham-Baker, as she seated herself on a music-stool with a great rustle +of silks and considerable play of her white arms.</p> +<p>“Are you bold?” inquired the Count, with impenetrable +suavity.</p> +<p>“I am - to attempt your accompaniments. I expect to be +found fault with.”</p> +<p>“It will at all events be a novelty,” he answered, setting +the music in order.</p> +<p>The Spaniard opened the music-book and indicated the page. +Agatha dashed at it with characteristic confidence, and the voice of +the violin came singing softly into the melody. It was a better +performance than the last. Agatha’s playing was much less +correct, but as she went on she forgot herself, and she put something +into the accompaniment which Mrs. Harrington had left out. It +was not time, neither was it a stricter attention to the composer’s +instructions. It was only a possibility, after all.</p> +<p>In the other room Mrs. Ingham-Baker slumbered still. Mrs. Harrington, +unmoved in her grey silk dress, was talking with her usual incisiveness, +and Luke was listening gravely. When the piece was done, Mrs. +Harrington said over her shoulder -</p> +<p>“Go on. You get on splendidly together.”</p> +<p>And she returned to her conversation with Luke.</p> +<p>The Count looked through his music.</p> +<p>“How devoted she is to her nephews!” said Agatha, tapping +the ivory keyboard with a dainty finger.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And apparently to both alike.”</p> +<p>There was a little flicker beneath the Count’s lowered eyelids.</p> +<p>“Apparently so,” he answered, with assumed hesitation.</p> +<p>Agatha continued playfully, tapping the ivory notes with her middle +finger - the others being gracefully curled.</p> +<p>“You speak as if you doubted the impartiality.”</p> +<p>“I am happy to say I always doubt a woman’s impartiality.”</p> +<p>She laughed and drew the stool nearer to the piano. It would +have been easier to drift away into the conversational channel of vague +generality which he opened up. He waited with some curiosity.</p> +<p>“Do you think there is a preference?” she said, falling +into his small trap.</p> +<p>“Ah! There you ask me something that is beyond my poor +powers of discrimination. Mrs. Harrington does not wear her feelings +on her sleeve. She is difficult.”</p> +<p>“Very,” admitted Agatha, with a little sigh.</p> +<p>“I am naturally interested in the FitzHenrys,” she went +on after a little pause, with baffling frankness. “You see, +we were children together.”</p> +<p>“So I understand. I too am interested in them - merely +because I like them.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid,” continued Agatha, tentatively turning +the pages of the music which he had set before her, speaking as if she +was only half thinking of what she was saying - “I am afraid that +Mrs. Harrington is the sort of person to do an injustice. She +almost told my mother that she intended to leave all her money to one +of them.”</p> +<p>Again that little flicker of the Count’s patient eyelids.</p> +<p>“Indeed!” he said. “To which one?”</p> +<p>Agatha shrugged her shoulders and began playing. “That +is not so much the question. It is the principle - the injustice +- that one objects to.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” murmured De Lloseta, with a little nod. +“Of course.”</p> +<p>They went on playing, and in the other room Mrs. Harrington talked +to Luke. Mrs. Ingham-Baker appeared to slumber, but her friend +and hostess suspected her of listening. She therefore raised her +voice at intervals, knowing the exquisite torture of unsatisfied curiosity, +and Mrs. Ingham-Baker heard the word “Fitz,” and the magic +syllables “money,” more than once, but no connecting phrase +to soothe her aching mental palate.</p> +<p>“And is your life a hard one?” Mrs. Harrington was asking. +She had been leading up to this question for some time - inviting his +confidence, seeking the extent of her own power. A woman is not +content with possessing power; she wishes to see the evidence of it +in the lives of others.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Luke, unconsciously disappointing her; +“I cannot say that it is.”</p> +<p>He was strictly, sternly on his guard. There was not the faintest +possibility of his ever forgiving this woman.</p> +<p>“And you are getting on in your career?”</p> +<p>“Yes, thank you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s grey eyes rested on his face searchingly.</p> +<p>“Perhaps I could help you,” she said, “with my +small influence, or - or by other means.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he said again without anger, serene in his +complete independence.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington frowned. A dream passed through her mind - +a great desire. What if she could crush this man’s pride? +For his six years’ silence had never ceased to gall her. +What if she could humble him so completely that he would come asking +the help she so carelessly offered?</p> +<p>With a woman’s instinct she hit upon the only possible means +of attaining this end. She did not pause to argue that a nature +such as Luke’s would never ask anything for itself - that it is +precisely such as he who have no pride when they ask for another, sacrificing +even that for that other’s sake.</p> +<p>Following her own thoughts, Mrs. Harrington looked pensively into +the room where Agatha was sitting. The girl was playing, with +a little frown of concentration. The wonderful music close to +her ear was busy arousing that small possibility. Agatha did not +know that any one was looking at her. The two pink shades of the +piano candles cast a becoming light upon her face and form.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s eyes came surreptitiously round. Luke +also was looking at Agatha. And a queer little smile hovered across +Mrs. Harrington’s lips. The dream was assuming more tangible +proportions. Mrs. Harrington began to see her way; already her +inordinate love of power was at work. She could not admit even +to herself that Luke FitzHenry had escaped her. Women never know +when they have had enough.</p> +<p>“How long are you to be in London?” she asked, with a +sudden kindness.</p> +<p>“Only a fortnight.”</p> +<p>“Well, you must often come and see me. I shall have the +Ingham-Bakers staying with me a few weeks longer. It is dull for +poor Agatha with only two old women in the house. Come to lunch +to-morrow, and we can do something in the afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Thank you very much,” said Luke.</p> +<p>“You will come?”</p> +<p>“I should like nothing better.”</p> +<p>And so the music went on - and the game. Some played a losing +game from the beginning, and others played without quite knowing the +stake. Some held to certain rules, while others made the rules +as they went along - as children do - ignorant of the tears that must +inevitably follow. But Fate placed all the best cards in Mrs. +Harrington’s hand.</p> +<p>Luke and the Count Cipriani de Lloseta went out of the house together. +They walked side by side for some yards while a watchful hansom followed.</p> +<p>“Can I give you a lift?” said De Lloseta at length. +“I am going down to the Peregrinator’s.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, no. I shall go straight to my rooms. I +have not had my clothes off for three nights.”</p> +<p>“Ah, you sailors! I am going down to have my half-hour +over a book to compose my mind.”</p> +<p>“Do you read much?”</p> +<p>De Lloseta called the cab with a jerk of his head. Before stepping +into it he looked keenly into his companion’s face.</p> +<p>“Yes, a good deal. I read somewhere, lately, that it +is never wise to accept favours from a woman; she will always have more +than her money’s worth. Good-night.”</p> +<p>And he drove away.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER X. THE GAME OPENS.</h3> +<p><i> Ce qu’on dit à l’être +à qui on dit tout n’est pas la moitié de ce qu’on +lui cache.</i></p> +<p>Agatha sent her maid to bed and sat down before her bedroom fire +to brush her hair.</p> +<p>Miss Ingham-Baker had, only four years earlier, left a fashionable +South Coast boarding-school fully educated for the battle of life. +There seem to be two classes of young ladies’ boarding-schools. +In the one they are educated with a view of faring well in this world, +in the other the teaching mostly bears upon matters connected with the +next. In the last-mentioned class of establishment the young people +get up early and have very little material food to eat. So Mrs. +Ingham-Baker wisely sent her daughter to the worldly school. This +astute lady knew that girls who get up very early to attend public worship +in the dim hours, and have poor meals during the day, do not as a rule +make good matches. They have no time to do their hair properly, +and are not urged so much thereto as to punctuality at compline, or +whatever the service may be. And it is thus that the little habits +are acquired, and the little habits make the woman, therefore the little +habits make the match. <i>Quod erat demonstrandum.</i></p> +<p>So Agatha was sent to a worldly school, where they promenaded in +the King’s Road, and were taught at an early age to recognise +the glance of admiration when they saw it. They were brought up +to desire nice clothes, and to wear the same stylishly. On Sunday +they wore bonnets, and promenaded with additional enthusiasm. +Their youthful backs were straightened out by some process which the +writer, not having been educated at a girls’ school, cannot be +expected to detail. They were given excellent meals at healthy +hours, and the reprehensible habits of the lark were treated with contumely. +They were given to understand that it was good to be smart always, and +even smarter at church. Religious fervour, if it ran to limpness +of dress, or form, or mind, was punishable according to law. A +wholesome spirit of competition was encouraged, not in the taking of +many prizes, the attending of many services, or the acquirement of much +Euclid, but in dress, smartness, and the accomplishments.</p> +<p>“My girls always marry!” Miss Jones was wont to say with +a complacent smile, and mothers advertised it.</p> +<p>Agatha had been an apt pupil. She came away from Miss Jones +a finished article. Miss Jones had indeed looked in vain for Agatha’s +name in that right-hand column of the <i>Morning Post</i> where fashionable +arrangements are noted, and in the first column of the <i>Times</i>, +where further social events have precedence. But that was entirely +Agatha’s fault. She came, and she saw, but she had not hitherto +seen anything worth conquering. So many of her school friends +had married on the impulse of the moment for mere sentimental reasons, +remaining as awful and harassed warnings in suburban retreats where +rents are moderate and the census on the flow. If there was one +thing Miss Jones despised more than love in a cottage, it was that intangible +commodity in a suburban villa.</p> +<p>Agatha, in a word, meant to do well for herself, and she was dimly +grateful to her mother for having foreseen this situation and provided +for it by a suitable education.</p> +<p>She was probably thinking over the matter while she brushed her hair, +for she was deeply absorbed. There was a knock at the door - a +timid, deprecatory knock.</p> +<p>“Oh, come in!” cried Agatha.</p> +<p>The door opened and disclosed Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, +in a ludicrous purple dressing-gown.</p> +<p>“May I come and warm myself at your fire, dear?” she +inquired humbly; “my own is so low.”</p> +<p>“That,” said Agatha, “is because you are afraid +of the servants.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker closed the door and came towards the fire with +surreptitious steps. It would not be truthful to say that she +came on tiptoe, her build not warranting that mode of progression. +Agatha watched her without surprise. Mrs. Ingham-Baker always +moved like that in her dressing-gown. Like many ladies, she put +on stealth with that garment.</p> +<p>“How beautifully the Count plays!” said the mother.</p> +<p>“Beautifully!” answered Agatha.</p> +<p>And neither was thinking of Cipriani de Lloseta.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker gave a little sigh, and contemplated her wool-work +bedroom slippers with an affection which their appearance certainly +did not warrant. There was a suggestion of bygone defeats in sigh +and attitude - defeats borne with the resignation that followeth on +habit.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe,” she said, “that he will +ever marry again.”</p> +<p>The girl tossed her pretty head.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t think any one would have him!”</p> +<p>She was not of the campaigners who admit defeat. Mrs. Ingham-Baker +sighed again, and put out the other slipper.</p> +<p>“He must be very rich! - a palace in Barcelona - a <i>palace</i>!”</p> +<p>“Other people have castles in Spain,” replied Agatha, +without any of that filial respect which our grandmothers were pleased +to affect. There was nothing old-fashioned or effete about Agatha +- she was, on the contrary, essentially modern.</p> +<p>The elder lady did not catch the allusion, and dived deep into thought. +She supposed that Agatha had met and danced with other rich Spaniards, +and could have any one of them by the mere raising of her little finger. +Her attitude towards her daughter was that of an old campaigner who, +having done well in a bygone time, has the good sense to recognise the +deeper science of a modern warfare, being quite content with a small +command in the rear.</p> +<p>To carry out the simile, she now gathered from this conversational +reconnaissance that the younger and abler general at the front was about +to alter the object of attack. She had, in fact, come in not to +warm, but to inform herself.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Harrington seemed to take to Luke,” said Agatha, +behind her hair.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, proceeding carefully, +for she was well in hand - “wonderfully so! Poor Fitz seems +to stand a very good chance of being cut out.”</p> +<p>“Fitz will have to look after himself,” opined the young +lady. “Did she say anything to you after I came to bed? +I came away on purpose.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced towards the door, and drew her dressing-gown +more closely round her.</p> +<p>“<i>Well</i>,” she began volubly, “of course I +said what a nice fellow Luke was, so manly and simple, and all that. +And she quite agreed with me. I said that perhaps he would get +on after all and not bring disgrace upon all her kindness.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by <i>that</i>?” inquired Agatha.</p> +<p>“I don’t know, my dear, but I said it. And she +said she hoped so. Then I asked her if she knew what his wages +or salary, or whatever they are called, amounted to, and what his prospects +are. She said she knew nothing about his salary, but that his +prospects were quite a different matter. I pretended I did not +know what she meant. So she gave a little sigh and said that one +could not expect to live for ever. I said that I was sure I wished +some people could, and she smiled in a funny way.”</p> +<p>“You do not seem to have done it very well,” the younger +and more scientific campaigner observed coldly.</p> +<p>“Oh, but it was all right, Agatha dear. I understand +her so well. And I said I was sure that Luke would deserve anything +he got; that of course it was different for Fitz, because his life is +all set out straight before him. And she said I was quite right.”</p> +<p>The report was finished, and Agatha sat for some moments with the +brush on her lap looking into the fire with the deep thoughtfulness +of a cool tactician.</p> +<p>“I am <i>sure</i> he was struck with you,” said the mother +fervently.</p> +<p>After all she was only fit for a very small command very far in the +rear. She never saw the singular light in Agatha’s eyes.</p> +<p>“Do you think so?” said the girl, half dreamily.</p> +<p>“I am sure of it.”</p> +<p>Agatha began brushing her hair again.</p> +<p>“What makes you think so?” she inquired through the snaky +canopy.</p> +<p>“He never took his eyes off you when you were playing the Count’s +accompaniment.”</p> +<p>The girl suddenly rose and went to the dressing-table. The +candles there were lighted, one on each side of the mirror. Agatha +saw that her mother was still admiring her bedroom slippers. Then +she looked at the reflection of her own face with the smooth hair hanging +straight down over either shoulder. She gazed long and curiously +as if seeking something in the pleasant reflection.</p> +<p>“Did she say anything more about Fitz?” she asked suddenly, +with an obvious change of the subject which Mrs. Ingham-Baker did not +attempt to understand. She was not a subtle woman.</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>Agatha came back and sat down.</p> +<p>“And you are quite sure she said exactly what you have told +me, about not expecting to live for ever.”</p> +<p>“Quite.”</p> +<p>Then followed a long silence. A belated cab rattled past beneath +the windows. There was apparently a cowl on the chimney connected +with Agatha’s room, for at intervals a faint groaning sound came, +apparently from the fireplace.</p> +<p>Agatha leant forward with her chin on her two hands, her elbows on +her knees. Her hair hung almost to the ground. She was looking +into the coals with thoughtful eyes. The elder tactician waited +in respectful silence.</p> +<p>“Suppose - ” said the girl suddenly, and stopped.</p> +<p>“Yes, my darling.”</p> +<p>“Suppose we accept the Danefords’ invitation?”</p> +<p>“To go to Malta?”</p> +<p>“Yes, to go to Malta.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell into a puzzled, harassed reverie. This +modern warfare was so complicated. The younger, keener tactician +did not seem to demand an answer to her supposition. She proceeded +to follow out the train of her own thoughts in as complete an absorption +as if she had been alone in the room.</p> +<p>“The voyage,” she said, “would be a pleasant change +if we selected a good boat.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker reflected for a moment.</p> +<p>“We might go in the <i>Croonah</i> with Luke,” she then +observed timidly.</p> +<p>“Ye-es.”</p> +<p>And after a little while Mrs. Ingham-Baker rose and bade her daughter +good-night.</p> +<p>Agatha remained before the fire in the low chair with her face resting +on her two hands, and who can tell all that she was thinking? +For the thoughts of youth are very quick. They are different from +the thoughts of maturity, inasmuch as they rise higher into happiness +and descend deeper into misery. Agatha Ingham-Baker knew that +she had her own life to shape, with only such blundering, well-meant +assistance as her mother could give her. She had found out that +the world cannot pause to help the stricken, or to give a hand to the +fallen, but that it always has leisure to cringe and make way for the +successful.</p> +<p>Other girls had been successful. Why should not she? +And if - and if -</p> +<p>The next morning at breakfast Mrs. Ingham-Baker took an opportunity +of asking Mrs. Harrington if she knew Malta.</p> +<p>“Malta,” answered the grey lady, “is a sort of +Nursery India. I have known girls marry at Malta, but I have known +more who were obliged to go to India.”</p> +<p>“That,” answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, “is exactly +what I am afraid of.”</p> +<p>“Having to go on to India?” inquired Mrs. Harrington, +looking over her letters.</p> +<p>“No. I am afraid that Malta is not quite the place one +would like to take one’s daughter to.”</p> +<p>“That depends, I should imagine, upon the views one may have +respecting one’s daughter,” answered the lady of the house +carelessly.</p> +<p>At this moment Agatha came in looking fresh and smart in a tweed +dress. There was something about her that made people turn in +the streets to look at her again. For years she had noted this +with much satisfaction. But she was beginning to get a little +tired of the homage of the pavement. Those who turned to glance +a second time never came back to offer her a heart and a fortune. +She was perhaps beginning faintly to suspect that which many of us know +- namely, that she who has the admiration of many rarely has the love +of one; and if by chance she gets this, she never knows its value and +rarely keeps it.</p> +<p>“I was just asking Mrs. Harrington about Malta, dear,” +exclaimed Mrs. Ingham-Baker. “It is a nice place, is it +not, Marian?”</p> +<p>“I believe it is.”</p> +<p>“And somehow I quite want to go there. I can’t +think why,” said Mrs. Ingham-Baker volubly. “It would +be so nice to get a little sunshine after these grey skies, would it +not, dear?”</p> +<p>Agatha gave a little shiver as she sat down.</p> +<p>“It would be very nice to feel really warm,” she said. +“But there is the horrid sea voyage.”</p> +<p>“I dare say you would enjoy that very much after the first +two days,” put in Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>“Especially if we select a nice large boat - one of those with +two funnels?” put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker. “Now I wonder +what boat we could go by?”</p> +<p>“Luke’s,” suggested Mrs. Harrington, with cynical +curtness. There was a subtle suggestion of finality in her tone, +a tiniest note of weariness which almost said -</p> +<p>“Now we have reached our goal.”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said Mrs. Ingham-Baker doubtfully, “that +it is really a fine vessel?”</p> +<p>“So I am told.”</p> +<p>“I really expect,” put in Agatha carelessly, “that +one steamer is as good as another.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington turned on her like suave lightning.</p> +<p>“But one boat is not so well officered as another, my dear!” +she said.</p> +<p>Agatha - not to be brow-beaten, keen as the older fencer - looked +Mrs. Harrington straight in the face.</p> +<p>“You mean Luke,” she said. “Of course I dare +say he is a good officer. But one always feels doubtful about +trusting one’s friends - does one not?”</p> +<p>“One does,” answered Mrs. Harrington, turning to her +letters.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA.</h3> +<p> <i>All such things touch secret strings<br /> For +heavy hearts to bear</i>.</p> +<p>“And you don’t seem to care.”</p> +<p>Agatha smiled a little inward smile of triumph.</p> +<p>“Don’t I?” she answered, with a sidelong glance +beneath her lashes.</p> +<p>Luke stared straight in front of him with set lips. He looked +a dangerous man to trifle with, and what woman can keep her hands out +of such danger as this?</p> +<p>They were walking backwards and forwards on the broad promenade deck +of the <i>Croonah</i>, and the <i>Croonah</i> was gliding through the +grey waters of the Atlantic. To their left lay the coast of Portugal +smiling in the sunshine. To their right the orb of day himself, +lowering cloudless to the horizon. Ahead, bleak and lonely, lay +the dread Burlings. The maligned Bay of Biscay lay behind, and +already a large number of the passengers had plucked up spirit to leave +the cabin stairs, crawling on deck to lie supine in long chairs and +talk hopefully of calmer days to come.</p> +<p>Agatha had proved herself to be a good sailor. She walked beside +Luke FitzHenry with her usual dainty firmness of step and confidence +of carriage. Luke himself - in uniform - looked sternly in earnest.</p> +<p>They had been talking of Gibraltar, where the <i>Croonah</i> was +to touch the next morning, and Luke had just told Agatha that he could +not go ashore with her and Mrs. Ingham-Baker.</p> +<p>“Don’t I?” the girl reiterated with a little sigh.</p> +<p>“Well, it does not sound like it.”</p> +<p>“The truth is,” said Agatha, “that I have an inward +conviction that it would only be more trouble than it is worth.”</p> +<p>“What would be more trouble than it is worth?”</p> +<p>“Going ashore.”</p> +<p>“Then you will not go?” he asked eagerly.</p> +<p>“I think not,” she answered, with demure downcast eyes.</p> +<p>And Luke FitzHenry was the happiest man on board the <i>Croonah</i>. +There was no mistaking her meaning. Luke, who knew himself to +be a pessimist - a man who persistently looked for ill-fortune - felt +that her meaning could not well be other than that she preferred remaining +on board because he could not go ashore.</p> +<p>The dinner bell rang out over the quiet decks, and, with a familiar +little nod, Agatha turned away from her companion.</p> +<p>The next morning saw the <i>Croonah</i> speeding past Trafalgar’s +heights. There was a whistling breeze from the west; and over +the mountains of Tarifa and the far gloomy fastness of Ceuta hung clouds +and squalls. The sea, lashed to white flecks, raced through the +straits, and every now and then a sharp shower darkened the face of +the waters. There was something forbidding and mysterious in the +scene, something dark and foreboding over the coast-line of Africa. +All eyes were fixed on the Rock, now slowly appearing from behind the +hills that hide Algeciras.</p> +<p>Luke was on duty on the bridge, motionless at his post. It +was a simple matter to these mariners to make for the anchorage of Gibraltar, +and Luke was thinking of Agatha. He was recalling a thousand little +incidents which came back with a sudden warm thrill into his heart, +the chilled, stern heart of a disappointed man. He was recollecting +words that she had said, silences which she had kept, glances which +she had given him. And all told him the same thing. All +went to the core of his passionate, self-consuming heart.</p> +<p>The bay now lay before him, dotted here and there by close-reefed +sails. A few steamers lay at anchor, and, beyond the old Mole, +black coal hulks peacefully stripped of rigging. Suddenly Luke +lifted the lid of the small box affixed to the rail in front of him +and sought his glasses. For some seconds he looked through the +binoculars fixedly in the direction of the Mole. Then he moved +towards the captain.</p> +<p>“That is the <i>Kittiwake</i>,” he said.</p> +<p>“Thought it looked like her!” replied the captain, intent +on his own affairs.</p> +<p>Luke went back to his post. The <i>Kittiwake</i>! And +he was not glad. It was that that puzzled him. He was not +glad. He was going to see Fitz after many years, and twins are +different from other brothers. They usually see more of each other +all through life. They are necessary to each other. Fitz +and Luke had always corresponded as regularly as their roaming lives +allowed. But for three years they had never met.</p> +<p>Luke stood with beating heart, his eyes fixed on the trim rakish-looking +little gunboat lying at anchor immediately off the Mole. He was +suddenly breathless. His light oil-skins oppressed him. +There was a vague feeling within him that he had only begun to live +within the last two weeks - all before that had been merely existence. +And now he was living too quickly, without time to define his feelings. +But the sensations were real enough. It does not take long to +acquire a feeling.</p> +<p>After all he was not glad. His attention was required for a +few moments to carry out an order, and he returned to his thought. +He did not, however, think it out. He only knew that if Agatha +had not been on board the <i>Croonah</i> he would have been breathlessly +impatient to see his brother. Therefore he did not want Agatha +and Fitz to meet. And yet Fitz was quite different from other +men. There was no harm in Fitz, and surely he could be trusted +to see Agatha for a few hours without falling in love with her, without +making Agatha love him.</p> +<p>Yet - Fitz had always succeeded where he, Luke, had failed. +Fitz had always the good things of life. It was all luck. +It had been luck from the very beginning. Another order required +the second officer’s full mind and attention. There were +a thousand matters to be attended to, for the <i>Croonah</i> was enormous, +unwieldy.</p> +<p>In the execution of his duties Luke began presently to forget himself. +He did not attempt to define his thoughts. He did not even reflect +that he knew so little of his brother that this meeting could not possibly +cause him this sudden uneasiness, this foreboding care, from <i>that</i> +side of the question. He did not fear for Fitz to meet Agatha, +he really dreaded Agatha seeing Fitz.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> moved into her anchorage with that gentle strength +which in a large steamer seems to indicate that she is thinking about +it and doing it all herself. For in these days there is no shouting, +no call of boatswain’s whistle; and the ordinary observer hardly +notices the quiet <i>deus ex machinâ</i>, the man on the bridge.</p> +<p>Hardly had the anchor splashed home with a rattle of cable that vibrated +through the ship, when a small white boat shot out from behind the smart +<i>Kittiwake</i>, impelled by the short and regular beat of ten oars. +There was a man seated in the stern enveloped in a large black boat +cloak - for Gibraltar harbour is choppy when the westerly breezes blow +- a man who looked the <i>Croonah</i> up and down with a curious searching +eye. The boat shot alongside the vast steamer - the bowman neatly +catching a rope that was thrown to him - and the officer clambered up +the swaying gangway.</p> +<p>He pushed his way gently through the passengers, the cloak flying +partially open as he did so and displaying Her Majesty’s uniform. +He treated all these people with that patient tolerance which belongs +to the mariner when dealing with landsmen. They were so many sheep +penned up in a conveyance. Well-dressed sheep, he admitted tacitly +by the withdrawal of his dripping cloak from their contact, but he treated +them in the bulk, failing to notice one more than another. He +utterly failed to observe Agatha Ingham-Baker, dainty and fresh in blue +serge and a pert sailor hat. She knew him at once, and his want +of observation was set down in her mind against him. She did not +want him to recognise her. Not at all. She merely wanted +him to look at her, and then to look again - to throw a passing crumb +of admiration to her greedy vanity, which lived on such daily food.</p> +<p>Fitz, intent on his errand, pushed his way towards the steps leading +up through the awning to the bridge. He seemed to know by some +sailor instinct where to find it. He paused at the foot of the +iron steps to give an order to the man who followed at his heel, and +the attitude was Luke’s. The onlookers saw at a glance who +this must be. The resemblance was startling. There was merely +Luke FitzHenry over again, somewhat fairer, a little taller, but the +same man.</p> +<p>The captain gave a sudden bluff laugh when Fitz emerged on the little +spidery bridge far above the deck.</p> +<p>“No doubt who you are, sir,” he said, holding out his +hand.</p> +<p>Then he stepped aside, and the two brothers met. They said +nothing, merely shaking hands, and Luke’s eyes involuntarily went +to the smart, simple uniform half hidden by the cloak. Fitz saw +the glance and drew his cloak hastily round him. It was unfortunate.</p> +<p>And this was their meeting after three years.</p> +<p>“By George!” exclaimed Fitz, after a momentary pause, +“she <i>is</i> a fine ship!”</p> +<p>Luke rested his hands on the white painted rail - almost a caress +to the great steamer - and followed the direction of his brother’s +glance,</p> +<p>“Yes,” he admitted slowly, “yes, she is a good +boat.”</p> +<p>And then his deep eyes wandered involuntarily towards the tiny <i>Kittiwake</i> +- smart, man-of-war-like at her anchorage - and a sudden sharp sigh +broke from his lips. He had not got over it yet. He never +would.</p> +<p>“So you have got away,” he went on, “from Mahon +at last?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Fitz.</p> +<p>“I should think you have had enough of Minorca to last you +the rest of your life,” said Luke, looking abruptly down at the +quarrelling boatmen and the tangle of tossing craft beneath them.</p> +<p>“It is not such a bad place as all that,” replied Fitz. +“I - I rather like it.”</p> +<p>There was a little pause, and quite suddenly Luke said -</p> +<p>“The Ingham-Bakers are on board.”</p> +<p>It would almost seem that these twin minds followed each other into +the same train of thought. Fitz frowned with an air of reflectiveness.</p> +<p>“The Ingham-Bakers,” he said. “Who are they?”</p> +<p>Luke gave a little laugh which almost expressed a sudden relief.</p> +<p>“Don’t you remember?” he said. “She +is a friend of Mrs. Harrington’s, and - and there is Agatha, her +daughter.”</p> +<p>“I remember - stout. Not the daughter, the old woman, +I mean. Oh - yes. Where are they going?”</p> +<p>“To Malta.”</p> +<p>It was perfectly obvious, even to Luke, that the Ingham-Bakers’ +immediate or projective destination was a matter of the utmost indifference +to Fitz, who was more interested in the <i>Croonah</i> than in her passengers.</p> +<p>They were both conscious of an indefinite feeling of disappointment. +This meeting after years of absence was not as it should be. Something +seemed to stand between them - a shadow, a myth, a tiny distinction. +Luke, with characteristic pessimism, saw it first - felt its chill, +intangible presence before his less subtle-minded brother. Then +Fitz saw it, and, as was his habit, he went at it unhesitatingly</p> +<p>“Gad!” he explained, “I am glad to see you, old +chap. Long time, isn’t it, since we saw each other? +You must come back with me, and have lunch or something. The men +will be awfully glad to make your acquaintance. You can look over +the ship, though she is not much to look at, you know! Not up +to this. She is a fine ship, Luke! What can she steam?”</p> +<p>“She can do her twenty,” answered the second officer +of the <i>Croonah</i>, indifferently.</p> +<p>“Yes, she looks it. Well, can you get away now?”</p> +<p>Luke shook his head.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered almost ungraciously, “I can’t +leave the ship.”</p> +<p>“What! Not to come and look over the <i>Kittiwake</i>?” +Fitz’s face fell visibly. He did not seem to be able to +realise that any one should be equal to relinquishing without a murmur +the opportunity of looking over the <i>Kittiwake</i>.</p> +<p>“No, I am afraid not. We have our discipline too, you +know. Besides, we are rather like railway guards. We must +keep up to time. We shall be under way by two o’clock.”</p> +<p>Fitz pressed the point no further. He had been brought up to +discipline since childhood - moreover, he was rather clever in a simple +way, and he had found out that it would be no pleasure but a pain to +Luke to board a ship flying the white ensign.</p> +<p>“Can I stay on board to lunch with you?” he asked easily. +“Goodness only knows when we shall run against each other again. +It was the merest chance. We only got in last night. I was +just going ashore to report when we saw the old <i>Croonah</i> come +pounding in. That” - he paused and drew his cloak closer +- “is why I am in my war-paint! We are going straight home.”</p> +<p>“Stay by all means,” said Luke.</p> +<p>Fitz nodded.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he added as an afterthought, “that +I ought to pay my respects to Mrs. Ingham-Baker?”</p> +<p>Luke’s face cleared suddenly. Fitz had evidently forgotten +about Agatha.</p> +<p>“I will ask them to lunch with us in my cabin,” he said.</p> +<p>And presently they left the bridge.</p> +<p>In due course Fitz was presented to the Ingham-Bakers, and Agatha +was very gracious. Fitz looked at her a good deal. Simply +because she made him. She directed all her conversation and eke +her bright eyes in his direction. He listened, and when necessary +he laughed a jolly resounding laugh. How could she tell that he +was drawing comparisons all the while? It is the simple-minded +men who puzzle women most. Whenever Luke’s face clouded +she swept away the gathering gloom with some small familiar attention +- some reference to him in her conversation with Fitz which somehow +brought him nearer and set Fitz further off.</p> +<p>Suddenly, on hearing that Fitz hoped to be in England within a week, +Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell heavily into conversation.</p> +<p>“I am afraid,” she said, “that you will find our +dear Mrs. Harrington more difficult to get on with than ever. +In fact - he, he! - I almost feel inclined to advise you not to try. +But I suppose you will not be much in London?”</p> +<p>Fitz looked at her with clear, keen blue eyes.</p> +<p>“I expect to be there some time,” he answered. +“I hope to stay with Mrs. Harrington.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced at Agatha, and returned somewhat hastily +to her galantine of veal.</p> +<p>Agatha was drumming on the table with her fingers.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XII. A SHUFFLE.</h3> +<p> <i>To love is good, no doubt, but you +love best<br /> A calm safe life, with +wealth and ease and rest</i>.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> ran round Europa Point into fine weather, and +the wise old captain - who felt the pulse of the saloon with unerring +touch - deemed it expedient to pin upon the board the notice of a ball +to be given on the following night. There was considerable worldly +knowledge in this proceeding. The passengers still had the air +of Europe in their lungs, the energy of Europe in their limbs. +Nothing pulls a ship full of people together so effectually as a ball. +Nothing gives such absorbing employment to the female mind which would +otherwise get into hopeless mischief. Besides they had been at +sea five days, and the captain knew that more than one ingenuous maiden, +sitting in thoughtful idleness about the decks, was lost in vague forebodings +as to the creases in her dresses ruthlessly packed away in the hold.</p> +<p>The passengers were, in fact, finding their sea-legs, which, from +the captain’s point of view, meant that the inner men and the +outer women would now require and receive a daily increasing attention. +So he said a word to the head cook, and to the fourth officer he muttered +-</p> +<p>“Let the women have their trunks!”</p> +<p>When, on the evening of the ball, Agatha appeared at the door of +her mother’s cabin, that good lady’s face fell.</p> +<p>“What, dear? Your old black!”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear, my old black,” replied the dutiful daughter. +She was arranging a small bouquet of violets in the front of her dress +- a bouquet she had found in her cabin when she went to dress. +Luke had, no doubt, sent ashore for them at Gibraltar - and there was +something of the unknown, the vaguely possible, in his manner of placing +them on her tiny dressing-table, without a word of explanation, which +appealed to her jaded imagination.</p> +<p>There was some suggestion of recklessness about Agatha, which her +mother almost detected - something which had never been suggested in +the subtler element of London drawing-room. The girl spoke in +a short, sharp way which was new to the much-snubbed rear-commander. +Agatha still had this when Luke asked her for a dance.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered curtly, handing him the card and +avoiding his eyes.</p> +<p>He stepped back to take advantage of the light of a swinging hurricane +lamp, and leant against the awning which had been closed in all round.</p> +<p>“How many may I have?” he asked.</p> +<p>She continued to look anywhere except in his direction. Then +quite suddenly she gave a little laugh.</p> +<p>“All.”</p> +<p>“What?” he added, with a catch in his breath.</p> +<p>“You may have them all.”</p> +<p>There was a pause; then Agatha turned with a half-mocking smile, +and looked at him. For the first time in her life she was really +frightened. She had never seen passion in a man’s face before. +It was the one thing she had never encountered in the daily round of +social effort in London. Not an evil passion, but the strong passion +of love, which is as rare in human beings as is genius. He was +standing in a conventional attitude, holding her programme - and that +which took the girl’s breath away lay in his eyes alone.</p> +<p>She could not meet his look, for she felt suddenly quite puny and +small and powerless. She realised in that flash of thought that +there was a whole side of life of which she had never suspected the +existence. After all, she was learning the lesson that millions +of women have to learn before they quite realise what life is.</p> +<p>She smiled nervously, and looked hard at the little card in his strong, +still hands - wondering what she had done. She saw him write his +name opposite five or six dances. Then he handed her the card, +and left her with a grave bow - left her without a word of explanation, +to take his silence and explain it if she could. That sense of +the unknown in him, which appealed so strongly to her, seemed to rise +and envelop her in a maze of thought and imagination which was bewildering +in its intensity - thrilling with a new life.</p> +<p>When he came back later to claim his first dance, he was quietly +polite, and nothing else. They danced until the music stopped, +and Agatha knew that she had met her match in this as in other matters.</p> +<p>The dancers trooped out to the dimly-lighted deck, while the quartermaster +raised the awning to allow the fresh air to circulate. Luke and +Agatha went with the rest, her hand resting unsteadily on his sleeve. +She had never felt unsteady like this before. She was conscious, +probably for the first time in her life, of a strange, creeping fear. +She was distinctly afraid of the first words that her partner would +say when they were alone. Spread out over the broad deck the many +passengers seemed but a few. It was almost solitude - and Agatha +was afraid of solitude with Luke. Yet she had selected a dress +which she knew would appeal to him. She had dressed for him - +which means something from a woman’s point of view. She +had welcomed this ball with a certain reckless throb of excitement, +not for its own sake, but for Luke’s. The unerring instinct +of her vanity had not played her false. She had succeeded, and +now she was afraid of her success. There is a subtle fear in all +success, and an indefinite responsibility.</p> +<p>Luke knew the ship. He led the way to a deserted corner of +the deck, with a deliberation which set Agatha’s heart beating.</p> +<p>“What did you mean when you said I could have all the dances?” +asked Luke slowly. His eyes gleamed deeply as he looked down at +her. And Agatha had no answer ready.</p> +<p>She stood before him with downcast eyes - like a chidden child who +has been meddling with danger.</p> +<p>And suddenly his arms were round her. She gave a little gasp, +but made no attempt to escape from him. This was all so different, +so new to her. There was something in the strong salt air blowing +over them which seemed to purify the world and raise them above the +sordid cares thereof. There was something simple and strong and +primitive in this man - at home on his own element, all filled with +the strength of the ocean - mastering her, claiming her as if by force.</p> +<p>“What did you mean?” he asked again.</p> +<p>She pushed him away, and turning stood beside him with her two hands +resting on the rail, her back turned towards him.</p> +<p>“Oh, Luke,” she whispered at length, “I can’t +be poor - I <i>can’t</i> - I can’t. You do not know +what it is. It has always been such a struggle - there is no rest +in it.”</p> +<p>It is said that women can raise men above the world. How often +do they bring them down to it when they are raising themselves!</p> +<p>And Luke’s love was large enough to accept her as she was.</p> +<p>“And if I were not poor?” he asked, without any of the +sullen pride that was his.</p> +<p>She answered nothing, and he read her silence aright.</p> +<p>“I will become rich,” he said, “somehow. +I do not care how. I will, I will - Agatha!”</p> +<p>She did not dare to meet his eyes.</p> +<p>“Come,” she said. “Come - let us go back.”</p> +<p>They danced together again, but Agatha refused to sit anywhere but +beneath the awning. While they were dancing they did not speak. +He never took his eyes off her, and she never looked at him.</p> +<p>Then, just as he was, with a pilot jacket exchanged for his dress +coat, Luke had to go on duty on the bridge. While he stood there, +far above the lighted decks, alone at his post in the dark, keen and +watchful, still as a statue, the sound of the dance music rose up and +enveloped him like the echo of a happy dream.</p> +<p>Presently the music ceased, and the weary dancers went below, leaving +Luke FitzHenry to his own thoughts.</p> +<p>All the world seemed to be asleep except these two men - one motionless +on the bridge, the other alert in the dimly lighted wheelhouse. +The <i>Croonah</i> herself seemed to slumber with the regular beating +of a great restless heart far down in her iron being.</p> +<p>The dawn was now creeping up into the eastern sky, touching the face +of the waters with a soft, pearly light. A few straight streaks +of cloud became faintly outlined. The moon looked yellow and deathlike.</p> +<p>Luke stood watching the rise of a new day, and with it there seemed +to be rising within him a new life.</p> +<p>Beneath his feet, in her dainty cabin, Agatha Ingham-Baker saw that +dawn also. She was standing with her arms folded on the upper +berth breast high. She had been standing there an hour. +She was alone in the cabin, for Luke had secured separate rooms for +the two ladies.</p> +<p>Agatha had not moved since she came down from the ball. She +did not seem to be thinking of going to bed. The large square +port-hole was open, and the cool breeze fluttered the lace of her dress, +stirring the dead violets at her breast.</p> +<p>Her finely cut features were set with a look of strong determination. +“I can’t - I can’t be poor,” she was repeating +to herself with a mechanical monotony.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII. A CHOICE.</h3> +<p> ’<i>Tis better far to love and +be poor</i>,<br /><i> Than be rich with +an empty heart.</i></p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington was sitting in the great drawing-room in Grosvenor +Gardens, alone. The butler was fuming and cleaning plate in his +pantry. The maid was weeping in the workroom. Mrs. Harrington +had had a busy afternoon.</p> +<p>“’Tis always thus when she’s alone in the house,” +the cook had said, with a grandiosity of style borrowed from the <i>Family +Herald</i>. It is easy for the cook to be grandiose when the butler +and the lady’s-maid are in trouble. Thus philosophy walketh +in at the back door.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s sharp grey face twitched at times with a +certain restlessness which was hers when she had no one at hand to bully. +She could not concentrate her attention on the newspaper she held in +her hands, and at intervals her eyes wandered over the room in search +of something to find fault with. She made the mistake common to +persons under such circumstances - she forgot to look in the mirror. +Mrs. Harrington was tired of herself. She wished someone would +call. At the same time she felt a cordial dislike to all her friends.</p> +<p>It was a hopelessly grey afternoon early in December, and every one +was out of London. Mrs. Harrington had a certain circle of friends +- middle-aged or elderly women, rich like herself, lonely like herself +- whom she despised. They all rather disliked each other, these +women, but they visited nevertheless. They dined together seriously; +keeping in mind the cook, and watchful over the wine. But the +majority of these ladies had gone away for the winter. The Riviera +was created for such.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington, however, never went abroad in the winter. +She said that she had travelled too much when she was younger - in the +lifetime of her husband - to care about it now. The Honourable +George Henry Harrington had, in fact, lived abroad for financial reasons, +and the name was not of sweet savour in the nostrils of hotel-keepers. +The married life referred to occasionally in cold tones by the Honourable +Mrs. Harrington had been of that order which is curtly called “cat +and dog,” and likewise “hand to mouth.”</p> +<p>Therefore Mrs. Harrington avoided the Continent. She could +easily, of her affluence, have paid certain large debts which she knew +to be outstanding, but she held a theory that dead men owe nothing. +And with this theory she lubricated an easy-going conscience.</p> +<p>The mistress of the large house in Grosvenor Gardens was wondering +discontentedly what she was going to do with herself until tea-time, +when she heard the sound of a bell ringing far down in the basement. +Despite the grand drawing-room, despite the rich rustle of her grey +silk dress, this great lady peeped from behind the curtain, and saw +a hansom cab.</p> +<p>A few minutes later the door was thrown open by the angry butler.</p> +<p>“Miss Challoner - Captain Bontnor.”</p> +<p>Eve came in, and at her heels Captain Bontnor, who sheered off as +it were from the butler, and gave him a wide berth.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington could be gracious when she liked. She liked +now, and she would have kissed her visitor had that young lady shown +any desire for such an honour. But there was a faint reflex of +Spanish ceremony in Eve Challoner, of which she was probably unaware. +A few years ago it would not have been noticeable, but to-day we are +hail-fellow-well-met even with ladies - which is a mistake, on the part +of the ladies.</p> +<p>“So you received my letter, my dear,” said Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Eve. “This is my uncle - Captain +Bontnor.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had the bad taste to raise her eyebrows infinitesimally, +and Captain Bontnor saw it.</p> +<p>“How do you do?” said Mrs. Harrington, with a stiff bow.</p> +<p>“I am quite well, thank you, marm,” replied the sailor, +with more <i>aplomb</i> than Eve had yet seen him display.</p> +<p>Without waiting to hear this satisfactory intelligence, Mrs. Harrington +turned to Eve again. She evidently intended to ignore Captain +Bontnor systematically and completely.</p> +<p>“You know,” she said, “I am related to your father +- ”</p> +<p>“By marriage,” put in Captain Bontnor, with simple bluntness. +He was brushing his hat with a large pocket-handkerchief.</p> +<p>“And I have pleasant recollections of his kindness in past +years. I stayed with him at the Casa d’Erraha more than +once. I was staying there when - well, some years ago. I +think you had better come and live with me until your poor father’s +affairs have been put in order.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor raised his head and ceased his operations on the +dusty hat. His keen old eyes, full of opposition, were fixed on +Eve’s face. He was quite ready to be rude again, but women +know how to avoid these shallow places better than men, with a policy +which is not always expedient perhaps.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” replied Eve. “Thank you very +much, but my uncle has kindly offered me a home.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s grey face suggested a scorn which she apparently +did not think it worth while to conceal from a person who wiped the +inside of his hat with his pocket-handkerchief in a lady’s presence.</p> +<p>“But,” she said coldly, “I should think that your +uncle cannot fail to see the superior advantages of the offer I am now +making you, from a social point of view, if from no other.”</p> +<p>“I do see them advantages, marm,” said the captain bluntly. +He looked at Eve with something dog-like peering from beneath his shaggy +eyebrows.</p> +<p>“Of course,” continued Mrs. Harrington, ignoring the +confession, “you have been brought up as a lady, and are accustomed +to refinement, and in some degree to luxury.”</p> +<p>“You needn’t make it any plainer, marm,” blurted +out Captain Bontnor. “I don’t need you to tell me +that my niece is above me. I don’t set up for bein’ +anything nor what I am. There’s not much of the gentleman +about me. But - ”</p> +<p>He paused, and half turned towards Eve.</p> +<p>“But, ’cording to my lights, I’m seeking to do +my duty towards the orphan child of my sister Amelia Ann.”</p> +<p>“Not overlooking the fact, I suppose, that the orphan child +of your sister Amelia Ann has a very fair income of her own.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor smiled blandly, and smoothed his hat with his sleeve.</p> +<p>“Not overlooking that fact, marm,” he said, “if +you choose to take it so.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington turned to Eve again with a faint reflex of her overbearing +manner towards the Ingham-Bakers and other persons who found it expedient +to submit.</p> +<p>“You will see at a glance,” she said, “that it +is impossible for you to live with Captain Bontnor.”</p> +<p>“I have already accepted his kind offer,” returned the +girl. “Thank you, nevertheless.”</p> +<p>“But,” said Mrs. Harrington, “that was before you +knew that I was ready to make a home for you.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor had turned away. He blew his nose so loudly +that Mrs. Harrington frowned. There was something trumpet-like +and defiant in the sound. Opposition had ever a strange effect +on this spoilt woman. She liked it, as serving to enhance the +value of the wish which she rarely failed to gratify in the end.</p> +<p>“You must remember your position,” she continued. +“These are very democratic days, when silly people think that +all men are equal. A lady is nevertheless still a lady, and a +gentleman a gentleman, though one does not often meet them. I +wish you to come and live with me.”</p> +<p>Eve’s dark eyes flashed suddenly. She glanced at her +uncle, and said nothing.</p> +<p>“A girl with money is a ready dupe to designing persons,” +added Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>“I am saved that danger, for I have no money,” replied +Eve.</p> +<p>“Nonsense, child! I know the value of land in Mallorca. +I see already that you are being deceived.”</p> +<p>She glanced significantly towards the captain, who was again smiling +blandly.</p> +<p>“The matter has been fully gone into,” explained Eve, +“by competent persons. The Val d’Erraha does not belong +to me. It was held by my father only on ‘rotas’ - +the Minorcan form of lease - and it has now been returned to the proprietor.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s keen face dropped. She prided herself +upon being a woman of business, and as such had always taken a deep +interest in the affairs of other people. It is to be presumed +that women have a larger mental grasp than men. They crave for +more business when they are business-like, and thus by easy steps descend +to mere officiousness.</p> +<p>Eve’s story was so very simple and, to the ears of one who +had known her father, so extremely likely, that Mrs. Harrington had +for the moment nothing to say. She knew the working of the singular +system on which land is to this day held in tenure in Majorca and Minorca, +and there was no reason to suppose that there was any mistake or deception +respecting the estate of the Val d’Erraha.</p> +<p>A dramatist of considerable talent, who is not sufficiently studied +in these modern times, has said that a man in his time plays many parts. +He left it to be understood that a woman plays only one. The business +woman is the business woman all through her life - she is never the +charitable lady, even for a moment.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had wished to have the bringing out of a beautiful +heiress. She had no desire to support a penniless orphan. +The matter had, in her mind, taken the usual form of a contract in black +and white. Mrs. Harrington would supply position and a suitable +home - Eve was to have paid for her own dresses - chosen by the elder +contractor - and to have filled gracefully the gratifying, if hollow, +position of a young person of means looking for a husband.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s business habits had, in fact, kept her fully +alive to the advantages likely to accrue to herself; and the small fact +that Eve was penniless reduced these advantages to a mythical reward +in the hereafter. And business people have not time to think of +the hereafter.</p> +<p>It is possible that simple old Captain Bontnor in part divined these +thoughts in the set grey eyes, the grey wrinkled face.</p> +<p>“You’ll understand, marm,” he said, “that +my niece will not be in a position to live the sort o’ life” +- he paused, and looked round the vast room, quite without admiration +- “the sort o’ life you’re livin’ here. +She couldn’t keep up the position.”</p> +<p>“It would not be for long,” said Mrs. Harrington, already +weighing an alternative plan. She looked critically at Eve, noting, +with the appraising eye of a middle-aged woman of the world, the grace +of her straight young form, the unusual beauty of her face. “If +you could manage to allow her sufficient to dress suitably for one season, +I dare say she would make a suitable marriage.”</p> +<p>Eve turned on her with a flash of bright dark eyes. “Thank +you; I do not want to make a suitable marriage.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor laid his hand on her arm.</p> +<p>“My dear,” he said, “don’t take any heed +of her. She doesn’t know any better. I have heard +tell of such women, but” - he looked round the room - “I +did not look to meet with one in a house like this. I did not +know they called themselves ladies.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington gasped. She lived in a world where people think +such things as these, but do not say them. Captain Bontnor, on +the other hand, had not yet encountered a person of whom he was so much +afraid as to conceal a hostile opinion, should he harbour such.</p> +<p>He was patting Eve’s gloved hand as if she had been physically +hurt, and Eve smiled down into his sympathetic old face. It is +a singular fact that utter worldliness in a woman seems to hurt women +less than it does men.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington, with frigid dignity, ignored Captain Bontnor, and +addressed herself exclusively to Eve.</p> +<p>“You must be good enough to remember,” she said, “that +I can scarcely have other motives than those of kindness.”</p> +<p>A woman is so conscious of the weak links in her chain of argument, +that she usually examines them publicly.</p> +<p>“I do remember that,” replied Eve, rather softened by +the grey loneliness of this woman’s life - a loneliness which +seemed to be sitting on all the empty chairs - “and I am very +grateful to you. I think, perhaps, my uncle misunderstood you. +But - ”</p> +<p>“Yes - but - ”</p> +<p>“Under the circumstances, I think it will be wiser for me to +accept his kind offer, and make my home with him. I hope to be +able to find some work which will enable me to - to help somewhat towards +the household expenses.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington shrugged her shoulders.</p> +<p>“As you like,” she said. “After a few months +of a governess’s life perhaps you may reconsider your decision. +I know - ”</p> +<p>She was going to say that she knew what it was, but she recollected +herself in time.</p> +<p>“I know,” she said instead, “girls who have lived +such lives.”</p> +<p>With the air of Spain Eve Challoner seemed to have inhaled some of +the Spanish pride, which is as a stone wall against which charity and +pity may alike beat in vain. From her superior height the girl +looked down on the keen-faced little woman.</p> +<p>“I am not in a position to choose,” she said. “I +am prepared for some small hardships.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington turned to ring the bell. With the sudden caprice +which her money had enabled her to cultivate, she had taken a liking +to Eve.</p> +<p>“You will have some tea?” she said.</p> +<p>Eve turned to thank her, and suddenly her heart leaped to her throat. +She caught her breath, and did not answer for a moment.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she said; and her eyes stole back to the +mantelpiece, where a large photograph of Fitz seemed to watch her with +a quiet, thoughtful smile.</p> +<p>The whole room appeared to be different after that. Mrs. Harrington +seemed to be a different woman - the world seemed suddenly to be a smaller +place and less lonely.</p> +<p>During the remainder of the short visit they talked of indifferent +topics, while Captain Bontnor remained silent. Mrs. Harrington’s +caprice grew stronger, and before tea was over she said -</p> +<p>“My dear, if you will not come and live with me, at all events +make use of me. Your uncle will, no doubt, have to make some small +changes in his household. I propose that you stay with me a week +or ten days, until he is ready for you.”</p> +<p>This with a slight conciliatory bow towards Captain Bontnor, who +stared remorselessly at the clock.</p> +<p>“Thank you; I should very much like to,” said Eve, mindful +of the mantelpiece.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV. A QUATRE.</h3> +<p> <i>There is so much that no one knows,<br /> So +much unreached that none suppose</i>.</p> +<p>“I want you to put on a nice dress to-night. I have two +friends coming to dine.”</p> +<p>Eve looked up from the book she was reading, and Mrs. Harrington +tempered her curt manner of expressing her wishes with a rare smile. +She often did this for Eve’s benefit, almost unconsciously. +In some indefinite way she was rather afraid of this girl.</p> +<p>“I will do my best,” answered Eve, her mind only half +weaned from the pages.</p> +<p>She had been ten days in the house, and the somewhat luxurious comfort +of it appealed to a faintly developed love of peace and ease which had +been filtered into her soul with the air of a Southern land. She +had found it easier to get on with Mrs. Harrington than she at first +anticipated. Her nature, which was essentially womanly, had in +reality long craved for the intimate sympathy and intercourse which +only another woman could supply. There was something indolent +and restful in the very atmosphere of the house that supplied a distinct +want in the motherless girl’s life. There were a number +of vague possibilities of trouble in the world, half perceived, half +divined by Eve; which possibilities Mrs. Harrington seemed capable of +meeting and fending off.</p> +<p>It was all indefinite and misty, but Eve felt at rest, and, as it +were, under protection, in the house of this hard, cold woman of the +world.</p> +<p>“It can only be a black one,” the girl answered.</p> +<p>“Yes; but people don’t know what a black dress is until +they have seen one that has been made in Spain.”</p> +<p>Eve did not return at once to her book. She was, in fact, thinking +about her dress - being in no way superior to such matters.</p> +<p>When she came down into the drawing-room, an hour later, she found +awaiting her there the two men about whom she thought most.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta and Fitz were standing on the hearthrug together. +Mrs. Harrington had not yet come down. They came forward together, +the Count taking her hand first, with his courteous bow. Fitz +followed, shaking hands in silence, with that simplicity which she had +learned to look for and to like in him.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” said Eve, “why Mrs. Harrington did +not tell me that you were the two friends she expected to dinner?”</p> +<p>The Count smiled darkly.</p> +<p>“Perhaps our hostess does not know that we have met before +- ” he began; and stopped suddenly when the door opened, and the +rustle of Mrs. Harrington’s silk dress heralded her coming.</p> +<p>Her quick eyes flashed over them with a comprehensive appreciation +of the situation.</p> +<p>“You all seem to know each other,” she said sharply. +“I knew that Fitz had been of some service to you at D’Erraha; +but I was not aware that you knew the Count de Lloseta.”</p> +<p>“The Count de Lloseta was very kind to me at Barcelona - on +a matter of business,” explained Eve innocently.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington turned upon the Spaniard quickly, but nevertheless +too late to catch the warning frown which he had directed towards Eve. +Mrs. Harrington looked keenly into his face, which was blandly imperturbable.</p> +<p>“Then you are the owner of D’Erraha?”</p> +<p>“I am.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington gave a strange little laugh.</p> +<p>“What a rich man you are!” she said. “Come! +Let us go to dinner.”</p> +<p>She took the Count’s arm, and led the way to the dining-room. +She was visibly absent-minded at first, as if pondering over something +which had come as a surprise to her. Then she woke from her reverie, +and, turning to Fitz, said -</p> +<p>“And what do you think of the Baleares?”</p> +<p>“I like them,” returned Fitz curtly.</p> +<p>He thought it was bad taste thus to turn the conversation upon a +subject which could only be painful to Eve. He only thought of +Eve, and therefore did not notice the patient endurance of the Count’s +face.</p> +<p>De Lloseta was taking his soup with a slow concentration of his attention +upon its flavour, as if trying not to hear the conversation. Mrs. +Harrington looked sharply at him, and in doing so failed to intercept +a glance, exchanged by Fitz and Eve across the table.</p> +<p>“Why are you here?” Fitz seemed to be asking.</p> +<p>And Eve reassured him by a little smile.</p> +<p>“There is one advantage in your long exile at Mahon,” +pursued the hostess inexorably. “It must have been economical. +You could not have wanted money there.”</p> +<p>Fitz laughed.</p> +<p>“Hardly so Arcadian as that,” he said.</p> +<p>The Count looked up.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said, “that the port where one +does not want money is yet to be discovered?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington, sipping her sherry, glanced at the speaker.</p> +<p>“Surely,” she said lightly, “you are talking of +what you know absolutely nothing.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me” - without looking up.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington laughed.</p> +<p>“Ah,” she said, “we three know too much about you +to believe that. Now, what can a lone man like you want with money?”</p> +<p>“A lone man may happen to be saddled with a name of - well, +of some repute - an expensive luxury.”</p> +<p>“And you think that a great name is worth spending a fortune +upon, like a garden, merely to keep it up?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“You think it worth all that?”</p> +<p>The dark, inscrutable eyes were raised deliberately to her face.</p> +<p>“Assuredly you must know that I do,” he said.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington laughed, and changed the subject. She knew +this man’s face well, and her knowledge told her that he was at +the end of his patience.</p> +<p>“So you saw Luke at Gibraltar?” she said, turning to +Fitz.</p> +<p>“Yes, for a short time. I had never seen the <i>Croonah</i> +before. She is a fine ship.”</p> +<p>“So I understand. So fine, indeed, that two friends of +mine, the Ingham-Bakers, were induced to go to Malta in her. There +is no limit now to feminine enterprise. Mothers are wonderful, +and their daughters no less so. <i>N’est-ce pas, Señor</i>?”</p> +<p>“All ladies are wonderful!” said the Count, with a grave +bow. “They are as the good God made them.”</p> +<p>“I don’t agree with you there,” snapped Mrs. Harrington. +“So you saw the Ingham-Bakers also, Fitz?”</p> +<p>“Yes; they lunched with us.”</p> +<p>“And Agatha was very pleasant, no doubt?”</p> +<p>“Very.”</p> +<p>“She always is - to men. The Count admires her greatly. +She makes him do so.”</p> +<p>“She has an easy task,” put in De Lloseta quietly. +It almost seemed that there was some feeling about Agatha between these +two people.</p> +<p>“You know,” Mrs. Harrington went on, addressing herself +to Fitz, “that Luke and I have made it up. We are friends +now.”</p> +<p>Fitz did not answer at once. His face clouded over. Seen +thus in anger, it was almost a hard face, older and somewhat worn. +He raised his eyes, and they as suddenly softened, for Eve’s eyes +had met them, and she seemed to understand.</p> +<p>“I am not inclined to discuss Luke,” he said quietly.</p> +<p>“My dear, I did not propose doing so,” answered Mrs. +Harrington, and her voice was so humble and conciliatory that De Lloseta +looked up from his plate, from one face to the other.</p> +<p>That Mrs. Harrington should accept this reproof thus humbly seemed +to come as a surprise to them all, except Fitz, who went on eating his +dinner with a singular composure.</p> +<p>It would appear that Mrs. Harrington had been put out of temper by +some small incident at the beginning of the dinner, and, like a spoilt +child, proceeded to vent her displeasure on all and sundry. In +the same way she would no doubt have continued, unless spoken sharply +to, as Fitz had spoken.</p> +<p>For now her manner quite changed, and the rest of the meal passed +pleasantly enough. Mrs. Harrington now devoted herself to her +guests, and as carefully avoided dangerous subjects as she had hitherto +appeared to seek them.</p> +<p>After dinner she asked the Count to tune his violin, while she herself +prepared to play his accompaniment.</p> +<p>Fitz lighted the candles and set the music ready with a certain neatness +of hand rarely acquired by landsmen, and then returned to the smaller +drawing-room, where Eve was seated by the fire, needlework in hand.</p> +<p>He stood for a moment leaning against the mantelpiece. Perhaps +he was waiting for her to speak. Perhaps he did not realise how +much there was in his long, silent gaze.</p> +<p>“How long have you been here?” he asked, when the music +began.</p> +<p>“Ten days,” she answered, without looking up.</p> +<p>“But you are not going to live here?” - with some misgiving.</p> +<p>“Oh no. I am going to live with my uncle in Suffolk.”</p> +<p>He moved away a few steps to pick up a fallen newspaper. Presently +he came back to her, resuming his former position at the corner of the +mantelpiece.</p> +<p>It was Eve who spoke next - smoothing out her silken trifle of needlework +and looking at it critically.</p> +<p>“I never thanked you,” she said, “for all your +kindness to me at D’Erraha. You were a friend in need.”</p> +<p>It was quite different from what it had been at D’Erraha. +Possibly it was as different as were the atmospheres of the two places. +Eve seemed to have something of London in the reserve of her manner +- the easy insincerity of her speech. She was no longer a girl +untainted by worldliness - sincere, frank, and open.</p> +<p>Fitz was rather taken aback.</p> +<p>“Oh,” he answered, “I could not do much. +There was really nothing that I could do except to stand by in case +I might be wanted.”</p> +<p>Eve took up her needle again.</p> +<p>“But,” she said, “that is already something. +It is often a great comfort, especially to women, to know that there +is some one ‘standing by,’ as you call it, in case they +are wanted.”</p> +<p>She gave a little laugh, and then suddenly became quite grave. +The recollection of a conversation they had had at D’Erraha had +flashed across her memory, as recollections do - at the wrong time. +The conversation she remembered was recorded at the time - it was almost +word for word with this, but quite different.</p> +<p>Fitz was looking at her with his impenetrable simplicity.</p> +<p>“Will you oblige me,” he said, “by continuing to +look upon me in that light?”</p> +<p>She had bent her head rather far over her work as he spoke, and as +he said the last five words her breath seemed to come with a little +catch, as if she had pricked her finger.</p> +<p>The musicians were just finishing a brilliant performance, and before +answering Fitz she looked round into the other room, nodded, smiled, +and thanked them. Then she turned to him, still speaking in the +light and rather indifferent tone which was so new to him, and said +-</p> +<p>“Thank you very much, but of course I have my uncle. +How - how long will you be - staying on shore? You deserve a long +leave, do you not?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose I do,” said Fitz absently. He had +evidently listened more to the voice than the words. He forgot +to answer the question. But she repeated it.</p> +<p>“How long do you get?” she asked, hopelessly conversational.</p> +<p>“About three weeks.”</p> +<p>“Is that all? Ah! here is tea. I wonder whether +I ought to offer to pour it out!”</p> +<p>But Mrs. Harrington left the piano, and said that her sight was failing +her. She had had enough music.</p> +<p>During the rest of the evening Fitz took one or two opportunities +of looking at Eve to discover, if he could, what the difference was +that he found in her. He had left a girl in Majorca - he found +a woman in London. That was the whole difference; but he did not +succeed in reducing it to so many words. He had passed most of +his life at sea among men. He had not, therefore, had much opportunity +of acquiring that doubtful knowledge - the knowledge of women - the +only item, by the way, which men will never include among the sciences +of existence. Already they know more about the stars than they +do about women. Even if Fitz had possessed this knowledge he would +not have turned it to account. The wisest fail to do that. +We only make use of our knowledge of women in the study of those women +with whom other men have to do.</p> +<p>“Fitz has grown rather dull and stupid,” said Mrs. Harrington, +when the two guests had taken their leave.</p> +<p>Eve was folding up her work, and did not answer.</p> +<p>“Was he like that in Mallorca?” continued the grey lady.</p> +<p>“Oh - I think so. He was very quiet always.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XV. DON QUIXOTE.</h3> +<p> <i>They also serve who only stand and +wait</i>.</p> +<p>“Come down to my club and have a cigar!”</p> +<p>The Count stood under a yellow lamp enveloped in his fur-lined coat, +looking with heavy, deep-browed eyes at his young companion.</p> +<p>Fitz paused. The Count had been kind to Eve. Fitz had +noticed his manner towards the girl. He liked Cipriani de Lloseta +- as many did - without knowing why.</p> +<p>“Thanks,” he said, “I should like to.”</p> +<p>The Count’s club was a small and a very select one. It +was a club with a literary tendency. The porter who took charge +of their coats had the air of a person who read the heavier monthly +reviews. He looked upon Fitz, as a man of outdoor tastes, with +some misgiving.</p> +<p>The Count led the way up to the luxurious silent smoking-room, where +a few foreign novels and a host of newspapers littered the tables.</p> +<p>As they entered the room a man looked up from his paper with some +interest. He was a peculiar-looking man, with a keen face, streaked +by suffering - a face that was always ready to wince. This man +was a humorist, but he looked as if his own life had been a tragedy. +He continued to look at De Lloseta and Fitz with a quiet scrutiny which +was somewhat remarkable. It suggested the scrutiny of a woman +who is taking notes of another’s dress.</p> +<p>More particularly perhaps he watched the Count, and the keen eyes +had a reflective look, as if they were handing that which they saw, +back to the brain behind them for purpose of storage.</p> +<p>The Count met his eyes and nodded gravely. With a little nod +and a sudden pleasant smile the other returned to the perusal of his +evening paper.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta drew forward a deep chair, and with a courteous +gesture invited Fitz to be seated. He took a similar chair himself, +and then leant forward, cigar-case in hand.</p> +<p>“You know Mallorca,” he said.</p> +<p>Fitz took a cigar.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, turning and looking into the Count’s +face with a certain honest interest. He was thinking of what Eve +had said about this man. “Yes - I know Mallorca.”</p> +<p>The Count struck a match and lighted his cigar with the air of a +connoisseur.</p> +<p>“I am always glad,” he said conversationally, “to +meet any one who knows Mallorca. It - was my home. Perhaps +you knew?”</p> +<p>And through the blue smoke the quick dark eyes flashed a glance.</p> +<p>“I saw your name - on the map,” returned Fitz.</p> +<p>The Count gave a little Spanish deprecatory nod and wave of the hand, +indicating that it was no fault of his that an historical name should +have attached itself to him.</p> +<p>“Do you take whisky - and soda?” inquired the Count.</p> +<p>“Thanks.”</p> +<p>De Lloseta called the waiter and gave the order with a slight touch +of imperiousness which was one of the few attributes that stamped him +as a Spaniard. The feudal taint was still running in his veins.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” he went on, turning to Fitz again, “what +you know of the island - what parts of it - and what you did there.”</p> +<p>In some ways Fitz was rather a simple person.</p> +<p>“Oh!” he answered unconsciously. “I went +to D’Erraha mostly. I used to sail across from Ciudadela +to Soller - along the coast, you know.”</p> +<p>“And from Soller?”</p> +<p>“From Soller I rode by the Valdemosa road, and then across +the mountain and through that narrow valley up to the Val d’Erraha.”</p> +<p>The Count was smoking thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“And you were happy there?” he said.</p> +<p>Fitz looked pensively into his long tumbler.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I also,” said the Count. Then he seemed to remember +his duties as host. “Is that cigar all right?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“I think it is the best I have ever smoked,” replied +Fitz quietly; and the Count smiled.</p> +<p>The two men sat there in a long silence - each thinking his own thoughts. +They were just the sort of men to do it. No other but Cipriani +de Lloseta would have sat with that perfect composure, wrapt in an impenetrable +Spanish silence, providing with grave dignity such a very poor evening’s +entertainment. And Fitz seemed quite content. He leant back, +gravely smoking the good cigar. There seemed to be some point +of complete sympathy between them - possibly the little sunlit island +of the Mediterranean where they had both been happy.</p> +<p>The poem of a man’s life is very deeply hidden, and civilisation +is the covert. The immediate outcome of civilisation is reserve +and - <i>nous voilà</i>. Are we not increasing our educational +facilities with a blind insistence day by day? One wonders what +three generations of cheap education will do for the world. Already +a middle-aged man can note the slackening of the human tie. Railway +directors, and other persons whose pockets benefit by the advance of +civilisation, talk a vast deal of rubbish about bringing together the +peoples of the world. You can connect them, but you cannot bring +them together. Moreover, a connection is sometimes a point of +divergence. In human affairs it is more often so than otherwise.</p> +<p>True, a generation lay between these two men, but it was not that +that tied their tongues. It was partially the fact that Cipriani +de Lloseta had moved with the times - had learnt, perhaps, too well, +to acquire that reserve which is daily becoming more noticeable among +men.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, it was he who spoke first.</p> +<p>“I asked you to come and smoke a cigar with me for a purpose,” +he said.</p> +<p>Fitz nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered; “I thought so.”</p> +<p>A shadowy smile acknowledged this simple statement of a simple fact. +The Count leant forward on his seat, resting his somewhat hollow cheek +on his hand and his elbow on the arm of his chair.</p> +<p>“Some years ago,” he said, “before you were born, +I passed through a - well, a bad time. One of those times, I take +it, when a man finds out the difference between a friend and an acquaintance. +The circumstances would not interest you. They are essentially +personal. Some men, and many women - I am not cynical, that is +the last resource of one who has himself to blame, I am merely stating +a fact - many women turned their backs upon me. There was, however, +one man - an Englishman - who held to me with that unflinching courage +of his own opinion which makes an Englishman what he is. I accepted +nothing from him at the time. In fact, he could do nothing for +me. I think he understood. An Englishman and a Spaniard +have much in common. He is dead now. It was Challoner.”</p> +<p>Fitz nodded. The Count changed his position slightly.</p> +<p>“I want you to use what influence you have with Miss Challoner. +She is proud.”</p> +<p>Fitz made no attempt to disclaim the implied influence.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said; “I know.”</p> +<p>And he looked at the end of his cigar with a deep interest. +The man who loves a proud woman loves her pride. He is also a +happy man, because her pride will kill her vanity, and it is a woman’s +vanity that spoils a husband’s love.</p> +<p>“It would be a great satisfaction to me,” the Count went +on, “to pay off in some small degree the debt of gratitude which +I never even acknowledged to Challoner. Eve” - he paused, +and repeated the name with a certain sense of enjoyment - “Eve +is not fully equipped with worldly wisdom. Thank God, for I hate +a worldly-wise woman. She is hardly old enough or - plain enough +to fight her own battles.”</p> +<p>Fitz gave a sudden, sharp sigh, which made the Count pause for a +moment.</p> +<p>“You also have received kindness from Challoner,” went +on the elder man, after a short silence.</p> +<p>Fitz nodded comprehensively.</p> +<p>“And, like myself,” the Count continued, rather quickly, +“you are naturally interested in his daughter, and sorry for her +in her great change of circumstances. Now, it has occurred to +me that together we might do something towards helping her. You +know her better than I do. I only know that she is proud.”</p> +<p>“Very much to her credit,” put in Fitz, looking fixedly +at his own boots.</p> +<p>“Entirely so. And I respect her for it. Unfortunately, +assistance could hardly come from you - a young man. Whereas, +I might be her grandfather.”</p> +<p>He looked up with a smile - keen, black-haired, lithe of frame - +a young man in appearance.</p> +<p>“We might help each other,” he added, “you and +I, quite alone. Captain Bontnor is a very worthy old fellow, but +- ” and he shrugged his shoulders. “We cannot leave +her to the wayward charity of a capricious woman!” he added, with +sudden bluntness.</p> +<p>He looked rather wonderingly at Fitz, who did not respond to this +suggestion, as he had expected him to do. The coalition seemed +so natural and so eminently practical, and yet the sailor sat coldly +listening to each proposition as it fell from his companion’s +lips, weighing it, sifting it with a judicial, indifferent apathy.</p> +<p>The Count de Lloseta threw himself back in his chair, and awaited, +with all the gravity of his race, the pleasure of his companion. +At length Fitz spoke, rather deliberately.</p> +<p>“I think,” he said, “you mistake the footing upon +which I stand with respect to Miss Challoner. I shall be most +happy to do all in my power; but I tell you frankly that it does not +amount to much. I am indebted to her indirectly for some very +pleasant visits to D’Erraha; her father was very kind to me. +Hardly sufficient to warrant anything that would look like interference +on my part.”</p> +<p>The Count was too discreet a man to press the point any further.</p> +<p>“All this unfortunate difficulty would have been easily averted +had I been less stupid. I shall never cease to regret it.”</p> +<p>He spoke conversationally, flicking the end of his cigar neatly into +the fire, and without looking at Fitz.</p> +<p>“I never foresaw the natural tendency of lawyers to complicate +the affairs of life. My man in Palma was unfortunately zealous.”</p> +<p>Fitz nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “I was there.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta glanced at him sharply.</p> +<p>“I am glad of that,” he said. “It was very +stupid of me. I ought to have telegraphed to him to hold his tongue.”</p> +<p>“But Miss Challoner could not have accepted the Val d’Erraha +as a present?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, she could, if she had not known. These little +things are only a matter of sentiment.”</p> +<p>Fitz leant forward, looking into the Count’s face without attempting +to conceal his surprise.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say you would have given it to her?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“No; I should have paid it to her in settlement of a debt which +I owed to her father.”</p> +<p>The Count moved rather uneasily in his chair. His eyes fell +before his companion’s steady gaze.</p> +<p>“Another matter of sentiment,” suggested Fitz.</p> +<p>De Lloseta shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“If you will.”</p> +<p>They lapsed into silence again. The Count was puzzled by Fitz, +as Fitz in his turn had been puzzled earlier in the evening by Eve. +It was merely the old story of woman the incomprehensible, and man the +superior - the lord of the universe - puzzled, completely mystified, +made supremely miserable or quite happy by her caprice of a moment.</p> +<p>It was a small thing that stood between these two men, preventing +them from frankly co-operating in the scheme which both had at heart. +It was nothing but the tone of a girl’s voice, the studied silence +of a girl’s eyes, which had once been eloquent.</p> +<p>It was getting late. A discreet clock on the mantelpiece declared +the hour of midnight in deliberate cathedral chime. Fitz looked +up, but he did not move. He liked Cipriani de Lloseta. He +had been prepared to do so, and now he had gone further than he had +intended. He wanted him to go on talking about Eve, for he thirsted +in his dumbly enduring way for more details of her life. But he +would not revert to the subject. Rather than that he would go +on enduring.</p> +<p>While they were sitting thus in silence, the only other occupant +of the room - the man with the pain-drawn face - rose from his seat, +helping his legs with unsteady hands upon either arm of the chair. +He threw the paper down carelessly on the table, and came across the +room towards the Count de Lloseta. He was a surprisingly tall +man when he stood up; for in his chair he seemed to sink into himself. +His hair was grey - rather long and straggly - his eyes hazel, looking +through spectacles wildly. His cheeks were very hollow, his chin +square and bony. Here was a man of keen nerves and quick to suffer.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said to Lloseta, “I haven’t seen +you for some time.”</p> +<p>“I’ve been away.”</p> +<p>The tall man looked down at him with the singular scrutiny already +mentioned.</p> +<p>“Spain?”</p> +<p>“Spain.”</p> +<p>He turned away with a little nod, but stopped before he had gone +many paces.</p> +<p>“And when are you going to write those sketches of Spanish +life?” he asked, with a cheery society laugh, which sounded rather +incongruous. “Never, I suppose. Well, the loss is +mine. Good-night, Lloseta.”</p> +<p>He went away without looking back.</p> +<p>“Do you know who that is?” the Count asked Fitz when +the door was closed.</p> +<p>Fitz had risen, with his eye on the clock.</p> +<p>“No. But I seem to know his face.”</p> +<p>The Count looked up with a smile.</p> +<p>“You ought to. That was John Craik.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI. BROKEN.</h3> +<p><i> The +Powers<br /> Behind the world that make +our griefs our gains.</i></p> +<p>The small town of Somarsh, in Suffolk, consists of one street running +up from the so-called harbour. At one end is the railway-station; +at the other the harbour and the sea, and that is Somarsh. There +are records that in days gone by - in the days of east coast prosperity +- there was a Mayor of Somarsh, or Southmarsh, as it was then written. +But Ichabod!</p> +<p>All Somarsh was in the street one morning after Fitz had gone to +sea again, and those of the women who were not talking loudly were weeping +softly. The boats were not in yet, but the weather was fine, and +the still, saffron sea was dotted with brown sails. There was +nothing wrong with the boats.</p> +<p>No; the trouble was on shore, as it mostly is. It came not +from the sea, but from men. It was pinned upon the door of Merton’s +Bank in the High Street. Its form was unintelligible, for the +wording of the notice was mostly outside the Suffolk vocabulary. +There was something written in a clerkly hand about the withdrawal of +“financial facilities necessitating a stoppage of payment pending +reconstruction.”</p> +<p>But the people in the street were saying that Merton’s was +“broke.” The constable said so, and he was a recognised +authority on matters pertaining to dry land and the law. The door +was locked on the inside, the shutters were up, the blinds down, as +if mourning the death of a good East county credit.</p> +<p>“And them a drivin’ behind their two horses,” said +one old weather-beaten fisherman, who was suspected of voting on the +wrong side at electioneering time.</p> +<p>Some shook their heads, but the word went no farther, for the man +who does his business on the great waters has a vast respect for ancient +institutions. And Merton’s had been a good bank for many +generations.</p> +<p>“P’raps,” said an old woman who had nothing to +lose - for the sea had even kept her corpses from her - “p’raps +what they say ’bout reconstruction may be all right. But +here comes the capt’n.”</p> +<p>The crowd turned like one man and watched the advent of Captain Bontnor.</p> +<p>The old man was dressed in his best pilot cloth suit. He had +worn it quite recklessly for the last month, ever since Eve had come +to live with him. He had been interrupted in his morning walk +- his quarter-deck tramp - forty times the length of his own railing +in front of Malabar Cottage. The postman bringing letters for +Eve, had told him that there was trouble down in the town, and that +he would likely be wanted.</p> +<p>When he saw where the crowd was stationed he caught his breath.</p> +<p>“No,” he said aloud to himself, “no, it can’t +be Merton’s.”</p> +<p>And when he joined the townspeople they saw that his sunburnt, rugged +face was grey as ashes.</p> +<p>“Mates,” he said, “what is it?”</p> +<p>“Merton’s is broke - Merton’s is broke!” +they answered, clearing a way for him to read the notice for himself. +In Somarsh Captain Bontnor was considered quite a scholar. As +such he might, perhaps, have deciphered the clerkly handwriting in a +shorter time than he now required, but on the east coast a reputation +is not easily shaken.</p> +<p>They waited for the verdict in silence. After five minutes +he turned round and his face gave some of them a shock. His kindly +blue eyes had a painfully puzzled, incompetent look, which had often +come across them in Barcelona and in London. But in Somarsh only +Eve was familiar with it.</p> +<p>“Yes, mates,” he said, falling back into his old seafaring +vernacular, forgetful of his best suit, “yes, shipmates, as far +as I rightly understand it, the bank’s broken. And - and +there’s some of us that’s ruined men.”</p> +<p>He stood for a moment looking straight in front of him - looking +very old and not quite fit for life’s battle. Then he moved +away.</p> +<p>“I’ll just go and tell my niece,” he said.</p> +<p>They watched him stump away - sturdy, unbroken, upright - still a +man.</p> +<p>“It’s a hard end to a hard life,” said the old +woman who had suggested hope; and being only human, they fell to discussing +the event from the point at which it affected their own lives.</p> +<p>Malabar Cottage stood at the top end of the High Street - almost +by itself - looking out over the little green plot of common land, where +the coastguard flagpost stands towards the sea. It was a low-roofed, +solidly built cottage - once a coastguard station, but superseded in +the heyday of east coast smuggling by a larger station further up the +hill. There was a little garden in front, which the captain kept +himself, growing such old-fashioned flowers as were content with his +ignorant handling. The white jasmine ran riot over the portico.</p> +<p>Eve had apparently received a letter of some importance, for she +was standing at the gate waiting for him. She ran out hatless +to see him on his quarter-deck, and to her surprise found him not. +She soon saw him coming, however, and to beguile the time fell to reading +her letter a second time, with a little frown, as if the caligraphy +gave her trouble.</p> +<p>She did not look up until he was quite close.</p> +<p>“Uncle,” she cried, “what is the matter?”</p> +<p>He gave a smile, which was painfully out of place on his bluff features +- it was wan and twisted.</p> +<p>“Nothing, my dearie; nothing.”</p> +<p>He fumbled at the gate, and she had to find the latch for him.</p> +<p>“Just come below - I mean indoors, my dear. I’ve +had some news. I dare say it will be all right - but just at first, +you understand, it is a little - keen.”</p> +<p>He bustled through the porch, and Eve followed him. She watched +him hang up his old straw hat, standing on tiptoe with a grunt, as was +his wont.</p> +<p>“I must unship that peg and put it a bit lower,” he said, +as he had said a hundred times before.</p> +<p>Then he went into the little dining-room and sat somewhat heavily +down, with his two hands resting on his knees. He looked puzzled.</p> +<p>“Truth is, my dear,” he said breathlessly, “I don’t +seem to take to this long-shore life. I - I rather think of going +back to sea. There’s plenty will give me a ship. And +I want you to keep this cottage nice for me, dearie, against my coming +home.”</p> +<p>He paused, looking round the room with a poor simulation of interest +at the quaint ornaments and curiosities which he had brought home from +different parts of the world. He looked at the ceiling and the +carpet - anywhere, in fact, except at Eve. Then he pushed his +fingers through his thick grey hair, making it stand on end in a ludicrous +manner.</p> +<p>“I’ve got all my bits of things collected here - just +bits of things - oh, dear! - oh, dear - Eve, my child, I wonder why +the Almighty’s gone and done this?”</p> +<p>Eve was already sitting on the arm of his chair, stroking back his +hair with her tender fingers.</p> +<p>“What is it, uncle?” she asked. “Tell me.”</p> +<p>“Merton’s,” he answered. “Merton’s, +and them so safe!”</p> +<p>“Is it only money?” cried Eve. “Is that all?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered rather wearily, “that’s +all. But it’s money that’s took me fifty-five years +to make.”</p> +<p>“And had you it all in Merton’s Bank?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dearie, all.”</p> +<p>“But are you sure they have failed - that there is no mistake?”</p> +<p>“Quite sure. I’ve read it myself pinned on the +door, and the shutters up, like a thing you read of in the newspapers. +No, it’s right. There’s not often a mistake about +bad news.”</p> +<p>Eve bent over him very tenderly and kissed him. He was holding +her hand between his, patting it gently with his rough, weather-beaten +fingers. He was looking straight in front of him with that painful +look of helplessness which had earned him the friendship of Lord Seahampton +in Barcelona.</p> +<p>“But,” said the girl at length, “you cannot go +to sea again.”</p> +<p>She knew that he would never get a ship, for his seamanship, like +all other things that were his, was hopelessly superannuated. +He was not fit to be trusted with a ship - no owner would dream of it, +no crew would sail under him.</p> +<p>“There’s men,” said the captain humbly, “who +learnt their seamanship from me - who sailed under me - p’raps +one of them would give me a berth as first mate or even second mate +under him - for a shipmate they would do it.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor had fallen behind the times even in his sentiments. +He did not know that in these days of short voyages, of Seamen’s +Unions, and Firemen’s Friendlies and Stokers’ Guilds, a +shipmate is no longer a special friend - the tie is broken, as are many +other ties, by the advance of education.</p> +<p>Then the old man pulled himself together, and smiled bravely at his +niece.</p> +<p>“It is not for myself that I’m worrying,” he said, +“but for you. I don’t quite see my way clear yet. +It’s sort of sharp and sudden. I cannot get the poor Mertons +out of my head - people that have been accustomed to their carriages +and all. It’s hard for them! You see, what they say +is that their financial facilities have been withdrawn, and I dare say +nobody is to blame. It is just what they call the hand of God, +in a bill of lading - just the hand of God.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear,” answered Eve. “And now I am +going to serve out a glass of sherry; you want it after your quick walk. +That is what you did at sea, you served it out, did you not?”</p> +<p>“He, he! yes, dearie; that is it.”</p> +<p>His rugged hand shook as he drank the wine.</p> +<p>“Only,” he went on, after wiping his moustache vigorously +with a red pocket-handkerchief - “only it was rum, dearie - rum, +you know, for heavy weather. It puts heart into the men.”</p> +<p>His face suddenly clouded over again.</p> +<p>“And we’ve run into heavy weather, haven’t we? +Just the hand of God.”</p> +<p>“Finish the glass,” said Eve, and she stood over him +while he drank the wine.</p> +<p>“And now,” she went on, “listen to me. I +have had a very important letter, which could hardly have come at a +more opportune moment. In fact, I think we may call it also . +. . what they say in a bill of lading.”</p> +<p>She opened the letter, as if about to read it aloud, and on glancing +through she seemed to change her mind.</p> +<p>“It is from Mrs. Harrington,” she said. “It +is a very kind letter.”</p> +<p>She looked at her uncle, whose face had suddenly hardened. +He seemed to be schooling himself to hear something unpleasant.</p> +<p>“Ay!” he muttered, “ay! I suppose she’ll +get her way now. I suppose I can’t hope to keep you now. +She’ll get you - she’ll get you.”</p> +<p>“Then I think you are a very mean old man!” exclaimed +Eve. “I don’t believe you are a sailor at all. +You are what you call a land-lubber, if you think that I am the sort +of person to accept your kindness when you are prosperous, and then +- and then when heavy weather comes to go away and leave you.”</p> +<p>The old man smiled rather wanly, and fumbled with the red pocket-handkerchief.</p> +<p>“As it happens, Mrs. Harrington does not ask me to go and stay +with her - she asks me - ” She paused and laid her hand +on his shoulder gently. “She asks me - to accept money.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor sat upright.</p> +<p>“Ay-y-y,” he said, “charity.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Eve quietly, “charity; and I’m +going to accept it.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor scratched his head. His manners were not, as +has already been stated, remarkable for artificiality or superficial +refinement. He screwed up his features as if he were swallowing +something nasty.</p> +<p>“Read me the letter,” he said.</p> +<p>Eve opened the missive again, and looked at it.</p> +<p>“She puts it very nicely,” she said. “She +asks if you will permit me to accept a dress allowance from a rich woman +who does not always spend her money discreetly.”</p> +<p>It must be admitted that Mrs. Harrington’s nice way of putting +it lost nothing by its transmission through Eve’s lips.</p> +<p>Thus poor Charity creeps in wherever she can shelter. She is +not proud. She does not ask to be accepted for her own sake; though +Heaven knows she frequently is. She masquerades in any costume +- she accepts the humiliation of any disguise. She is ready to +be cast down before swine, or raised high before the eyes of fools. +She is used as a tool or a stepping-stone - the humble handmaid of the +tuft-hunter and the toady. She is dragged through the mire of +the slums to the dwellings of the wealthy and idle. She is hounded +up and down the world - the plaything of Fashion, the trap of the unwary, +the washerwoman of the unclean who wish to try the paths of virtue - +for a change. And she is still Charity, and she lives strong and +pure in herself. It has been decreed that we shall ever have the +poor beside us, and so long shall we also possess those who live on +them.</p> +<p>Charity begetteth charity, and it was for Charity’s sake that +Eve Challoner took the bitter bread to herself, and accepted Mrs. Harrington’s +offer.</p> +<p>Her own pride lay between her and this woman whom she knew to be +capricious, uncertain, lacking the quality of justice. Her duty +towards Captain Bontnor lay between her and high Heaven.</p> +<p>So Eve Challoner learnt her first lesson in that school where we +all are called to study sooner or later - the school of Adversity; where +some of us pass creditably, whilst others are ploughed, and a few - +a very few - take honours.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>BOOK THE SECOND.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I. BITS OF LIFE.</h3> +<p> <i>Some +far-off touch<br /> Of greatness, to know +well I am not great</i>.</p> +<p>The local house-agent anticipated no difficulty in letting Malabar +Cottage, furnished, at a good weekly rental; and in due course a dreamy +clergyman, with a wife who was anything but dreamy, came and saw and +hired. The wide-awake wife was so interested in Eve that she forgot +to settle several details which came to her mind afterwards. Her +curiosity was so aroused that the special cupidity belonging to the +wife of the dreamy clergyman was for the moment allayed, and she forgot +to drive a hard bargain.</p> +<p>Moreover, Eve’s manner was not exactly encouraging to the would-be +bargainer. A stupendous ignorance of the tricks of furnished house-letting, +combined with a certain lofty contempt for details, acquired in Spain, +where such contempt is thoroughly understood, completely baffled the +clergyman’s wife. She concluded that Eve was a very stupid +and ignorant girl, a poor housekeeper, and an incompetent woman of the +world; and yet she was afraid of her, simply because she did not understand +her. Jews, poor men’s wives, and other persons who live +by haggling, have a subtle fear of those who will not haggle.</p> +<p>So Malabar Cottage was let; and in due time the sad day arrived when +Captain Bontnor had to bid farewell to his “bits of things.” +These “bits of things” were in reality bits of his life +- and a human life is not so long nor so interesting an affair that +we can afford lightly to break off any portion, to throw it away, or +even to let it out on hire.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor wandered rather disconsolately round the rooms after +breakfast, and as Eve was with him he gave her a short inventory of +these pieces of his life.</p> +<p>“That there harpoon,” he said, pointing to a rusty relic +on the wall above the mantelpiece, “was given to me by the finest +whaling captain that ever found his way into the North water. +When I first went to sea I thought I’d like to be a whaler; but +two voyages settled that fancy. I’m told they shoot their +harpoons out of a gun nowadays - poor sport that! And there’s +no sport like whalin’. Two thousand pounds at one end of +a line and your own life at the other - that’s finer sport than +these Cockney partridge-shooters know of.</p> +<p>“And that’s my seal-pick - many a seal have I killed +with that. That there’s the portrait of the <i>True Love</i>, +three-masted schooner, built at Littlehampton by Harvey. Sailed +second mate, first mate, and master in her, I did. Then she was +sold; and a lubber went and - and threw her on the Kentish Knock in +a south-easterly gale. She was a pretty ship! I felt the +loss as if she’d been my sweetheart - the pretty little <i>True +Love</i>!</p> +<p>“That string of shells was given to me by a shipmate - old +Charlie Sams - to bring home for his wife. He picked ’em +up on the beach above James Town. Took yellow Jack, he did, and +died in my arms - and he only had the shells to send to his young wife +and a bit of a baby he was always botherin’ and talkin’ +about. I did two cross voyages, and one of them round the Horn, +before I got home, and I couldn’t find the woman, she having moved. +So when I left the sea, I just hung them up in case she happened to +come along by chance and see them with his portrait underneath. +That’s Charlie Sams - a bit brown and faded. She won’t +come along now, I suppose. It is a matter of fifty-five years +since Charlie died.”</p> +<p>As he wandered round the house, so he wandered on in his reminiscences, +until Eve led him out of the front door. He took his hat from +the peg which he had been intending to unship and refix at a lower level +for the last fifteen years, and followed her meekly into the garden. +He paused to pick up some yellow jasmine leaves which had withered in +the warmth of the May sun and fallen on the doorstep. Then he +looked back longingly.</p> +<p>“You see,” said Eve cheerfully, “it is only for +a few months. We can always let it in the summer like this, and +live luxuriously on our rent in the winter.”</p> +<p>He threw back his shoulders and smiled bravely, trying to banish +the thought of his “bits of things.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dearie, it’s only for a few months - only for a +few months.”</p> +<p>And they both knew that they could not hope to live in Malabar Cottage +again - not, at all events, on the rent paid by the clergyman’s +wife.</p> +<p>They had taken lodgings in a small house near the harbour, which, +as Eve pointed out, was much more convenient for the shops; and, besides, +they could now buy their fish out of the boats. This last theory +she propounded with a grave assumption of housekeeping knowledge which +did not fail to impress Captain Bontnor.</p> +<p>The whole town knew of the captain’s misfortune, and half the +citizens of Somarsh shared in it. Only those who had saved nothing +lost nothing, for Merton’s was the only bank on the coast; and +more than one old fisherman - bent with rheumatism, crippled by the +hardships of a life spent half in the water, half on it - saw his savings +- the fruit of long toilsome years - go to pay the London tradesmen +a part of what young Merton owed them. It was the old, oft-repeated +tale of over-education. A country banker’s son sent to public +school and university to be educated out of country banking and into +nothing else.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor was quite penniless. During his long life he +had saved nearly four thousand pounds, and this sum he had placed on +deposit with the Somarsh bankers, living very comfortably on the interest. +The whole of this was absorbed - a mere drop in the financial ocean.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had asked Eve to accept a dress allowance of forty +pounds a year, and Eve accepted - for her uncle. Besides this +she had a little ready money - the result of the sale of the contents +of the Casa d’Erraha. A person who looked like a butler +or a major-domo had gone over from Barcelona to Palma to attend this +sale; and the local buyers laughed immoderately at him in their sleeves. +He was, they opined, a mule - he did not know the value of things, and +paid double for all he bought.</p> +<p>But the proceeds of the sale did not amount to much. Eve knew +that something must be done. The money would soon be exhausted, +and they could not live on the dress allowance. Since the failure +of the bank, Captain Bontnor’s mental grasp had seemed less reliable +than ever, and Eve had kept these things to herself.</p> +<p>The captain’s one servant - an aged female - who ruined his +digestion and neglected her dusting, was prevailed upon to return to +her people, and Eve and her uncle settled down to their restricted life +in the lodgings which were so conveniently near the fishing harbour.</p> +<p>The captain was too old to break off his habits of life, so he walked +his quarter-deck tramp, backwards and forwards beneath the window on +the clean pavement of the High Street, which broadened out to the harbour. +He went down to meet the boats, where he was ever a welcome onlooker, +and he never came back without fish for which no payment had been taken.</p> +<p>He usually met the postman when he was keeping his watch on deck +- beneath the little bay-window - and if there was a letter for Eve, +he would pause in front of the house, and hand it through the open sash.</p> +<p>He did this one morning after they had been in the lodgings a month, +and he had not added two turns to the regulation forty before Eve called +to him. He bustled in at the door, hung his old straw hat on a +peg, which was likewise too high, and went into the little parlour. +As he was smoking, he stood in the doorway, for he had not yet got over +his immense respect for the niece who was above him.</p> +<p>“Yes, dearie?” he said. “What to do now?”</p> +<p>Eve was standing near the window, holding a letter in her hand.</p> +<p>“Listen!” she said, and spreading out her elbows she +read grandly -</p> +<p>“‘MADAM, - I like your Spanish Notes and Sketches; but +I cannot put in number one until I see number two. Send me more, +or, better still, if convenient, when you are next in town, do me the +honour of calling here. - Yours very truly - ’</p> +<p>“Now listen, uncle.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear!”</p> +<p> “‘Yours +very truly,<br /> “‘JOHN +CRAIK.’“</p> +<p>“Lor!” ejaculated Captain Bontnor, “the gentleman +that writes.”</p> +<p>Eve handed him the letter, which he held, awestruck, with the tip +of his thumb and finger.</p> +<p>“He doesn’t write very well - he, he!” he added, +with a chuckle. “I’m afraid it’s no good my +trying to read it without my glasses.”</p> +<p>He blinked at the crabbed spidery caligraphy, and handed the letter +back.</p> +<p>“It is signed John Craik, but Providence held the pen,” +said Eve. “If this letter had not come I should have had +to leave you, uncle. I should have had to go and be a governess. +And I do not want to leave you.”</p> +<p>The old man’s eyes filled suddenly, as old eyes sometimes will. +He stuffed his pipe into his pocket and took her two hands in his, patting +them tenderly.</p> +<p>He did not speak for some time, but stood blinking back the tears.</p> +<p>“Then God bless John Craik!” he said. “God +bless him.”</p> +<p>They sat down to talk this thing over, forgetful of the captain’s +pipe, which burnt a hole in the lining of his coat. There was +so much to be discussed. Eve had written a certain number of short +essays - painfully conscious all the while of their simplicity and faultiness. +She did not know that so long as a person has his subject at his finger-ends, +simplicity is rather to be commended than otherwise. It is the +half-informed who are verbose. She had written simply of the simple +life which she knew so well. She had depicted Spanish daily life +from the keenly instinctive standpoint of a woman’s observation; +and only a week before she had sent a single essay - marked number one +- to the editor of the <i>Commentator</i>, John Craik.</p> +<p>She had written for money, and made no disguise of her motive. +Here was no literary lady with all the recognised adjuncts except the +literature. She did not write in order that she might talk of +having written. She did not talk in such flowing periods and with +such overbearing wisdom that insincere friends in sheer weariness were +called upon to suggest that she should and could write.</p> +<p>In sending her first small attempt to John Craik she had not forwarded +therewith a long explanatory letter, which reticence had made him read +the manuscript.</p> +<p>Eve read the great man’s letter a second time, while the captain +scratched his head and watched her.</p> +<p>“And,” he said meekly, “what do you think of doing?”</p> +<p>Eve looked up with a happy smile.</p> +<p>“What he tells me,” she answered. “Oh, I +am so glad, uncle; I cannot tell you how glad I am.”</p> +<p>The captain shuffled awkwardly on his feet.</p> +<p>“I’m more than glad,” he said. “I’m +sorter proud.”</p> +<p>He pulled down his coat and walked to the window.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, looking out into the street. “That’s +it. I’m proud. It’s a great gift - writin’. +A great gift.”</p> +<p>Eve laughed.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she answered. “I’m afraid that +I have no gift. It is a very, very minute talent. That is +all. I always liked books, but I have not the gift for writing +them.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor never thought Eve was a great authoress. In +his simple way this man had a vast deal of discrimination, as simple +people often have. It is the oversubtle man who makes the most +egregious mistakes, because most of us have not time to be subtle. +He never suspected Eve of being a great authoress, and he never attributed +to her any desire to attain that doubtful pinnacle of fame. But +he saw very plainly the immense advantage to be gathered in this time +from her talent. In his simplicity he hoped that something would +turn up for him to do, in a world which has no pity nor charity for +that which is old, effete, and out of fashion.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, after deep thought, “we must do +what he tells us. There’s no harm in that.”</p> +<p>Eve laughed.</p> +<p>“I thought,” she said, “that we understood pride +in Spain and Mallorca; but I have never met such a proud caballero as +you.”</p> +<p>She was standing behind him where he stood, looking grimly out of +the window, her two hands resting on his broad shoulders.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” she went on, “that you have once or +twice humbled your pride so much as to accept a ship when it was offered +you. You said that there are plenty who would give you a command +now. John Craik is giving me a ship, that is all.”</p> +<p>The captain nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “that’s it, that’s +it. You’ve got your first ship.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II. A COMPACT.</h3> +<p> <i>Prends moy tel que je suy.</i></p> +<p>The tendency of the age is to peep behind the scenes. The world +is growing old, and human nature is nearly worn through; we are beginning +to see the bare bones of it. But a strange survival of youthfulness +is that remarkable fascination of the unseen - the desire to get behind +the scenes and see the powder for ourselves. If a man makes his +livelihood by lifting horses and other heavy objects from the earth, +we immediately wish to know details of his private life, and an obliging +journalist interviews him. If another write a book, we immediately +wish to know how he does it, where, when, and why. We also like +to see his portrait on the fly-leaf - or <i>he</i> likes to see it there.</p> +<p>Eve Challoner was lamentably behind the spirit of the age in that +she did not know how she wrote a series of articles destined to attain +renown. But as she never went out to meet the interviewer, he +never came to her. She fell into a habit of going out for long +walks by herself, and in the course of these peregrinations she naturally +acquired the custom of thinking about her writing.</p> +<p>During these long walks Captain Bontnor remained at home alone, or +joined a knot of fellow-mariners on the green in front of the reading-room. +When Eve came home with her mind full of matter to be set down on paper +he discreetly went to keep his watch on deck - backwards and forwards +on the pavement in front of the window. At each turn the old sailor +paused to cast his eyes over the whole horizon, after the manner of +mariners, as if he were steering Somarsh across the North Sea.</p> +<p>Thus uncle and niece glided imperceptibly into that mode of life +which is called humdrum, and which some wise people consider the best +mode of getting through existence. Sketch number two was written, +rewritten, liked, hated, and finally sent to John Craik, with a letter +explaining that the writer lived in Suffolk, and could not for the moment +make it convenient to go to London. John Craik was a busy man. +He made no answer, and in a few days the proof of sketch number one +arrived, with a little printed notice of instructions as to correcting +and returning. Of all fleeting glamours that of the proof-sheet +is assuredly lightest on the wing, and Eve duly hated her own works +in print, as we all do hate our first triumphs. Afterwards we +get resigned - much as we grow resigned to the face we see in the looking-glass.</p> +<p>At this time Captain Bontnor conceived the idea that it was incumbent +upon him to take up seriously, though late in life, the higher walks +of literature.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said to Eve one evening, when the first proof +had been almost wept over, “now, dearie, what author would you +recommend to a man who has a natural likin’ for reading, but owing +to the circumstances of his life has had no opportunity of cultivatin’ +his taste?”</p> +<p>“Well, uncle, a good deal would depend upon his inclination +- whether he liked poetry or fiction, or serious reading.”</p> +<p>“Of course, of course,” acceded Captain Bontnor, pressing +the tobacco into his pipe with his thumb; “I am taking that into +consideration. There’s all sorts to be had now, ain’t +there - poetry and fiction and novels? I am not sure that the +style would matter much, so long - so long as the print was nice and +clear.”</p> +<p>Eve duly gave her opinion without pressing the question too closely, +and while she was out on her long walks Captain Bontnor laboriously +cultivated his neglected taste. He sat in the window-seat with +much gravity, and more than made up in application for the youthful +quickness which he lacked. He resolutely refused to look up from +his book when he heard the alternate thud and stump which announced +the passage down to the harbour of his particular crony, Mark Standon, +whose other leg had been buried at sea. He kept the dictionary +beside him, and when the writer used a word of sonorous ring and obscure +meaning he gravely looked it out.</p> +<p>The first time that Mr. Standon saw his friend thus engaged he stood +on the pavement and expressed his surprise with more force than elegance; +whereupon Captain Bontnor went out and explained to him exactly how +it stood. So marked was the old sailor’s influence on the +social affairs at Somarsh that there was a notable revival of literary +taste and discussion at the corner of the Lifeboat House, where the +local intellect assembled.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor was engaged one day in the study of an author called +Dickens, to whose works he had not yet found time to devote his full +attention, when a strange footstep on the pavement made him look up. +It certainly was not Standon’s halting gait, and a lack of iron +nail certified to the fact that it was no Somarsh man. The captain +looked over his spectacles and saw Cipriani de Lloseta studying the +numbers on the doors as he came down the quiet little street.</p> +<p>The sight gave the old sailor rather a shock. He abandoned +the study of Mr. Dickens and took off his spectacles. Then he +scratched his head - always an ominous sign. His first instinct +was to go and open the door; then he remembered that the new-comer was +a nobleman who lived in a palace, and that he himself was indirectly +a gentleman, inasmuch as he lived in the same house as a lady - his +niece. So he sat still and allowed the landlady to open the door.</p> +<p>When Cipriani de Lloseta was ushered into the tiny room he found +the captain half-bowing on the hearthrug.</p> +<p>“Captain Bontnor,” he said, with all the charm of manner +which was his, “this is a pleasure.”</p> +<p>The captain shook hands, and with the rough hospitality of the cabin +drew forward his own armchair, which the Count took at once.</p> +<p>“When last we met,” he said, “I had the privilege +of receiving you at my house in Barcelona - a poor dark place in a narrow +street. Now here you have a sea-view.”</p> +<p>“But this is not my house,” said Captain Bontnor, feeling +unaccountably at ease with this nobleman. “Malabar Cottage +is farther up the hill. I’ve got all my bits of things up +there.”</p> +<p>“Indeed. It would have given me pleasure to see them. +I learnt from a mutual - friend, Mrs. Harrington, of your change of +address.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor looked at him keenly; and who shall say that the +rough old man did not appreciate the refined tact of his visitor?</p> +<p>“I’ve had losses,” he said.</p> +<p>The Count nodded shortly. He was drawing off his gloves.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” he said conversationally, “if +it has been your experience, but for myself I have found that reverses +of fortune are not without some small consolation. They prove +the friendship of one’s friends.”</p> +<p>The captain reflected.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “you’re right, Mr. - I mean +Count - and - and brings the good out of women.”</p> +<p>“Women!” the Count repeated gravely. “You +refer to Miss Challoner - I see signs of her presence in this room. +Is she out?”</p> +<p>“Yes - I am afraid she is.” He glanced nervously +at the clock. “She is not likely to be in for an hour and +more yet.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry,” said the Count; “but also I am rather +glad. I shall thus have an opportunity of asking your opinion +upon one or two matters - between men of the world, you know.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid my opinion is not of much value, sir, except it’s +about schooners - I always sailed in schooners.”</p> +<p>The Count nodded gravely.</p> +<p>“In my country,” he said, “we usually go in for +brigs; they find them easier to handle. But you know Mallorca +- you have seen for yourself.”</p> +<p>The captain was not listening; he was looking at the modest lodging-house +sideboard.</p> +<p>“I was wondering,” he explained, with a transparent simplicity +which was perhaps as good as that which is called good breeding, “whether +you would take a glass of sherry wine.”</p> +<p>“I should like nothing better,” said the Count. +“It will give me pleasure to take a glass of wine with you.”</p> +<p>Quietly, imperceptibly, De Lloseta set Captain Bontnor at his ease, +and at the same time he mastered him. They spoke of indifferent +topics - topics which, however, were well within the captain’s +knowledge of the world. Then suddenly the Count laid aside the +social mask which he wore with such consummate ease.</p> +<p>“I came down to Somarsh,” he said, “because I am +deeply distressed at your reverse of fortune. I came to see you, +captain, because when I had the pleasure of meeting you at Barcelona +I saw you to be a just man, and one to whom one could speak openly. +I am a rich man - you understand. Need I say more?”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor blinked uncertainly.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered, “I’m thinkin’ it +isn’t necessary.”</p> +<p>“Not between men of the world,” urged Cipriani de Lloseta. +“It is not for your sake. I would not insult you in such +a way. It is for Eve. For a woman’s sake a man may +easily sacrifice his pride.”</p> +<p>The captain nodded and glanced at the clock. He had not fully +realised until that moment how dependent he was upon his niece.</p> +<p>“You know,” continued the Count, following up his advantage, +“all the somewhat peculiar circumstances of the case. Do +you think there is any chance of Eve’s reconsidering her decision?”</p> +<p>The captain shook his head.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered bluntly, “I don’t. +Since she came back from London - ” he paused.</p> +<p>“Yes, since she came back from London?” suggested the +Count.</p> +<p>“She seems more determined than ever.”</p> +<p>The Count was looking at him keenly.</p> +<p>“Then,” he said, “you also have noticed a change.”</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor shuffled in his seat and likewise in his speech.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said, “that she has grown into +a woman. Adversity’s done it.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Count, “your observations seem +to me to be correct. I had the pleasure of seeing her once or +twice when she was staying at Mrs. Harrington’s; but I did not +refer to the question raised at my house in Barcelona, because I noticed +the change to which you allude. Instead, I attempted to gain the +co-operation and assistance of a mutual friend, Henry FitzHenry.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta paused and looked at his companion, who in turn +gazed stolidly at the fire.</p> +<p>“And I received a rebuff,” added the Count. He +waited for some little time, but Captain Bontnor had no comment to offer, +so De Lloseta went on: “Challoner was one of my best friends. +I do not feel disposed to let the matter drop, more especially now that +you have been compelled to leave Malabar Cottage. I propose entreating +Miss Challoner to reconsider her decision. Will you help me?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Captain Bontnor, “I will.”</p> +<p>“Then tell me if Eve has accepted assistance from Mrs. Harrington?”</p> +<p>“Yes, she has.”</p> +<p>The Count swore softly in Spanish.</p> +<p>“I am sorry for that,” he said aloud. “I +am superstitious. I have a theory that Mrs. Harrington’s +money is apt to be a curse to those upon whom it is bestowed.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Harrington’s no friend of mine,” said Captain +Bontnor; and De Lloseta, who was looking out of the window, smiled somewhat +grimly.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” he said after a little pause, “perhaps +you will allow me to claim the privilege which you deny to her?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Captain Bontnor awkwardly; “yes, +if you care to.”</p> +<p>“Thanks. I see Miss Challoner - Eve - coming. I +count on your assistance.”</p> +<p>Eve paused on the threshold in astonishment at the sight of the Count +de Lloseta and her uncle in grave discourse over a glass of sherry.</p> +<p>“You!” she said. “You here!”</p> +<p>And he wondered why she suddenly lost colour.</p> +<p>“I,” he answered, “I - here to pay my respects.”</p> +<p>Eve gave a little gasp of relief. For a moment she was off +her guard - with a dangerous man watching her.</p> +<p>“I thought you had bad news,” she said.</p> +<p>And Cipriani de Lloseta knew that this was a woman whose heart was +at sea.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered; “I merely came to quarrel.”</p> +<p>He drew forward a chair, and Eve sat down.</p> +<p>“We shall always quarrel,” he went on, “unless +you are kind. Let us begin at once and get it over, because I +want to stay to lunch. Will you reconsider your decision with +respect to the Val d’Erraha?”</p> +<p>Eve shook her head and looked at her uncle.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered; “I cannot do that. Not +now.”</p> +<p>“Some day?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Not now,” repeated the girl; and, looking up, her face +suddenly became grave, as if reflecting the expression in the dark Spanish +eyes bent upon her.</p> +<p>“You are cruel!” he said.</p> +<p>“I am young - ”</p> +<p>“Is it not the same thing?”</p> +<p>“And I can work,” added Eve.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said. “But in my old-fashioned +way I am prejudiced against a lady working. In the days of women’s +rights ladies are apt to forget the charm of white hands.”</p> +<p>Eve made no answer.</p> +<p>“Then it is not peace?”</p> +<p>“No,” she answered, with a smile; “not yet.”</p> +<p>She was standing beside Captain Bontnor, with her hand on his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Uncle and I,” she added, “are not beaten yet.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta smiled darkly.</p> +<p>“Will you promise me one thing,” he said; “that +when you are beaten you will come to me before you go to any one else?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Eve, “I think we can promise that.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III. BAFFLED.</h3> +<p> <i>He conquers who awaits the end.</i></p> +<p>Fortune fixed her wayward fancy on the first sketch that Eve contributed +to the <i>Commentator</i>. Wayward, indeed, for Eve herself knew +that it was not good, and in the lettered quiet of the editorial sanctum +John Craik smiled querulously to himself. John Craik had a supreme +contempt for the public taste, but he knew exactly what it wanted. +He was like a <i>chef</i> smiling over his made dishes. He did +not care for the flavour himself, but his palate was subtle enough to +detect the sweet or bitter that tickled his master’s tongue. +He served the public faithfully, with a twisted, cynic smile behind +his spectacles - for John Craik had a family to feed. He knew +that Eve’s work was only partially good - true woman’s work +that might cease to flow at any moment. But he detected the undeniable +originality of it, and the public palate likes a novel flavour.</p> +<p>So deeply versed was he in worldly knowledge, so thoroughly had he +gauged the critic, the journalist, and the public, that before he unfolded +a newspaper he could usually foresee the length, the nature, and the +literary merit of the criticism. He knew that the tendency of +the age is to acquire as much knowledge as possible in a short time. +He looked upon the world as a huge kindergarten, and the <i>Commentator</i> +as its school-book. It was good that the world’s knowledge +of its own geography should be extended, but the world must not be allowed +to detect the authority of the usher’s voice. There are +a lot of people who, like women at a remnant sale, go about the paths +of literature picking up scraps which do not match, and never can be +of the slightest use. It was John Craik’s business to set +out his remnant counter to catch these wandering gleaners, and Eve sent +him her wares by a lucky chance at the moment when he wanted them.</p> +<p>The editor of the <i>Commentator</i> was sitting in his deep chair +before the fire one morning about eleven o’clock, when the clerk, +whose business it was to tell glib lies about his chief, brought him +a card.</p> +<p>“Lloseta,” said Craik aloud to himself. “Ask +him to come up.”</p> +<p>“The man who ought to have written the Spanish sketches,” +he commented, when the clerk had left.</p> +<p>The Count came into the room with a certain ease of manner subtly +indicative of the fact that it was not the first time that he had visited +it. He shook hands and waited until the clerk had closed the door.</p> +<p>There was a copy of the month’s <i>Commentator</i> on the table. +De Lloseta took it up and opened it at the first page.</p> +<p>“Who wrote that?” he asked, holding out the magazine.</p> +<p>Craik laughed - a sudden boyish laugh - but he held his sides the +while.</p> +<p>“You not only beard the lion in his den, but you ask him to +tell you the tricks of his trade,” he said. “Sit down, +all the same. You don’t mind my pipe, do you?”</p> +<p>The Spaniard sat down and sought a cigarette-case in his waistcoat +pocket with a deliberation that made his companion fidget in his chair.</p> +<p>“You asked me to write those sketches,” said the Count +pleasantly. “I delayed and you gave the order to some one +else. Assuredly I have a certain right to ask who my supplanter +is.”</p> +<p>“None whatever, my dear Lloseta. I did not give the order +for those sketches - they came.”</p> +<p>“From whom?”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>“You will not tell me?”</p> +<p>“My dear man, I cannot. The smell of printing ink is +not good for a man’s morals. Leave me my unsullied honour.”</p> +<p>The Count had lighted his cigarette. He looked keenly at his +companion’s deeply-lined face, and the blue smoke floated between +them.</p> +<p>“There are not many people who could have written that article,” +he said. “For the few English who know Spain like that are +known to the natives. And no Spaniard would have dared to write +it.”</p> +<p>John Craik laughed, and while he was laughing his eyes were grave +and full of keen observation.</p> +<p>“Then you admit that it is true,” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the Count; “it is true - all of +it. The writer knows my country as few Englishmen - or <i>women</i> +know it.”</p> +<p>John Craik was leaning back in his deep chair an emaciated, pain-stricken +form. His calm grey eyes met the quick glance, and did not fall +nor waver.</p> +<p>“Then you will not tell me?”</p> +<p>“No. But why are you so anxious to know?”</p> +<p>The Count smoked for a few seconds in silence.</p> +<p>“I will tell you,” he said suddenly, “in confidence.”</p> +<p>Craik nodded, and settled himself again in his chair. He was +a very fidgety man.</p> +<p>“It is not the first article that I care about,” explained +De Lloseta. “It is that which is behind it. This” +- he laid his hand on the page - “is my own country, the north +and east of Spain, the wildest part of the Peninsula, the home of the +Catalonians, who have always been the leaders in strife and warfare. +It is the country from whence my family has its source. All that +is written about Catalonia or the Baleares must necessarily refer in +part to me and mine. This writer may know too much.”</p> +<p>“I think,” said John Craik, “that I can guarantee +that if the writer does know too much, the <i>Commentator</i> shall +not be the channel through which the knowledge will reach the public.”</p> +<p>“Thanks; but - can you guarantee it? Can you guarantee +that the public interest, being aroused by these articles, may not ask +for further details, which details might easily be given elsewhere, +in something less - respectable - than the <i>Commentator</i>?”</p> +<p>“My dear sir, one would think you had a crime on your conscience.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta smiled - such a smile as John Craik had never +seen before.</p> +<p>“I have many,” he answered. “Who has not?”</p> +<p>“Yes; they accumulate as life goes on, do they not?”</p> +<p>“What I fear,” went on De Lloseta, “is the idle +gossip which obtains in England under the pleasant title of ‘Society +Notes,’ ‘Boudoir Chat,’ and other new-fangled vulgarities. +In Spain we have not that.”</p> +<p>“Then Spain is the Promised Land.”</p> +<p>“Your Society journalists may talk of the English nobility, +though the aristocracy that fills the ‘Society Notes’ is +almost invariably the aristocracy of yesterday. But I want to +keep the Spanish families out of it if possible - the names that were +there before printing was invented.”</p> +<p>“Printing and education are too cheap nowadays,” said +John Craik. “They are both dangerous instruments in the +hands of fools, and it is the fool who goes to the cheap market. +But you need not be afraid of the Society papers. It is only those +who wish to be advertised who find themselves there.”</p> +<p>De Lloseta’s thoughts had gone back to the <i>Commentator</i>. +He picked up the magazine and was looking over the pages of the Spanish +article.</p> +<p>“It is clever,” he said. “It is very clever.”</p> +<p>Craik nodded, after the manner of one who had formed his own opinion +and intended to abide by it. He was a gentle-mannered man in the +ordinary intercourse of life, but on the battlefield of letters he was +a veritable Cœur-de-Lion. He quailed before no man.</p> +<p>“You know,” said the Count, “there are only two +persons who could have written this - and they are women. If it +is the one, I fear nothing; if the other, I fear everything.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said John Craik, shuffling in his chair, “fear +nothing.”</p> +<p>De Lloseta looked at him sharply.</p> +<p>“I could force you to tell a lie by mentioning the name of +the woman who wrote this,” he said.</p> +<p>“Then don’t!” said John Craik. “I lie +beautifully!”</p> +<p>“No, I will not. But I will ask you to do something for +me instead: let me read the proofs of these as they are printed.”</p> +<p>For exactly two seconds John Craik pondered.</p> +<p>“I shall be happy to do that,” he said. “I +will let you know when the proof is ready. You must come here +and read it in this room.”</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta rose from his seat.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he said, holding out his hand. “I +will not keep you from your work. You are doing a better action +than you are aware of.”</p> +<p>He took the frail fingers in his grasp for a second and turned to +go. Before the door closed behind him John Craik was at work again.</p> +<p>So Eve Challoner’s work passed through Cipriani de Lloseta’s +hand, and that nobleman came into her life from another point. +It would seem that in whichsoever direction she turned, the Mallorcan +was waiting for her with his grave persistence, his kindly determination +to watch over her, to exercise that manly control over her life which +is really the chief factor of feminine happiness on earth - if women +only knew it. For all through Nature there are qualities given +to the male for the sole advantage of the female, and the beasts of +the forest rise up in silent protest against the nonsense that is talked +to-day of woman’s place in the world. We may consider the +beasts of the field to advantage, for through all the chances and changes +of education, of female emancipation, and the subjection of the weaker +sort of man, there will continue to run to the end of time the one grand +principle that the male is there to protect the female and the female +to care for her young.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta thus late in life seemed to have found an object. +Eve Challoner, while bringing back the past with a flood of recollections +- for she seemed to carry the air of Mallorca with her - had so far +brought him to the present that for the first time since thirty years +and more he began to be interested in the life that was around him.</p> +<p>He suspected - nay, he almost knew - that Eve had written the article +in the <i>Commentator</i> which had attracted so much attention. +John Craik had to a certain extent baffled him. He had called +on the editor of the great periodical in the hope of gleaning some detail +- some little scrap of information which would confirm his suspicion +- but he had come away with nothing of value excepting the promise that +the printed matter should pass through his hands before it reached the +public.</p> +<p>Even if he was mistaken, and this proved after all to be the work +of Mrs. Harrington, the fact of the proof being offered to his scrutiny +was in itself an important safeguard. This, however, was only +a secondary possibility. He knew that Eve had written this thing, +and he wished to have the opportunity of correcting one or two small +mistakes which he anticipated, and which he felt that he himself alone +could rectify.</p> +<p>In the meantime John Craik was scribbling a letter to Eve in his +minute caligraphy.</p> +<p>“DEAR MADAM” (he wrote), “Your first article is, +I am glad to say, attracting considerable attention. It is absolutely +necessary that I should see you, with a view of laying down plans for +further contributions. Please let me know how this can be arranged. +Yours truly,<br /> “JOHN +CRAIK.”</p> +<p>And at the same time another man, to whom all these things were of +paramount importance - to whom all that touched Eve’s life was +as if it touched his own - was reading the <i>Commentator</i>. +Fitz, on his way home from the Mediterranean, to fill the post of navigating-lieutenant +to a new ironclad at that time fitting out at Chatham, bought the <i>Commentator</i> +from an enterprising newsagent given to maritime venture in Plymouth +harbour. The big steamer only stayed long enough to discharge +her mails, and Fitz being a sailor did not go ashore. Instead, +he sat on a long chair on deck and read the <i>Commentator</i>. +He naturally concluded that at last Cipriani de Lloseta had acceded +to John Craik’s wish.</p> +<p>The Ingham-Bakers had come home from Malta and were at this time +staying with Mrs. Harrington in London. Agatha had of late taken +to reading the newspapers somewhat exhaustively. She read such +columns as are usually passed over by the majority of womankind - such +as naval intelligence and those uninteresting details of maritime affairs +printed in small type, and stated to emanate from Lloyd’s, wherever +that vague source may be.</p> +<p>From these neglected corners of the <i>Morning Post</i> Agatha Ingham-Baker +had duly learnt that Henry FitzHenry had been appointed navigating-lieutenant +to the <i>Terrific</i>, lying at Chatham, which would necessitate his +leaving the <i>Kittiwake</i> at Gibraltar and returning to England at +once. She also read that the Indian liner <i>Croonah</i> had sailed +from Malta for Gibraltar and London, with two hundred and five passengers +and twenty-six thousand pounds in specie.</p> +<p>And John Craik had written to Eve to come to London, where she had +a permanent invitation to stay with Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>From over the wide world these people seemed to be drifting together +like leaves upon a pond - borne hither and thither by some unseen current, +swirled suddenly by a passing breath - at the mercy of wind and weather +and chance, each occupied in his or her small daily life, looking no +further ahead than the next day or the next week. And yet they +were drifting surely and steadily towards each other, driven by the +undercurrent of Fate, against which the strongest will may beat itself +in vain.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV. FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER.</h3> +<p> <i>Let thine eyes look right on</i>.</p> +<p>“How handsome Fitz looks in his uniform!” Mrs. Ingham-Baker +said, with that touch of nervous apprehension which usually affected +all original remarks addressed by her to Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker had been to Malta and back, but the wonders of +the deep had failed to make a wiser woman of her. If one wishes +to gain anything by seeing the world, it is best to go and look at it +early in life.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Harrington, with a glance in the +direction of Agatha, the only other occupant of the drawing-room - “yes; +he is a good-looking young fellow.”</p> +<p>Agatha was reading the <i>Globe</i>, sitting upright and stiff, for +she was wearing a new ball-dress.</p> +<p>“I think,” went on Mrs. Ingham-Baker volubly, “that +I have never seen a naval uniform before - in a room close at hand, +you know. Of course, on board the <i>Croonah</i> the officers +wore a sort of uniform, but they had not a sword.”</p> +<p>Agatha turned over her newspaper impatiently. Mrs. Harrington +was listening with an air of the keenest interest, which might have +been sarcastic.</p> +<p>“Poor Luke had not quite so much gold braid - ”</p> +<p>Agatha looked up, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker collapsed.</p> +<p>“I should think,” she added, after some nervous shufflings +in her seat, “that a sword is a great nuisance. Should you +not think so, Marion dear?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” replied Mrs. Harrington; “I never +wore one.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker laughed eagerly at herself, after the manner of +persons who cannot afford to keep up a decent self-respect.</p> +<p>“But I always rather think,” she went on, with an apprehensive +glance towards her daughter, “that a sword is out of place in +a drawing-room, or - or anywhere where there are carpets, you know.”</p> +<p>“I thought you had never seen one before,” put in Agatha, +without looking up from her newspaper. “In a room - close +at hand, you know.”</p> +<p>“No - no, of course not; but I knew, dear, that they were worn. +Of course, in warfare it is different.”</p> +<p>“In warfare,” said Mrs. Harrington patiently, “they +are usually supposed to come in rather handy.”</p> +<p>“Yes - he-he!” acquiesced Mrs. Ingham-Baker, adjusting +a bracelet on her arm with something approaching complacency. +She thought she began to see daylight through the conversational maze +in which - with the best intentions - she had involved herself. +“But I was only thinking that for a lady’s drawing-room +I think I like Luke’s quiet black clothes just as much.”</p> +<p>“I am glad of that,” said Mrs. Harrington; “because +I expect you will see several other men in the same dress this evening.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had got up a party to go to the great naval ball +of the season - a charity ball. Her party consisted of the Ingham-Bakers +and the FitzHenrys, and for the first time for eight years the twin +brothers met in the house in Grosvenor Gardens. They were at this +moment in the dining-room together, where they had been left by their +hostess with a kindly injunction to finish the port wine, duly tempered +- as was all Mrs. Harrington’s kindness - by instructions not +to smoke.</p> +<p>Agatha’s feelings were rather mixed, so, like a wise young +woman of the world, she read the evening paper with great assiduity +and refused to think.</p> +<p>The evening had been one of comparisons. Fitz and Luke had +come together, for they were sharing rooms in Jermyn Street. Fitz, +smart, upright, essentially a naval officer and an unquestionable gentleman. +Luke, a trifle browner, more weather-beaten, with a faint, subtle suggestion +of a rougher life. Fitz, easy, good-natured, calmly sure of himself +- utterly without self-consciousness. Luke, conscious of inferior +grade, not quite at ease, jealously on the alert for the comparison.</p> +<p>And Agatha had known from the first moment that in the eyes of the +world - and Mrs. Harrington looked through those eyes - there was no +comparison. Fitz carried all before him. All except Agatha. +The girl was puzzled. Luke could not be compared with Fitz, and +the whole world did not compare with Luke. She was fully awake +to the contradiction, and she could not reconcile her facts. She +had been very properly brought up at the Brighton Boarding School, receiving +a good, practical, modern, nineteenth-century education - a curriculum +of solid facts culled from the latest school books, from which Love +had very properly been omitted.</p> +<p>And now, as she pretended to read the <i>Globe</i> Agatha was puzzling +vaguely and numbly over the contradictions that come into human existence +with the small adjunct called love. She was wondering how it was +that she saw Luke’s faults and the thousand ways in which he was +inferior to his brother, and yet that with all these to stay him up +Fitz did not compare with Luke. After all, there must have been +some small defect in the education which she had received, for instead +of thinking these futile things she ought to have been attempting to +discover - as was her mother at that moment - which of the two brothers +seemed more likely to inherit Mrs. Harrington’s money.</p> +<p>Agatha’s thoughts went back to the moment on the deck of the +<i>Croonah</i>, when the sea breeze swept over her and Luke, and the +strength of it, the simple, open force, seemed to be part and parcel +of him - of the strong arms around her in which she was content to lie +quiescent. She wondered for a moment whether it had all been true.</p> +<p>For Agatha Ingham-Baker was essentially human and womanly, in that +she was, and ever would be, a creature of possibilities. She took +up her long gloves and began slowly to draw them on. They were +quite new, and she smoothed them with a distinct satisfaction, under +which there brooded the sense of a new possibility. In all her +calculations of life - and these had been many - she had never thought +of the possibility of misery. She buttoned the gloves, she drew +them cunningly up over her rounded arms, and she wondered whether she +was going to be a miserable woman all her life. She saw herself +suddenly with those inward eyes which are sometimes vouchsafed to us +momentarily, and she saw Misery - in its best dress.</p> +<p>She looked up as Fitz and Luke came into the room. Luke’s +eyes were only for her. Fitz, with the unconcealed absorption +which was often his, absolutely ignored her presence. And the +little incident roused something contradictory in Agatha - something +evil and, alas! feminine. She awoke to the very matter-of-factness +of the present moment, and she determined to make a conquest of Fitz.</p> +<p>Agatha was not quite on her guard, and Mrs. Harrington’s cold +grey eyes were alert. It had once been this lady’s intention +to use Agatha as a means of subjecting Luke to her own capricious will +- Agatha being the alternative means where money had failed. She +had almost forgotten this when Luke came into the room with eyes only +for Agatha - and the girl was looking at Fitz.</p> +<p>“I suppose, Agatha,” said Mrs. Harrington, “you +will not be at a loss for partners to-night? You will know plenty +of dancing men?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I suppose so,” replied Agatha indifferently. +She turned over her newspaper and retreated, as it were, behind her +first line of defence - the sure line of audacious silence.</p> +<p>“The usual throng?”</p> +<p>“The usual throng,” answered Agatha imperturbably.</p> +<p>Luke was biting his nails impatiently. His jealousy was patent +to any woman. Fitz was talking to Mrs. Ingham-Baker.</p> +<p>“I should advise you young men to secure your dances now,” +continued Mrs. Harrington, with her usual fatal persistence. “Once +Agatha gets into the room she will be snapped up.”</p> +<p>Fitz turned round with his good-natured smile - the smile that indicates +a polite attention to an indifferent conversation - and Mrs. Ingham-Baker +was free to thrust in her awkward oar. She splashed in.</p> +<p>“Oh, I am sure she will not let herself be snapped up to-night; +will you, dear?”</p> +<p>“That, no doubt, depends upon the snapper,” put in Mrs. +Harrington, looking - perhaps by accident - at Fitz. “Fitz,” +she went on, “come here and tell me all about your new ship. +I hope you are proud - I am. I am often laughed at for a garrulous +old woman when I begin talking of you!”</p> +<p>She glanced aside at Mrs. Ingham-Baker, who was beaming on Fitz, +as the simple-hearted beam on the rising sun.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the stout lady, “we are all so delighted. +Agatha was only saying yesterday that your success was wonderful. +She was quite excited about it.”</p> +<p>The fond mother looked invitingly towards her daughter with a smile +that said as plainly as words -</p> +<p>“There you are! I have cleared the stage for you - step +in and score a point.”</p> +<p>But Agatha did not respond.</p> +<p>“I suppose it is a steamer,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker +eagerly. “A steam man-of-war.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Fitz, with perfect gravity, “a steam +man-of-war.”</p> +<p>“The <i>Horrible</i> - or the <i>Terrible</i>, is it not?”</p> +<p>“The <i>Terrific</i>.”</p> +<p>There was an account of the new war-ship in the evening paper which +Agatha had laid aside, and Fitz was impolitely glancing at this while +he spoke. The journal gave the names of the officers. Fitz +was wondering whether Eve Challoner ever saw the <i>Globe</i>.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker became lost in a maternal fit of admiration. +She was looking at Agatha with her head on one side. At intervals +she glanced towards Fitz - an inviting glance, as if to draw his attention +to the fact that one of Nature’s most perfect productions was +waiting to gladden his vision.</p> +<p>“Look!” that little glance seemed to say. “Look +at Agatha. <i>Is</i> she not lovely?”</p> +<p>But Fitz was still wondering whether Eve was in the habit of reading +the <i>Globe</i>. He often wondered thus about her daily habits, +trying to picture, in his ignorant masculine way, the hours and minutes +of a girl’s daily existence.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker could not stand this waste of his time and Agatha’s +dress.</p> +<p>“What do you think of the frock?” she asked Mrs. Harrington, +in a whisper which was audible to every one in the room.</p> +<p>“It is very pretty,” replied the hostess, who happened +to be in a good humour. Dress possessed a small corner of her +cold heart. It was one of very few weaknesses. It was almost +a redeeming point in a too man-like character. Her own dresses +were always perfect, usually of the richest silk - and grey. Hence +she was known as the Grey Lady, and only a few - for Society has neither +time nor capacity for thought - wondered whether the colour had penetrated +to her soul.</p> +<p>The two now became engaged in a technical conversation, which was +only interrupted by the arrival of tea. Luke and Agatha were talking +about Malta. She was telling him that their friends in Valetta +had invited them to go again next year, and the <i>Croonah</i> was mentioned.</p> +<p>While the hostess was attending to the teapot, Mrs. Ingham-Baker +took the opportunity of disturbing Fitz - of stirring him up, so to +speak, and making him look at Agatha.</p> +<p>“Do you think you would have recognised your old playmate if +you had met her accidentally - to-night, for instance, at the ball?” +she asked.</p> +<p>Again the inviting glance toward her daughter, to which Fitz naturally +responded. It was too obvious to ignore.</p> +<p>“No; I do not think so,” he replied, going back in his +mind to the recollection of a thin-legged little girl with lank hair.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s proud eyes rested complacently on her offspring.</p> +<p>“Do you like her dress?” she asked in a whisper - only +audible to him. But Agatha knew the gist of it. The arm +and shoulder nearest to them gave a little jerk of self-consciousness.</p> +<p>“Very pretty,” replied Fitz; and Mrs. Ingham-Baker stored +the remark away for future use. For all she knew - or all she +wanted to know - it might refer to Agatha’s self.</p> +<p>“I am afraid I shall lose her, you know - horribly afraid,” +whispered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, knowing the value of competition in all +things.</p> +<p>Fitz looked genuinely sympathetic, and glanced at Agatha again, wondering +what disease had marked her for its own. Mrs. Ingham-Baker thought +fit to explain indirectly, as was her wont.</p> +<p>“She is very much admired,” she said under her breath, +with a sigh and a lugubrious shake of the head.</p> +<p>“Oh,” murmured Fitz, with a smile.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker. She heaved a +sigh, observed a decent pause, and then added, “Does it surprise +you?”</p> +<p>“Not in the least. It is most natural.”</p> +<p>“You think so - really?”</p> +<p>“Of course I do,” answered Fitz.</p> +<p>There was another little pause, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker then said, +in a tone of friendly confidence -</p> +<p>“I advise you to secure your dances early. She will be +engaged three deep in a very short time - a lot of mere boys she does +not want to dance with.”</p> +<p>Fitz thanked her fervently, and went to help Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker sat back in her chair, well pleased with herself. +Like many of her kind, she began the social campaign with the initial +error of underrating her natural foes - young men.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V. THE TEAR ON THE SWORD.</h3> +<p> <i>But over all things brooding slept<br /> The +quiet sense of something lost.</i></p> +<p>Agatha was singularly uncertain of herself. If it had not been +for her education - at the Brighton school they had taught her that +tears are not only idle, but also harmful to the complexion - she would +have felt inclined to weep.</p> +<p>There was something wrong about the world this evening, and she did +not know what it was. Little things irritated her - such as the +creak of Mrs. Harrington’s rich silk dress as that lady breathed. +Agatha almost hated Fitz, without knowing why. She wanted Luke +to come and speak to her, and yet the necessity of limiting their conversation +to mere social platitudes made her hope that he would not do so.</p> +<p>At length she rose to go and make her last preparations for the ball. +The old habit was so strong upon her that unconsciously she gave a little +swing of the hips to throw her skirt out - to show herself to the greatest +advantage in the perfect dress. There was a tiny suggestion of +the thoroughbred horse in the paddock - as there always is in the attitude +of some young persons, though they would not be grateful were one to +tell them of it - a certain bridling, a sleek step, and a lamentably +obvious search for the eye of admiration. Fitz opened the door +for her, and she gave him a glance as she passed him - a preliminary +shot to find the range, as it were - to note which way the wind blew.</p> +<p>In the dimly-lighted hall Agatha suddenly became aware of a hot sensation +in the eyelids. The temperature of the tear of vexation is a high +one. As she passed towards the staircase, her glance was attracted +by a sword, bright of hilt, dark of sheath. Fitz’s sword, +lying with his white gloves on the table, where he had laid them on +coming into the house. The footman had drawn the blade an inch +or so from the sheath - to look at the chasing - to handle the steel +that deals in warfare with all the curiosity of one whose business lies +among the knives of peace.</p> +<p>Agatha paused and looked at the tokens of Fitz’s calling. +She thought of Luke, who had no sword. And the hot unwonted tear +fell on the blade.</p> +<p>All the evening Mrs. Harrington had been marked in her attention +to Fitz. It was quite obvious that he was - for the moment, at +all events - the favoured nephew. And Mrs. Ingham-Baker noted +these things.</p> +<p>“My dear,” she whispered to Agatha, when they were waiting +in the hall for their hostess, “it is Fitz, of course. I +can see that with half an eye.”</p> +<p>Agatha shrugged her shoulders in a rude manner, suggesting almost +that her mother was deprived of more reliable means of observation than +the moiety mentioned.</p> +<p>“What is Fitz?” she asked, with weary patience.</p> +<p>“Well, I can only tell you that she has called him ‘dear’ +twice this evening, and I have never heard her do the same to Luke.”</p> +<p>“A lot Luke cares!” muttered Agatha scornfully, and her +mother, whose sense of logic did not run to the perception that Luke’s +feelings were beside the question, discreetly collapsed into her voluminous +wraps.</p> +<p>She was, however, quite accustomed to be treated thus with contumely, +and then later to see her suggestions acted upon - a feminine consolation +which men would do well to take unto themselves. As soon as they +entered the ball-room, Mrs. Ingham-Baker, with that supernatural perspicacity +which is sometimes found in stupid mothers, saw that Agatha was refusing +her usual partners. She noted her daughter’s tactics with +mingled awe and admiration, both of which tributes were certainly deserved. +She saw Agatha look straight through one man at the decorations on the +wall behind; she saw her greet an amorous youth of tender years with +a semi-maternal air of protection which at once blighted his hopes, +cured his passion, and made him abandon the craving for a dance. +Agatha was evidently reserving herself and her programme for some special +purposes, and she did it with a skill bred of long experience.</p> +<p>Luke was the first to come and ask for a dance - nay, he demanded +it.</p> +<p>“Do you remember the last time we danced together?” he +asked, as he wrote on her card.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she replied, in a voice which committed her to +nothing. She did not look at him, but past him; to where Fitz +was talking to Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>But he was not content with that. He retained the card and +stood in front of her, waiting with suppressed passion in every muscle, +waiting for her to meet his eyes.</p> +<p>At last, almost against her will, she did, and for one brief moment +she was supremely happy. It was only, however, for a moment. +Sent, apparently, by a very practical Providence to save her from herself, +a young man blustered good-naturedly through the crowd and planted himself +before her with a cheery <i>aplomb</i> which seemed to indicate his +supposition that in bringing her his presence he brought the desire +of her heart and the brightest moment of the evening.</p> +<p>“Well, Agatha,” he said, in that loud voice which, with +all due deference, usually marks the Harrovian, “how many have +you got for me? No rot now! I want my share, you know, eh?”</p> +<p>Heedless of Luke’s scowling presence, he held out his hand, +encased in a very tight glove, asking with a good-natured jerk of the +head for her programme.</p> +<p>“Is your wife here?” asked Agatha, smilingly relinquishing +her card.</p> +<p>“Wife be blowed!” he answered heartily. “Why +so formal? Of course she’s here, carrying on with all the +young ’uns as usual. She’s as fit as paint. +But she won’t like to be called stiff names. Why don’t +you call her Maggie?”</p> +<p>Agatha smiled and did not explain. She doubtless had a good +reason for the unusually formal inquiry, and she glanced at Luke to +see that his brow had cleared.</p> +<p>Then suddenly some instinct, coming she knew not whence, and leading +to consequences affecting their three lives, made her introduce the +two men.</p> +<p>“Mr. Carr,” she said, “Mr. FitzHenry. You +may be able to get each other partners. Besides, you have an interest +in common.”</p> +<p>The two men bowed.</p> +<p>“Are you a sailor?” inquired Luke, almost pleasantly. +With Willie Carr it was difficult to be stiff and formal.</p> +<p>“Not I; but I’m interested in shipping - not the navy, +you know - merchant service. I’m something in the City, +like the young man on the omnibus, eh?”</p> +<p>“I’m in the merchant service,” answered Luke.</p> +<p>“Ah! What ship?”</p> +<p>“The <i>Croonah</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>Croonah</i>,” repeated Carr, hastily scribbling his +name on Agatha’s programme. “Fine ship; I know her +well by name. Know ’em all on paper, you know. I’m +an insurance man - what they call a doctor - Lloyd’s and all that; +missing ships, overdue steamers, hedging and dodging, and the inner +walks of marine insurance - that’s yours truly. <i>Croonah’s</i> +a big value, <i>I</i> know.”</p> +<p>He looked up keenly over Agatha’s engagement card. The +look was not quite in keeping with his bluff and open manners. +Moreover, a man who is, so to speak, not in keeping with himself is +one who requires watching.</p> +<p>“Yes, she is a fine ship,” answered Luke, with a momentary +thought of the <i>Terrific</i>.</p> +<p>“Tell me,” went on Carr, confidentially plucking Luke’s +sleeve, “when she is going to the bottom, and I’ll do a +line for you - make your fortune for you. You’d not be the +first man who has come to me, with his hair hardly dry, for a cheque.”</p> +<p>Luke laughed and went away in answer to Mrs. Harrington’s beckoning +finger.</p> +<p>Fitz was coming towards Agatha and her companion.</p> +<p>“Holloa!” exclaimed Carr, “I’m blowed if +here is not a second edition of the same man.”</p> +<p>“His brother,” explained Agatha, who saw Fitz coming, +although she was apparently looking the other way.</p> +<p>“Royal Navy,” muttered Carr.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then I’m off. Can’t get on with Royal Navy +men, somehow.”</p> +<p>With a jovial nod and something remarkably near a wink, Willie Carr +left her, shouldering his way through the crowd with that good-natured +boisterousness of manner which is accepted by the world for honesty.</p> +<p>Agatha was looking the other way when Fitz came to her, and he was +forced to touch her and repeat his desire to be accorded a dance before +she became aware of his proximity.</p> +<p>“Certainly,” she answered rather carelessly, “if +you want one. I - ” - she paused with infinite skill and +looked down at her own dress - “I thought I had displeased you.”</p> +<p>Fitz looked slightly surprised.</p> +<p>“What an absurd thing to think!” he said rather lamely.</p> +<p>She glanced up with pert coquetry.</p> +<p>“Then it was only oblivion or indifference.”</p> +<p>“What was only oblivion or indifference?” he asked, still +smiling as he compared cards.</p> +<p>“Your very obvious delay in coming,” she answered. +“Considering that we have known each other since we were children, +it is only natural that I should want to dance with you.”</p> +<p>“Considering that we have known each other since we were children,” +he said, repeating her words and tone, “may I have a third?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” with a frank nod. “And” - she +paused, and looking round saw Luke going away in the opposite direction +with Mrs. Harrington - “and will you take me to have some coffee +now? I am engaged for this dance, but no matter.”</p> +<p>Fitz gave her his arm and turned to hitch his sword higher. +He made sure that the blade was well home, shutting in the little red +spot of gathering rust - a tear.</p> +<p>When they had at length passed through the eager crowd and found +a resting-place in a smaller room, Agatha looked up at Fitz as he handed +her her coffee, and did not pretend to hide the admiration with which +she regarded him.</p> +<p>“You know,” she said, “you are a great favourite +with Mrs. Harrington.”</p> +<p>“She is always very kind to me.”</p> +<p>Fitz was a difficult person to gossip with by reason of his quiet +directness of manner. He had a way of abruptly finishing his speech +without the usual lowering of the voice. And it is just that small +drop of half a tone that invites further confidence. In such small +matters as these lies the secret of conversational success, and by such +trivial tricks of the tongue we are daily and hourly deceived. +The man or the woman who lowers the tone at the end of speech defers +to the listener’s opinion, and usually receives it. The +manner with which Fitz broke off led his listener to believe that he +was not attending to the conversation. Agatha therefore baited +her hook more heavily.</p> +<p>“Like many women, she thinks that sailors are superior to the +rest of mankind,” she said, with just enough lightness of tone +to be converted into a screen if necessary. But she heaved a little +sigh before she drank her coffee.</p> +<p>Fitz had not decided whether all this referred to himself or to Luke. +He hoped that Agatha had, so to speak, brought her guns to bear upon +him, because of himself he was sure, of Luke he was doubtful. +As a matter of curiosity he pursued the conversation.</p> +<p>“And you,” he said, “look upon such mistaken persons +with the mingled pity and contempt that they deserve?”</p> +<p>“No,” she answered, with audacious calmness, as she rose +and passed before him; “for I think the same.”</p> +<p>She cleverly deprived him of the opportunity of answering, and pushed +her way through the crowd alone, allowing him to follow.</p> +<p>Before she danced with him again, she danced with Luke, and her humour +seemed to have undergone a change.</p> +<p>There are some men who, like salmon, never go back. They push +on, and that which they have gained they hold to though it cost them +their lives. Luke FitzHenry was one of these, and Agatha found +that in the London ball-room she could take back nothing that she had +given on board the <i>Croonah</i>. Luke, it is to be presumed, +had old-fashioned theories which have fallen into disuse in these practical +modern days wherein we flirt for one night only, for a day, for a week, +according to convenience. He could not lay aside the voyage to +Malta and that which occurred then as a matter of the past; and Agatha, +surprised and at a loss, did not seem to know how to make him do so.</p> +<p>She learnt with a new wonder that the rest of this ball - namely, +that part of his programme which did not refer to her, the dances he +was to dance with partners other than herself - counted as nothing. +For him this ball was merely herself. There was not another woman +in the room - for him. He told her this and other things. +Moreover, the sound of it was quite new to her. For the modern +young man does not make serious love to such women as Agatha Ingham-Baker.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY.</h3> +<p> <i>La discretion d’un homme est +d’autant plus grande qu’on lui demande davantage.</i></p> +<p>“I want you to ask me to dinner!”</p> +<p>The Count de Lloseta bowed as he made this remark, and looked at +his companion with a smile.</p> +<p>At times Mrs. Harrington gave way to a momentary panic in respect +to Cipriani de Lloseta - when she was not feeling very well, perhaps. +Her situation seemed to be somewhat that of a commander holding an impregnable +position against a cunning foe. For every position of such a nature +is impenetrable only so long as it can meet and defy each new engine +of warfare that is brought against it. And one day the fatal engine +is invented.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington looked into his face with a flicker in her drawn +grey eyes. Then she gave a little laugh which was not quite free +from uneasiness.</p> +<p>“Why?” she asked sardonically. “Have you +fallen in love with some one at last?”</p> +<p>She knew that this taunt would hurt him. Besides, she liked +to throw it at the memory of a woman whom she had hated - Cipriani de +Lloseta’s dead wife.</p> +<p>“I should like to be of your party to-night,” he said +quietly.</p> +<p>She gave another scornful laugh, with that ring of malice in it which +thrills in the voice of some elderly women when they speak of young +girls.</p> +<p>“Eve is to be of our party to-night,” she said. +“Ah - that would be too absurd - a new Adam! You! +But, mind you, Agatha will be here too. You will have to be careful +how you play your cards, Don Juan! However, we dine at eight, +and I shall be glad to see you.”</p> +<p>De Lloseta took up his hat and stick. With Mrs. Harrington, +and with no one else perhaps in London, he still observed the stiff +Spanish manner. He bowed without offering to shake hands, and +left her.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington - cold, calculating, essentially worldly - looked +at the closed door with deep speculation in her eyes. They were +hard eyes, such as are only to be seen in a woman’s face; for +an old man has usually picked up a little charity somewhere on the road +through life.</p> +<p>Then she looked at a hundred-pound note which he had tossed across +the table to her with a silent Catalonian contempt earlier in the proceedings.</p> +<p>“I thought he was rather easy to manage,” she said, examining +the note. “I thought he wanted something. He has paid +this - for his dinner.”</p> +<p>The Count moreover appeared to consider the entertainment cheap at +the price, if his manner was to be relied upon. For he entered +the drawing-room at eight o’clock the same evening with an unusually +pleasant air of anticipatory enjoyment. He shook hands quite gaily +with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, who bridled stoutly, and thought that he was +a very distinguished-looking man despite his dark airs. He received +Agatha’s careless nod and shake of the hand with a murmured politeness; +with Eve he shook hands in silence. Then he turned rather suddenly +upon Fitz and held out his hand gravely.</p> +<p>“I congratulate you,” he said. “When I last +had the pleasure of seeing you, I did not suspect that I was entertaining +a great man unawares - you were too humble.”</p> +<p>Fitz involuntarily glanced towards Eve, knowing that the speaker +had a second meaning. Eve was watching the Count rather curiously, +as if wondering how he would greet Fitz. Every one in the room +was looking at the Count de Lloseta; for this quiet-spoken Spaniard +was a distinct factor in the life of each one of them.</p> +<p>They fell to talking of commonplace matters, and presently Mrs. Harrington +rustled in. The servants were only awaiting her arrival to announce +that dinner was ready.</p> +<p>She looked round.</p> +<p>“We are short of men,” she said. “We miss +Luke, do we not?”</p> +<p>She looked straight at Agatha, who returned her stare with audacious +imperturbability. It was only Luke’s presence that unsteadied +her. When he was away, she could hold her own against the world.</p> +<p>“I have never seen Luke,” said Eve to the Count, who +had been commanded to offer her his arm. “I am so sorry +to have missed him.”</p> +<p>Agatha, who was in front, beneath them on the stairs, turned and +looked up at her with a strange smile. She either did not heed +the Count, or she undervalued his powers of observation.</p> +<p>“You would undoubtedly have liked him,” said the Spaniard.</p> +<p>At the table there was considerable arranging of the seats, and finally +De Lloseta was placed at one side with Mrs. Ingham-Baker, while the +two girls sat side by side opposite to them.</p> +<p>Fitz was at the foot of the table.</p> +<p>In the course of conversation the Spaniard leant across and said +to Agatha -</p> +<p>“Have you seen this month’s <i>Commentator</i>, Miss +Ingham-Baker?”</p> +<p>An unaccountable silence fell upon the assembled guests. Eve +Challoner’s face turned quite white. Her eyes were lowered +to her plate. No one looked at her except the Count, and his glance +was momentary.</p> +<p>“Yes - and of course I have read the Spanish sketch. +I suppose every one in London has! It makes me want to go to Spain.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker bridled and glanced at the Spaniard. Agatha +might be a countess yet - a foreign one, but still a countess. +Fitz was looking at De Lloseta. He naturally concluded that it +was he who had written the article. He was still watching his +face when the Spaniard turned to him and said -</p> +<p>“And you, Fitz? You know something about the matter too!”</p> +<p>And Eve Challoner betrayed herself completely. No one happened +to be looking at her except Cipriani de Lloseta, and he saw that not +only had she written the celebrated articles, but that she loved Fitz. +Fitz’s opinion was the only one worth hearing. In her anxiety +to hear it, she quite forgot to guard her secret.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Fitz, wondering what De Lloseta was leading +up to. “I have read them both, of course. I hope there +are more. The man knows what he is writing about.”</p> +<p>“He does,” said the Count, smiling across the table at +Eve.</p> +<p>The girl was moistening her lips, which seemed suddenly to have become +dry and feverish. Her hands were trembling. She had evidently +been terribly afraid of the opinion so innocently asked by the Spaniard.</p> +<p>De Lloseta changed the subject at once. He had found out all +that he wanted to know, and more. He had no intention of forcing +a confidence upon Eve.</p> +<p>The burthen of the conversation fell upon his shoulders. Fitz, +no great talker at any time, was markedly quiet. He had nothing +to offer for the general delectation. His remarks upon all subjects +mooted were laconic and valueless. The duties as temporary host +occupied him for the moment, and his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. +His attitude towards Eve had been friendly, but rather reserved. +There was no suggestion of sulkiness, but on the other hand he had failed +to take advantage of one or two opportunities which she had given him +of referring to the past and to any mutual obligations or common interests +they had had therein. It happened that Agatha had heard her give +him these openings, and had noticed his lack of enterprise.</p> +<p>Agatha Ingham-Baker had long before conceived a strange suspicion +- namely, that Eve and Fitz loved each other. She had absolutely +nothing to base her suspicions upon, not so much even as the gossips +of Majorca. And nevertheless her suspicions throve, as such do, +and grew into conviction.</p> +<p>Agatha had come down early to the drawing-room on purpose to establish +her right over Fitz. She found De Lloseta in the hall, and he +followed her into the room. Whenever she attempted to demonstrate +her right to the attention of the only young man present by one of those +little glances or words with which women hurt each other, De Lloseta +seemed to step in, intercepting with his dark smile. At dinner, +when Fitz was absent-minded, Agatha managed to show the others that +she alone could follow him into the land of his reflections and call +him back from thence. But on several occasions, when she was about +to turn to him with a smile which was especially reserved for certain +young men under certain circumstances, Cipriani de Lloseta spoke to +her and spoilt the small manœuvre.</p> +<p>Eve saw it all. She saw more than the acute Spaniard. +Firstly, because she was a woman. Secondly, because she loved +Fitz. Thirdly, because the inken curse was hers in a small degree, +and people who dabble in ink often wade deep into human nature.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII. A VOYAGE.</h3> +<p> <i>And hence one master passion in +the breast,<br /> Like Aaron’s serpent, +swallows all the rest.</i></p> +<p>Life is, after all, a matter of habit. In those families where +rapid consumption is hereditary, the succeeding generations seem to +get into the habit of dying early. They take it, without complaint, +as a matter of course. Sailors and other persons who lead a rough +and hazardous life seem also to acquire this philosophy of existence. +Luke FitzHenry went to sea again on the day appointed for the <i>Croonah</i> +to leave London, without so much as a snarl at Fate.</p> +<p>It was a great wrench to him to leave Agatha again so soon, in the +first full force of his passion. But he left her almost happily. +His love for her was rising up and filling his whole existence. +And it is not those lives that are frittered away in a thousand pastimes +that are happy. It is the strong life wholly absorbed by one great +interest, be it love or be it merely money-making.</p> +<p>Luke had hitherto been rather an aimless man. He was a brilliant +sailor, not because he set himself to the task, but merely because seamanship +was born in him, together with a dogged steadiness of nerve and a complete +fearlessness. It was so easy to be a good sailor that he had not +even the satisfaction of having to make an effort. His heart was +empty. He had indeed the sea, but his love of it was unconscious. +Away from it, he was ill at ease; on its breast, he was not actively +happy - he was merely at home. But he had no career. He +had no great prize to aim for, and his combative nature required one. +He had no career to make, for he was already near the summit of the +humble ladder on which Fate had set his feet.</p> +<p>Then came Agatha, and the empty heart was filled with a dangerous +suddenness.</p> +<p>The pain which this parting caused him had something of pleasure +in it. There are some men and many women who doubt love unless +it bring actual pain with it. Luke had always mistrusted fate, +and had love brought happiness with it he would probably have doubted +its genuineness. He hugged all his doubts, his jealousies, his +passionate thoughts to himself. He had nothing to cling to. +Agatha had never told him that she loved him. But she was for +him so entirely apart from all other women that it seemed necessary +that he also should not be as other men for her. Not much for +a lover to live upon during four or five months!</p> +<p>Agatha had given him a photograph of herself - a fashionable picture +in an affected pose in evening dress - but she had absolutely refused +to write. This photograph Luke put into a frame, and as soon as +the <i>Croonah</i> was out of dock he hung it up in his little cabin. +His servant saw it and recognised the fair passenger of a former voyage, +but he knew his place and his master too well to offer any comment.</p> +<p>Unlike the ordinary young man, whose thoughts are lightly turned +to love, Luke was no worse a sailor for his self-absorption. All +his care, all his keen, fearless judgment were required; for the <i>Croonah</i> +ran through a misty channel into a boisterous Atlantic.</p> +<p>He stood motionless at his post, as was his wont, keen and alert +for the moment, but living in the past. He saw again Mrs. Harrington’s +drawing-room as he had last seen it, with Agatha sitting in a low chair +near the fire, while Mrs. Harrington wrote at her desk, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker +read the <i>Times</i>.</p> +<p>“I have come,” he remembered saying, “to bid you +good-bye.”</p> +<p>He heard again the rustle of Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s newspaper, +and again he saw the look in Agatha’s eyes as they met his. +He would remember that look to the end of his life; he was living on +it now. Agatha, in her rather high-pitched society tones, was +the first to speak.</p> +<p>“If I were a sailor,” she said, “I would never +say good-bye. It is better to drop in and pay a call; at the end +one might casually mention the words.”</p> +<p>“Oh! we grow accustomed to it,” Luke answered.</p> +<p>“Do you?” the girl inquired, with an enigmatical smile, +and her answer was in his eyes. She did not want him to grow accustomed +to saying farewell to her.</p> +<p>Luke FitzHenry was not inclined to sociability - the stronger sort +of man rarely is. On board the <i>Croonah</i> he was usually considered +morose and self absorbed. He did his duty, and in this was second +to no man on board; but he was content to get the passengers to their +destination, looking upon the <i>Croonah</i> as a mere conveyance for +a certain number of chattering, gossiping, mischief-making live-stock. +He utterly failed in his social duties; he did not cultivate the art +of making his ship a sort of floating “hydro”.</p> +<p>The boisterous weather kept the decks fairly select until Gibraltar +had been left behind in the luminous haze that hangs over the mouth +of the Mediterranean in a westerly breeze. But in the smoother +waters of the Southern seas the passengers plucked up courage, and one +morning at breakfast Luke perceived a tall, heavy-shouldered man nodding +vigorously, and wiping his mouth with a napkin, which he subsequently +waved with friendly jocularity.</p> +<p>“Morning - morning!” he cried.</p> +<p>“Good morning,” replied Luke, passing to his seat at +the after-end of the saloon. He had recognised the man at once, +although he had only exchanged a few words with him in a crowded ball-room. +Everything connected with Agatha, however remotely, seemed to engrave +itself indelibly on his mind. This was Willie Carr, the man to +whom Agatha had introduced him at the naval orphanage ball. Willie +Carr was on board the <i>Croonah</i>, evidently quite at home, and bound +for India, for he was seated at the Indian table.</p> +<p>It was not necessary for Luke to make inquiries about this passenger, +because his brother officers soon began to speak of him. By some +means Carr made himself popular among the officers, and gradually began +to enjoy privileges denied to his fellow passengers. He frequently +visited the engine-room, and was always to be seen after meals in, or +in the neighbourhood of, the smoking-room, in conversation with one +or other of the <i>Croonah’s</i> officers, who were generally +found to be smoking Carr’s cigars.</p> +<p>Despite many obvious and rather noisy overtures of friendship, Luke +FitzHenry held aloof until the Aden light was left behind. He +succeeded in limiting his intercourse to an exchange of passing remarks +on the weather until the <i>Croonah</i> had rounded Pointe de Galle +and was heading northwards. Then arose circumstances which brought +them together, and possibly served Willie Carr’s deliberate purpose.</p> +<p>Carr was travelling without his wife - he was the sort of man who +does travel without his wife. She, poor woman, had made one initial +mistake, namely, in marrying him, and such mistakes are sometimes paid +for by a life of atonement to the gods. She remained at home to +care for an ever-increasing family on a small housekeeping allowance, +which was not always paid.</p> +<p>This wife was the only point in his favour which had presented itself +to Luke’s mind, for the latter resented a certain tone of easy +familiarity, which Agatha seemed to take as a matter of course.</p> +<p>Luke was afraid of being questioned about Agatha, and he therefore +kept Carr at a respectful distance. He harboured no personal dislike +towards the man, whose bluff and honest manner made him popular among +his fellows.</p> +<p>It was the evening of the first day in the Bay of Bengal that a steamer +passed the <i>Croonah</i>, running south, and flying a string of signals. +The <i>Croonah</i> replied, and the homeward-bound vessel disappeared +in the gathering twilight with her code flags still flying.</p> +<p>“What did she say?” asked the passengers.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” replied the officers; “only the weather. +It is the change of the monsoon.”</p> +<p>At dinner the captain was remarkably grave; he left the table early, +having eaten little. The officers were reticent, as was their +wont. Luke FitzHenry, it was remarked and remembered afterwards, +alone appeared to be in good spirits.</p> +<p>After dinner a busybody in the shape of a too intelligent young coffee-planter, +who possessed an aneroid barometer, brought that instrument to the smoking-room +with a scared face. The needle was deflected to a part of the +dial which the intelligent young planter had hitherto considered to +be merely ornamental and not intended for practical use. His elders +and betters told him to put it away and not to tell the ladies. +Then they continued smoking; but they knew that they had just seen such +a barometer as few men care to look upon.</p> +<p>The word “cyclone” was whispered in one corner of the +cabin, and a white-moustached general was understood to mutter -</p> +<p>“Damned young fool!” as he pulled at his cheroot.</p> +<p>The whisperer did not hear the remark, and went on to give further +information on atmospheric disturbances. Suddenly the field-officer +jumped to his feet.</p> +<p>“Look here, sir!” he cried. “If we are in +for a cyclone, I trust that we know how to behave as men - and die as +men, if need be! But don’t let us have any whispering in +corners, like a lot of schoolgirls. We are in the care of good +men, and all we have to do is to obey orders, and - damn it, sir! - +to remember we’re Englishmen!”</p> +<p>The general walked out of the smoking-saloon, and the first sight +that greeted his eyes was Luke FitzHenry, quick, keen, and supernaturally +calm, standing over a group of Malay sailors who were hard at work getting +in awnings. The white-haired soldier stood and watched with the +grim silence which he had showed to death before now. He was of +the Indian army. He had led the black man to victory and death, +and he knew to a nerve the sensitive Asiatic organisation. He +saw that it was good and not for the first time he noted the sheep-like +dependence with which the black men grouped themselves round their white +leader, watching his face, taking their cue in expression, in attitude, +even in their feelings from him.</p> +<p>“Good man,” muttered the general to himself.</p> +<p>He stood there alone while the ship was stripped of every awning, +while the decks were cleared of all that hamper which makes the passenger +an encumbrance at sea. There was no shouting, no confusion, no +sign of fear. In a marvellously short time the broad decks were +lying bare and clear, all loose things were stowed away or made fast, +and the <i>Croonah</i> stood ready for her great fight.</p> +<p>All the while an arc of black cloud had been growing on the horizon. +There was not a breath of wind. From the engine-rooms the thud +of the piston-rods came throbbing up with a singular distinctness. +The arc of cloud had risen halfway to the meridian. There were +streaks in it - streaks of yellow on black. Far away to the north, +at the point of contact with the horizon, a single waterspout rose like +a black pillar from sea to cloud. Dwellers in the cool and temperate +zones would have thought that the end of the world was about to come. +Men, standing quite still, felt the drops of perspiration trickling +beneath their ears. The air taken into the lungs seemed powerless +to expand them. The desire to take a deeper breath was constant +and oppressive.</p> +<p>A quartermaster brought a message to the general that he must go +below or else come up to the lower bridge. He could not stay where +he was. The captain said that the cyclone might break at any moment. +The old soldier nodded, and made his way to the lower bridge. +Before he had been there long he was joined by Carr, who carried a mackintosh +over his arm. The two men nodded. The general rather liked +Carr. He was a Harrovian, and the general’s son was at Harrow.</p> +<p>“Going to see it out on deck?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Rather. I’m not going to be drowned like a rat +in a trap!” replied Carr, jovial still, and brave.</p> +<p>Luke came to the bridge and took up his position by the side of the +captain. No one spoke.</p> +<p>From the distant horizon - from the north where the waterspout still +was - a long groan floated over the water. There was a green line +on the black surface of the ocean, dark green flecked with white; it +was spreading over the sea, and coming towards them. Luke turned +and said one word to the quartermaster. The man went to the wheelhouse +and brought out three long black oilskin coats - two for the captain +and Luke, the other for himself.</p> +<p>The groan, like that of an animal in pain, was repeated. It +seemed farther off. Then a sound like the escape of steam from +an engine came apparently from the sky.</p> +<p>Luke said something to the captain, and pointed with his right hand. +They consulted together in a whisper, and the captain made a signal +to the two steersmen motionless in the wheelhouse. The well-greased +chains ran smoothly, and the great black prow of the <i>Croonah</i> +crept slowly round the horizon pointing out to sea, away from the land. +Ceylon lay astern of them in the darkness which was almost like night.</p> +<p>The captain and Luke stood side by side on the little bridge, far +above the deck. They had exchanged their gold-braided caps for +sou’westers. The outline of their black forms was just distinguishable +against the sky. They were looking straight ahead into the yellow +streaks, out over the flecked sea. And not a breath of wind stirred +the leaden atmosphere.</p> +<p>Looking down on the broad decks, it would seem at first that they +were deserted, but as the eye became accustomed to the gloom, men standing +like shadows could be perceived here and there - at their posts - waiting.</p> +<p>All the skylights had been doubly tarpaulined. Some of them +had been strengthened with battens lashed transversely over the canvas. +All that mortal brain could devise mortal hand had done. The rest +was with God.</p> +<p>The decks were quite dark, for the skylights were covered, even those +of the engine-room, and the men at work down there in the stifling heat +knew not what the next moment might bring. They had nothing to +guide them as to the moment when the hurricane would strike the ship. +For the last five minutes they had been holding on to their life-rails +with both hands, expecting to be thrown among the machinery at every +second.</p> +<p>Still there was no breath of wind. The darkness was less intense. +A yellow glow seemed to be behind the cloud.</p> +<p>Then a strange feeling of being drawn upward came to all, and strong +men gasped for breath. It was only for a moment. But the +sensation was that the air was being sucked up to the sky, leaving a +vacuum on the face of the waters.</p> +<p>Suddenly the captain’s voice startled the night, rising trumpet-like +above the hiss of the steam.</p> +<p>“Stand <i>by</i>!” he cried.</p> +<p>Luke looked down to the lower bridge.</p> +<p>“You had better hold on to something,” he called, and +as he spoke the hurricane struck the <i>Croonah</i>. It can only +be described as a pushing smack. She rolled slowly over before +it, and it seemed that she would never stop.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII. A GREAT FIGHT.</h3> +<p> <i>Who knows? The man is proven +by the hour.</i></p> +<p>The sea seemed to rise up and fall on the disabled ship with a wild +fury. There was a strange suggestion of passion in every wave +as it crashed over the bulwarks. In the roar of the hurricane +there was a faint sound of crackling wood. The deck was at an +angle of thirty. The port boats on their davits were invisible; +they were under water. If the <i>Croonah</i> righted quickly those +boats would break up like old baskets.</p> +<p>The two men on the lower bridge stood on the uprights of the rail, +leaning against the deck as against a wall. The crackling sound +like breaking matchwood seemed to come from above. Carr looked +up and saw the captain and Luke at the wheel. The wheelhouse had +collapsed like a card house; it had simply been blown away, and one +of the helmsmen with it. The other was lying huddled up at the +lower end of the narrow bridge.</p> +<p>For a moment the darkness lifted and the survivors saw a weird sight. +One of the starboard boats, attached to the davit by only one fall, +was held by the wind like a flag straight out over the deck. Already +two men were clambering to the upper bridge to take the place of the +helmsmen who were dead. Relieved from the wheel, Luke dragged +himself up to the ladder leading from the upper to the lower deck. +A few moments later they saw him cutting with a hatchet at the ropes +holding the boat to the davit. There were four, for it was a heavy +boat, held by a double block. He cut two at a stroke: the others +ran out instantly. The boat disappeared to leeward like a runaway +hat, and fell with a splash into the foaming sea.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> seemed to feel the relief. She rose a little +to windward, but her lee-rail was still under water. Down in the +scuppers, in the tangle of ropes and splintered wood, sundry dark forms, +looking more like bundles of dirty rags than anything else, rolled and +tossed helplessly. These were dead and drowning men. Already +the European sailors were at work, some cutting away useless top-hamper, +others attempting to drag the terror-stricken Malays to a place of comparative +safety. Luke FitzHenry took command of these men, as was his duty, +working like one of them, with infinite daring. He could only +communicate with his captain by signs, speech being impossible. +It was a seaman’s fight. Each man did that which seemed +to him expedient for the safety of the ship. The <i>Croonah</i> +was fully equipped for fine weather - for cleaning brasses and swabbing +decks and bending awnings; but for bad weather - notably for a cyclone +- she was perilously undermanned. Half of the native crew were +paralysed by fear, many were killed, others drowned from a mere incapacity +to hold on.</p> +<p>The other officers of the ship had their hands more than full. +The doctor was below in the saloon surrounded by a babel of shrieking +women and white-faced men; the engineers were on watch at their deadly +posts in the heart of the ship.</p> +<p>Carr turned and clambered down the iron ladder to the upper deck. +He was half a sailor and quite an Englishman. Moreover he came +from Harrow, where they teach a certain bull-dog courage.</p> +<p>Luke, working half blinded by spray and salt water, presently found +a strong man working at his side. Together they cut away the submerged +boats, standing to their waists in water, at infinite peril of their +lives; together they made their way forward to help the chief officer +and his devoted gang, who were cutting away the foremast and the wreckage +of forward boats.</p> +<p>Through the long hours of the night these dauntless men worked unceasingly, +and - incongruous practical details - the stewards brought them food +at stated intervals, while two men served out spirits all the while. +Slowly, inch by inch, they righted the ship, bringing her stubborn prow +gradually into the wind; and all the while the engines throbbed, all +the while the grimy stokers shovelled coal into the furnaces, all the +while the engineers stood and watched their engines.</p> +<p>Dawn broke on a terrific sea and a falling wind. The night +was over and the dread Bay had had her thousand lives and more, for +a cyclone simply wipes out the native craft like writing on a slate. +The <i>Croonah</i> had been right through the corner of the worst cyclone +of a generation. Luke crawled back to the bridge where the captain +stood, as he had stood all night, motionless. Sheer skill and +a great experience had pulled the <i>Croonah</i> through.</p> +<p>When the danger was past those who were on deck saw a man in shirt +and trousers only, his grey hair ruffled, his clothes glued to his limbs +by perspiration, emerge from the bowels of the ship. He came on +deck, passed by those who scarce knew him without his gold braid, and +slowly climbed the ladder to the bridge. There, in the early morning +light, the two men who had saved three hundred lives - the captain and +the chief engineer - silently shook hands.</p> +<p>“I had to keep you down there for the safety of the ship,” +said the captain gruffly.</p> +<p>“All right, old man, I knew that.”</p> +<p>The old engineer turned and looked fore and aft over the wrecked +decks with a curious smile as if he had come back from another world.</p> +<p>While they stood there the saloon doors were opened and a haggard +row of faces peered out. A quarter-master held the passengers +back, for the decks were unsafe. Railings and bulwarks were gone, +boats smashed, awning stanchions twisted and bent. No landsmen +could be trusted to move safely amid such confusion.</p> +<p>And all the while the engines throbbed, and the <i>Croonah</i> held +proudly on her course to the north - battered, torn, and sore stricken, +yet a victor.</p> +<p>After changing their clothes, Luke and Carr breakfasted together +at the after-end of the second officer’s table in the saloon. +With a certain humour the captain allowed of no relaxation in the discipline +of the ship. The breakfast bell was rung at the usual time, the +meal was served with the usual profusion, even the menus were written +as carefully as ever; and some good ladies opined that the captain must +be a godless man, because forsooth he did not cringe beneath the wing +of the passing Angel of Death.</p> +<p>“I am glad I saw that,” said Carr, neat and clean, hearty +and smiling as usual.</p> +<p>Luke looked up from a generous plate. He thought that Carr +was indulging in bravado, but he relinquished this opinion when he saw +the man’s face and his helping of bacon and eggs. Carr seemed +to have enjoyed the cyclone, as he had no doubt enjoyed many a game +of football in his youth, and many a spin across country later. +For this man kept his hunters. He was moved thereto by that form +of self-respect which urges some men to live like gentlemen, to, as +they express it, “do themselves well,” whether their mere +monetary circumstances allow of it or no; and some one usually pays +for these philosophers - that is the annoying part of it.</p> +<p>“By gad! I didn’t think it could blow like that, +though!” Carr went on, with his mouth full.</p> +<p>“I don’t think it can often,” replied Luke. +He could not help liking this man, despite his first prejudice against +him. Besides, they had stood shoulder to shoulder, with death +around them, and such moments draw differing men together. It +is the required touch of Nature, this same death, which frightens us +before it comes and seems so gentle when it is here.</p> +<p>“I always wanted to see a cyclone,” went on Carr conversationally, +“and now I’m satisfied. I have had enough. I +shouldn’t have cared for more. Pass, cyclones!”</p> +<p>“It is not many men who have your laudable thirst for experience,” +said Luke. “It is rather a strenuous form of pleasure.”</p> +<p>“Pleasure!” answered Carr, with one of his sharp glances. +“Pleasure, be d--d! It’s business, sir, business. +I mean to make money out of cyclones.”</p> +<p>“How? Bottle them up and make them turn a windmill?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>Carr turned round to make sure that he could not be overheard.</p> +<p>“No, sir. Your idea is not bad in the main, though hardly +practicable. No. I know a dodge worth two of that! +I told you before that I am in the marine insurance line. Now, +the funny part of the marine insurance line is that the majority of +the men engaged in it do not know their business. Now I propose +to teach these gentlemen their business.”</p> +<p>“Will they thank you for it?” asked Luke.</p> +<p>“They’ll pay me for it, which is better, by a long chalk! +Ha, ha! Butter, please.”</p> +<p>“And what have cyclones got to do with it?”</p> +<p>Again one of the sharp glances which sat so strangely on Carr’s +open countenance.</p> +<p>“I understand there is a science of cyclones,” he said +quietly.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Which means that you chaps knew what was coming forty-eight +hours ago?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Luke.</p> +<p>“That that steamer flying signals yesterday was talking to +you about it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And that when you got into it you knew exactly whereabout +you were in it; where the centre was, and which was the shortest way +out of it, to get clear away from the vortex and beyond the axis line, +so as not to get into it again?”</p> +<p>“Yes. You’re quite a Fitzroy.”</p> +<p>Carr winked cheerily.</p> +<p>“And all this is a certainty?”</p> +<p>“A dead certainty,” replied Luke. “It is +a science.”</p> +<p>Carr laid down his knife and fork.</p> +<p>“Suppose,” he said, “that the next cyclone sends +forty ships to kingdom come, and I’ve got a line of five hundred +or a thousand insured on every one of them. I’ll study these +jolly old cyclones. It will be easy enough to know about when +they’ll be coming. When one is about I’ll have a line +on every ship at sea between Colombo and Penang - do you see? +I’ll get a man on the coast here to watch the weather. When +there’s a cyclone in the Bay of Bengal he will wire me home one +word, ‘Milksop,’ or ‘Spongecake,’ or something +soft and innocent. I’ll do the rest, my boy.”</p> +<p>Luke was only pretending to eat. The desire to make money was +strong upon him - as indeed were all his desires - it was almost a passion; +for money meant Agatha, and Agatha had grown to be the one absorbing +passion of his heart. Agatha had been at the back of the superhuman +fight which he had waged all night against death. Agatha was behind +Carr’s words. The thought of her was tempting him through +the man’s arguments.</p> +<p>“But what will you insure?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Profit,” replied Carr, in a whisper. “It +is done every day - policy proof of interest - the fools!”</p> +<p>“What is policy proof of interest?”</p> +<p>“It means that they admit your insurance to be valid, whether +you have anything on board the ship or not. It is not legal, but +they know it when they sign the policy; and they know that it would +ruin them if they refused to pay an ‘honour policy.’ +I tell you they don’t know their business and they have no combination. +They all distrust each other, and tell lies to each other about their +profits and their losses. If I insure profit I have only to say +that I shall lose money if the ship does not reach her destination and +deliver her cargo safely. The cargo may be mine; I may be buying +it or selling it; no one can tell, and the underwriters don’t +ask. They pocket their premium, and if they have to pay, and think +they have been rooked, they keep it to themselves, because each man +is against his neighbour.”</p> +<p>“But do they know nothing about cyclones?” inquired Luke.</p> +<p>“My good sir, they hardly know the difference between Calcutta +and Bombay. Half of them think that a cyclone and a monsoon are +the same thing, and not one in ten could tell you the difference between +a brig and a barquentine.”</p> +<p>Luke gave a little half-convinced laugh. The man was so open +and honest that his arguments had nothing underhand or crafty in them.</p> +<p>“It sounds very simple,” he said.</p> +<p>“It is; d--d simple! So are the underwriters; but that +is not our business. You see, FitzHenry, in all commerce there +are a certain number of fools for the wise men to outwit. In marine +insurance there are a large number. All insurance is nothing but +a bet, and betting is a matter of intelligence. We bring more +intelligence to bear upon it than the other chap, therefore we win.”</p> +<p>He helped himself to marmalade with a jaunty hand. Luke hardly +noticed the easy transition from “I” to “we.” +He had had no intention of suggesting a partnership in this easy manner +of making money, but the partnership seemed to have formed itself.</p> +<p>“But - ” Carr paused, holding in the air an emphatic +spoon. “But, my boy, we want capital, we want to lay our +hands on fifty thousand pounds.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid I could not lay my hand on fifty thousand pence,” +said Luke.</p> +<p>Carr glanced at him sharply. There was a little pause while +Carr ate marmalade and toast.</p> +<p>“Oh yes, you could,” he said in a low tone. “Between +us we could raise fifty thousand as easy as winking.”</p> +<p>As if to demonstrate the facility of the latter, he looked up and +closed his left eye confidentially.</p> +<p>“You’re a sailor,” he went on to say, “and +a ripping good one at that. You know the perils of the deep, as +the parsons say. It wouldn’t be hard for you to tell when +the <i>Croonah</i> was running into a tight place like yesterday. +All you have to do is to wire home one word to me. My telegraphic +address is ‘Simple, London.’ Say you wire home ‘Milksop.’ +We could fix on ‘Milksop’; it sounds so innocent! +In twenty-four hours I’d have fifty thousand done on the <i>Croonah</i> +in London, Glasgow, Liverpool, New York, Paris, and Germany - spread +about, you know. In four or five days the <i>Croonah</i> goes +to the bottom, and we scoop in, your name never appearing - see?”</p> +<p>There was a little pause.</p> +<p>“See?” repeated Carr, in little more than a whisper. +Luke looked up. He met Carr’s eyes and knew that he was +dealing with a villain. The strange part of it was that he felt +no anger. He could not free his mind from the thought of Agatha. +There was one corner of the steamer which was almost sacred to him - +the little space behind the deckhouse where he had held Agatha in his +arms for one moment of intense happiness - where she told him that she +could not be poor.</p> +<p>Carr rose and threw down his table napkin with a certain grand air +which was his.</p> +<p>“It would be the making of you,” he said. “It +is worth thinking about.”</p> +<p>He threw back his shoulders - a trick common enough with strongly +built men who incline to stoutness - nodded, and left him. He +passed down the length of the saloon, seeking his cigar-case in the +pocket of his coat, exchanging loud and hearty greetings with those +among the passengers whom he knew. He was popular on account of +the open British frankness which he cultivated, and which is supposed +to be the outward sign of an honest heart. He seemed to be thinking +of his great scheme no longer, but he left Luke to brood over it - to +try and chase the word “Milksop” from his brain, where it +seemed to be indelibly engraved.</p> +<p>He left Luke to fight against a great temptation alone and heavily +handicapped, for Luke FitzHenry was held as in a vice by his passionate +love for Agatha. It is not all men who can love. It is only +a few who are capable of a deep passion. This is as rare as genius. +A man of genius is usually a failure in all except his own special line. +The man who can and does love passionately must be a good man indeed +if his love do not make a villain of him.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IX. THE EDITOR’S ROOM.</h3> +<p> <i>The greater man, the greater courtesy</i>.</p> +<p>The Count de Lloseta and John Craik were sitting together in the +editorial room of the <i>Commentator</i>.</p> +<p>It was a quiet room, with double windows and a permanent odour of +tobacco smoke. An empty teacup stood on the table by John Craik’s +elbow.</p> +<p>“Name of God!” Cipriani de Lloseta had ejaculated when +he saw it. “At eleven o’clock in the morning!”</p> +<p>“Must stir the brain up,” was the reply.</p> +<p>“I would not do it with a teaspoon,” De Lloseta had answered, +and then he sat down to correct the proof of Eve’s fourth article +on “Spain and Spanish Life.”</p> +<p>They had been sitting thus together for half an hour in friendly +silence, only broken by an occasional high-class Spanish anathema hurled +at the head of the printer.</p> +<p>“A dog’s trade!” ejaculated De Lloseta at last, +leaning back and throwing down his pen, “a dog’s trade, +my friend!”</p> +<p>“It is mine,” replied Craik, without looking up. +In fiction he was celebrated for a certain smartness of dialogue. +His printed conversations were pretty displays of social sword-play. +It had become a sort of habit with him to thrust and parry quickly; +but the sudden smile on his lined face, the kindly glance from behind +the spectacles, always took away the sting and demonstrated that it +was mere “copy,” to fill up the dull columns of life and +throw in a sparkle here and there.</p> +<p>“Have you finished?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Yes, thank Heaven! I was not intended for a literary +calling. That is number four, and I am not paid - I am not paid; +there lies the sting.”</p> +<p>“Number four, yes; two published and two in hand,” replied +John Craik. His mind was busy elsewhere; it was with the creatures +of his own imagination, living their lives, rejoicing with them, sorrowing +with them.</p> +<p>The Count rose and walked gravely to the hearthrug, holding the proof-sheets +in his hand.</p> +<p>“Number four,” he reiterated. “Will they +go on, my friend?”</p> +<p>John Craik looked up sharply.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“How many more will you accept?”</p> +<p>“Two more at the outside, making six in all. The public +is like a greedy child, it must be stopped before it makes itself sick. +Nausea leaves a lasting distaste for that which preceded it.”</p> +<p>The Count nodded.</p> +<p>“And this worldly wisdom - is it the editor or the man who +speaks?”</p> +<p>“The editor. The editor is a man who lives by saying +‘No.’”</p> +<p>“And you will say ‘No’ to any more from this - +writer’s pen?”</p> +<p>“To any more about Spain I most certainly shall.”</p> +<p>The Count reflected. What little light the London day afforded +fell full upon his long narrow face, upon the pointed Velasquez chin, +the receding iron-grey hair brushed straight back.</p> +<p>“And the fact that the writer is supporting herself and a worn-out +old uncle by her pen will make no difference?”</p> +<p>John Craik hesitated for a moment.</p> +<p>“Not the least,” he then said. “You seem +to know the writer.”</p> +<p>“I do, and I am interested in her.”</p> +<p>“A lady?” John Craik was dotting his <i>i’s</i> +with the contemplativeness of artistic finish.</p> +<p>“Essentially so.”</p> +<p>“And poor?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and proud as - ”</p> +<p>“A Spaniard,” suggested John Craik.</p> +<p>“If you will. It is a vice which has almost become a +virtue in these democratic days.”</p> +<p>John Craik looked up.</p> +<p>“I will do what I can, Lloseta,” he said. “But +she is not a great writer, and will never become one.”</p> +<p>“I know that. Some day she will become a great lady, +or I know nothing of them.”</p> +<p>Craik was still busy touching up his manuscript.</p> +<p>“I have never seen her,” he said. “But the +impression I received from her manuscripts is that she is a girl who +has lived a simple life among a simple people. She has seen a +great deal of nature, out-of-door nature, which is pure, and cannot +be too deeply studied. She has seen very little of human nature, +which is not so pure as it might be. That is her chief charm of +style, a high-minded purity. She does not describe the gutter +and think she is writing of the street. By the way, I am expecting +her here” (he paused, and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece) +“in exactly two minutes.”</p> +<p>The Count rose quickly and took his hat. As he extended his +hand to say “Good-bye” there was a rap at the door. +The discreet youth who told John Craik’s falsehoods for him came +in and handed his master a slip of paper with a name written thereon.</p> +<p>Craik read the inscription, crumpled up the paper, and threw it into +the waste-paper basket.</p> +<p>“In one minute,” he said, and the liar withdrew.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta, with a quiet deliberation which was sometimes +almost dramatic, stooped over the paper basket and recovered the crumpled +slip of paper. He did not unfold it, but held it out, crushed +up in his closed fist.</p> +<p>“Miss Eve Challoner,” he said.</p> +<p>John Craik nodded.</p> +<p>De Lloseta laughed and threw the paper into the fire.</p> +<p>“I must not be seen. Where do you propose to put me?”</p> +<p>“Go upstairs instead of down,” replied John Craik, as +if he had been asked the same question before. “Wait on +the next landing until you hear this door close; you may then escape +in safety.”</p> +<p>“Thanks - good-bye.”</p> +<p>“Good-bye.”</p> +<p>When Eve entered the room, John Craik was writing. He rose +with a bow savouring of a politer age than ours, and held out his hand.</p> +<p>“At last,” he said, “I have prevailed upon you +to come and see me. Will you sit down? The chair is shabby, +but great men and women have sat in it.”</p> +<p>He spoke pleasantly, with his twisted laugh, and when Eve was seated +he sat slowly, carefully down again. He was thinking not so much +of what he was saying as of his hearer. He saw that Eve was undeniably +beautiful - the man saw that. The novelist saw that she was probably +interesting. As he had just stated, great women had sat in the +same chair, and it was John Craik’s impulse to save Eve from that +same greatness. He had, since a brilliant youth at Oxford, been +steeped, as it were, in literature. He had known all the great +men and women, and he held strong views of his own. These were +probably erroneous - many women will think so - but he held to them. +They were based on experience, which is not always the case with views +expressed in print and elsewhere. John Craik held that greatness +is not good for women. That it is not for their own happiness, +he knew. That it is not for the happiness of those around them, +he keenly suspected. Some of Eve’s celebrated predecessors +in that chair had not quite understood John Craik. All thought +that he was not sufficiently impressed - not, that is, so impressed +by them as they were themselves when they reflected upon their own renown.</p> +<p>He looked at Eve quickly, rubbing his hands together.</p> +<p>“May I, as an old man, ask some impertinent questions?” +he inquired, with a cheerfulness which sat strangely on the wan face.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Why do you write?” he said. “Take time; +answer me after reflection.”</p> +<p>Eve reflected while the great editor stared into the fire.</p> +<p>“To make money,” she answered at last.</p> +<p>He looked up, and saw that she was answering in simple good faith.</p> +<p>“That is right.”</p> +<p>He did not tell her that he was sick and tired of the jargon of art +for art’s sake, literature for literature’s sake. +He did not tell that - practical man of the world that he was - he had +no faith in literary art; that he believed the power of writing to be +a gift and nothing else; that the chief art in literature is that which +is unconscious of itself.</p> +<p>“Do you feel within yourself the makings of a great author?”</p> +<p>Eve laughed, a sudden girlish laugh, which made John Craik reduce +his estimate of her age by five years.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered.</p> +<p>He sat up and looked at her with a kind admiration.</p> +<p>“You are refreshing,” he said, “very, especially +to a man who has seen stout and elderly females sit in that same chair +and state their conviction that they were destined to be George Eliots +or Charlotte Brontës, women who had written one improper or irreligious +novel, which had obtained a certain success in the foolish circles.”</p> +<p>“Do you think I have,” asked Eve, “the - the makings +of an income?”</p> +<p>John Craik reflected.</p> +<p>“A small one,” he said bluntly.</p> +<p>“That is all I want.”</p> +<p>Craik raised his eyebrows.</p> +<p>“And renown,” he said, “do you want that?”</p> +<p>“Not in the least, except for its intrinsic value.”</p> +<p>Craik banged his hand down on the arm of his chair and laughed aloud.</p> +<p>“This is splendid!” he cried. “I have never +met such a practical person. Then you would be content to work +for a sufficient income without ever being known to the world?”</p> +<p>“Yes, provided that the work was genuine and not given to me +out of mere charity.”</p> +<p>The editor of the <i>Commentator</i> looked at her gravely. +He had suddenly remembered Cipriani de Lloseta.</p> +<p>“Oh, you are proud!” he said.</p> +<p>Eve laughed with a negative shake of the head.</p> +<p>“Not more than other people,” she answered.</p> +<p>“Not more than other people. Well, we will have it so. +And not ambitious.”</p> +<p>“No, I think not.”</p> +<p>“You may thank God for that,” said John Craik, half to +himself. “An ambitious woman is not a pleasant person.”</p> +<p>There was a little pause, during which John Craik rubbed his chin +reflectively with his bony fingers.</p> +<p>“And now,” he said, “that I know something about +you, I will tell you why I asked you to be good enough to come and see +me. To begin with, I am an old man; you can see that for yourself. +I am a martyr to rheumatism, and I frequently suffer from asthma, otherwise +I should have done myself the pleasure of calling on you. I wanted +to see you, because lady authors are uncertain creatures. A large +majority of them have nothing better to do, and therefore write. +Others do not care for the money, but they do most decidedly for the +renown. The nudge and whisper of society is nectar to them. +Others again are brilliant in flashes and dull in long periods. +Few, very few are content to work with their pen as their poorer sisters +are forced to work with their needles. In that lies the secret +of the more permanent success of men journalists and men authors. +The journalism and the authorship are not the men, but merely the business +of their lives. Now will you be content to work hard and steadily +without any great hope of renown - to work, in fact, anonymously for +a small but certain income?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Eve, without hesitation.</p> +<p>Craik nodded his head gravely and thoughtfully. He was too +deeply experienced to fall into the error of thinking that Eve was different +from other women. He did not for a moment imagine that he had +secured in her a permanent subscriber to the <i>Commentator</i> - possibly +he did not want her as such. He was merely doing a good deed - +no new thing to him, although his right hand hardly knew what his left +was doing. He liked Eve, he admired her, and was interested in +her. Cipriani de Lloseta he was deeply interested in, and he knew, +with the keen instinct of the novelist, that he was being drawn into +one of those romances of real life which exists in the matter-of-fact +nineteenth century atmosphere that we breathe.</p> +<p>So Eve Challoner left John Craik’s office an independent woman +for the time being, and the charity was so deeply hidden that her ever-combative +pride had failed to detect it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER X. THE CURTAIN LOWERS.</h3> +<p> <i>The shadow, cloaked from head to +foot,<br /> Who keeps the keys of all the +creeds</i>.</p> +<p>As she walked back to Grosvenor Gardens, Eve reflected with some +satisfaction that the Ingham-Bakers had left Mrs. Harrington’s +hospitable roof. From this shelter they had gone forth into a +world which is reputed cold, and has nevertheless some shelter still +for such as are prepared to cringe to the overbearing, to flatter the +vain, to worship riches.</p> +<p>Eve wanted time to think over her new position, to reflect with satisfaction +over her new independence, for the Caballero Challoner, if he had bequeathed +little else, had left to her a very active pride. She knew so +little of the world that she never paused to wonder why John Craik should +have made her a proposal which could hardly be beneficial to himself. +She was innocent enough to think that the good things of this world +are given just where and when they are wanted.</p> +<p>Captain Bontnor was the chief object of her thoughts, and she was +already dreaming of restoring him to Malabar Cottage and his bits of +things. So engrossed was she in these reflections, that she noticed +nothing unusual in the face of the butler who opened the door which +had shut upon Luke FitzHenry some years before.</p> +<p>“I’m glad you’re back, miss,” he said gravely.</p> +<p>Something in his tone - cold and correct - caught Eve’s attention.</p> +<p>“Why?” she asked, and a consoling knowledge that the +<i>Terrific</i> was safe in Chatham Dockyard leapt into her mind.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Harrington’s been took rather bad, miss.”</p> +<p>The man’s manner said more than his words. Eve hurried +upstairs to Mrs. Harrington’s bedroom. She tapped at the +door and went in without waiting. There was a strong smell of +ammonia in the air. The blinds were half lowered, and in the dim +light Eve did not see very clearly. Presently, from the depths +of a huge four-poster bed, she descried a pair of keen eyes - the face +of Mrs. Harrington. The face, the eyes, the mind were alive, the +body was stricken; it was almost dead already. Mrs. Harrington +looked down at the shapeless limbs beneath the coverlet with something +like fear in her eyes, something of the expression of a dog that has +been run over. This woman meant to die hard.</p> +<p>Eve knew little of life, but she was no stranger to death. +She recognised our last enemy in the grey face beneath the canopy of +the four-poster.</p> +<p>“Where have you been so long, child?” said Mrs. Harrington +querulously, “leaving me to these fools of servants. I have +been unwell, but I’m better now. They’ve sent for +the doctor. I shall be better presently. I have no pain, +only - only a sort of numbness.”</p> +<p>She looked down at her left hand, which lay outside the coverlet, +and fear was in her eyes. She had defied men too long to be afraid +of God, but she did not want to die; she had too keen an enjoyment for +the good things of this world.</p> +<p>Eve came to the bedside.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s face was drawn together in anger. She +was annoyed that Death should have come for her, and, true to herself, +she insulted him by deliberately ignoring his presence. There +was something defiant in her cold eyes still, something unbeaten, although +she knew that there was no one on her side. The general feeling +was against her. So far as the world was concerned, Death could +have her.</p> +<p>Eve turned away from the bed and faced the doctor, who was coming +into the room with Mrs. Harrington’s maid. No one displayed +the slightest emotion. A selfish life and a happy death are rarely +vouchsafed to the same person. The doctor did not ask Eve to stay, +so she went downstairs and wrote to Fitz, sending the note round to +his rooms in Jermyn Street by a servant. It was the second time +in her life that she had sent for Fitz.</p> +<p>When the doctor came downstairs, Eve went out into the hall. +He pointed with his finger to the room from which she came, and followed +her back there. He was a middle-aged man, educated to the finger-tips +- all science and no heart.</p> +<p>“Are you a relation of Mrs. Harrington’s?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“We are distantly connected,” answered Eve.</p> +<p>The doctor was not giving much attention to her answer. He +had a habit of tapping his teeth with his thumbnail, which made Eve +dislike him at sight.</p> +<p>“Has she any one else?” he asked. “Any one +who - cares?”</p> +<p>He was quite without the intention of being rude but he was absorbed +in his profession, and had a large practice. He wanted to go.</p> +<p>“She has a nephew. I have sent for him.”</p> +<p>The doctor nodded. He glanced at Eve, then he said quietly +-</p> +<p>“She will live about an hour. She wants me to come again +and bring another man. I will do it, although it is useless. +There are some things money cannot buy.”</p> +<p>With a quick mechanical smile he was gone.</p> +<p>Eve went upstairs again to the room where Mrs. Harrington was fighting +her last fight. As she passed up the stairs, she noticed two letters +on the hall table awaiting postage; one was addressed to Mrs. Ingham-Baker, +the other to Luke, at Malta.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington had ordered the blinds to be pulled up, and the daylight +showed her face to be little changed. It had always been grey; +the shadows on it now were grey; the eyes were active and bright. +It was only the body that was dying; Mrs. Harrington’s mind was +bright and keen as ever.</p> +<p>“That doctor is a fool,” she said. “I have +told him to come back and bring Sir James Harlow with him. And +will you please send and tell Fitz that I should like to see him? +You must arrange to stay on a few days until I am better. Captain +Bontnor will have to do without you. My servants are not to be +trusted alone. I shall want you to keep them in order; they require +a tight reign.”</p> +<p>“I have sent for Fitz,” said Eve.</p> +<p>“Why?” snapped Mrs. Harrington. “To come +and make love to you? Leave that to Agatha. She has been +teaching them both to do that for the last three years. Her idea +is to marry the one who gets my money. I’ve known that all +along.”</p> +<p>Eve’s dark eyes hardened suddenly. She could not believe +what the doctor had told her five minutes earlier. Five minutes +- one-twelfth part of Mrs. Harrington’s life ebbed away.</p> +<p>“Pray do not talk like that,” said the girl quietly.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington’s cold grey eyes fell before Eve’s glance +of mingled wonder and contempt; her right hand was feebly plucking at +the counterpane.</p> +<p>Far below, in the basement, a bell rang, and soon after there was +a step on the stairs.</p> +<p>“Who is that?” inquired Mrs. Harrington.</p> +<p>“Fitz.”</p> +<p>The dying woman was looking at the door with an unwonted longing +in her eyes.</p> +<p>“You seem to know his step,” she said, with a jealous +laugh.</p> +<p>Eve said nothing. The door opened, and Fitz came in.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrington was the first to speak.</p> +<p>“I am not well this morning, dear,” she said. “I +sent for you because I have a few things I want you to do for me.”</p> +<p>“Pleasure,” murmured Fitz, glancing at Eve. He +either did not know how ill Mrs Harrington was, or he did not care. +It is probable that these two persons now at the dying woman’s +bed were the only two people who would be in any degree sorry at her +death.</p> +<p>Eve, with a woman’s instinct, busied herself with the pillow +- with the little adjuncts of a sick-room which had already found their +way to the bedside. She looked at Mrs. Harrington’s face, +saw the hard eyes fixed on Fitz, and something in the glance made her +leave the room.</p> +<p>“Just leave me alone,” the dying woman said peevishly +as Eve went away; “I don’t want a lot of people bothering +about.”</p> +<p>But Fitz stayed, and when Eve had closed the door the sudden look +of cunning that came over the faded face did not appear to surprise +him.</p> +<p>“Quick!” whispered Mrs. Harrington, “quick! +I do not believe I am dying, as that doctor said I was, but it is better +to make sure. Open the left-hand drawer in the dressing-table; +you will find my keys.”</p> +<p>Fitz obeyed her, bringing the bunch of keys, rusty and black from +being concealed in a thousand different hiding-places.</p> +<p>“Now,” she said, “open that desk; it was - your +father’s. Bring it here. Be quick! Some one +may come.”</p> +<p>Her shrivelled fingers fumbled hastily among some old papers. +Finally she found an envelope, brown with age, on which was written, +in her own spidery handwriting, “Recipe for apple jelly.”</p> +<p>She thrust the envelope into Fitz’s hands, and he smilingly +read the superscription.</p> +<p>“That’s nothing,” she explained sharply; “that’s +only for the servants. One cannot be too careful. Inside +there is some money. I saved it up. It will help to furnish +your new cabin.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Fitz, looking critically at the envelope. +“But - ”</p> +<p>“You must take it,” she interrupted; “it is the +only money I ever saved.” She broke off with a malicious +laugh. “All these fools thought I was rich,” she went +on. “They have been scheming and plotting to get my money. +There is no money. That is all there is. You and Luke were +the only two who never thought about it. You are both like your +father. Here, shut the desk up again. Put it back on the +table. Now hide the keys - left-hand corner, under the box of +hairpins.”</p> +<p>Fitz obeyed her and came back towards the bed. His large mind +felt a sudden contempt for this petty and mean woman. He did not +understand her, and the contempt he felt for her in some way hurt him. +He was afraid of what she was going to say next.</p> +<p>“But,” she said, “if I get better you must give +me the money back.”</p> +<p>Fitz gave a little laugh. Something prompted him to open the +envelope and look at the contents. There were five notes of ten +pounds each. The rich Mrs. Harrington of Grosvenor Gardens had +saved fifty pounds, and she lay on her death-bed watching Fitz count +this vast hoard with a quiet deliberation. In its way it was a +tragedy - the grimmest of all - for its dominant note was the contemptibility +of human nature.</p> +<p>“I do not want the money. I should not keep it under +any circumstances.”</p> +<p>“What would you do with it?” she asked sharply.</p> +<p>“Give it to a charity.”</p> +<p>“No, no, you must not do that; they are all swindles!”</p> +<p>In her eagerness she tried to sit up, and fell back with a puzzled +look on her face, as if some one had struck her.</p> +<p>“Here,” she gasped, “give it to me! give it to +me!”</p> +<p>She clutched the envelope in her unsteady hands, and suddenly her +jaw dropped.</p> +<p>Fitz ran to the door. On the stairs were the two doctors, followed +closely by Eve. In a moment the doctors were at the bedside.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said one of them - the younger of the two - and +he glanced at his watch. “I gave her an hour.”</p> +<p>The elder man took the dead woman’s hand in his. He released +the envelope from her grasp and read the superscription, “Recipe +for apple jelly.” With a grave smile he handed the envelope +to Eve as Fitz took her out of the room.</p> +<p>They went downstairs together, and both were thinking of D’Erraha. +They went into the library, which was silent and gloomy. Fitz +had not spoken yet, but she seemed to understand his silence, just as +she had understood it once before. She had told him then. +She did not do so now.</p> +<p>Eve was not thinking of the dead woman upstairs. This death +came to her only as a faint reflection of the one great grief which +had cut her life in two - as great griefs do. She was perhaps +wondering how it was that Fitz seemed always to come to her at those +moments when she could not do without him. She was more probably +not thinking at all, but resting as it were in the sense of complete +safety and protection which this man’s presence gave her.</p> +<p>There was a little silence, broken only by the sound of street traffic +faintly heard through the plate-glass windows. Fitz was looking +at her, his blue eyes grave and searching. This was not a man +to miss his opportunity, this youngest commander on the list.</p> +<p>“Eve,” he said, “I used to think at D’Erraha +that you cared for me.”</p> +<p>“I have always cared for you,” she answered, with a queer +little smile, half bold, half shy.</p> +<p>So Love came in at the windows as Death crept up the stairs.</p> +<p>Before long they heard the doctors go away, but they heeded not. +They only forgot each other when Cipriani de Lloseta came into the room. +The Spaniard’s quick eyes read something in Eve’s face. +He looked sharply at Fitz, but he said nothing of what he saw.</p> +<p>“So our dear lady has been taken from us,” he said quietly, +with an upward jerk of the head.</p> +<p>Fitz nodded. Cipriani de Lloseta walked to the window and quietly +drew down the blind.</p> +<p>“So falls the curtain,” he said, “on the little +drama of my humble life.”</p> +<p>He turned and looked from one to the other with that sudden warmth +of love which either of them seemed able to draw from him.</p> +<p>“Some day,” he said, “I will tell you - you two +- the story, but not now.”</p> +<p>He stepped forward and raised Eve’s fingers to his lips. +A quaint, half-Spanish grace marked the picture of Southern chivalry.</p> +<p>“My child,” said Lloseta, “may Heaven always bless +you!” And he left them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XI. “MILKSOP”.</h3> +<p> <i>What have we made each other?</i></p> +<p>The cathedral bells were calling good Papists to their morning devotion +as the <i>Croonah</i> moved into Valetta harbour. No sooner did +her black prow appear between the pier heads than a score of boats left +the steps, their rowers gesticulating, quarrelling, laughing among themselves +with Maltese vivacity.</p> +<p>One boat, flying the <i>Croonah’s</i> houseflag, made its way +more leisurely through the still, clear water. This boat was bringing +mails to the <i>Croonah</i>, and in the letter-bag Mrs. Harrington’s +last missive to Luke had found its place. This letter had been +posted by the well-trained footman while Eve and Fitz stood at Mrs. +Harrington’s bedside. Before it was stamped at the district +office the hand that wrote it was still. And it contained mischief. +Even after her death Mrs. Harrington brought trouble to the man whose +life she had spoilt by her caprice. The letter ran -</p> +<p>“DEAR LUKE, - Just a line to tell you that you may bring your +portmanteau straight up to Grosvenor Gardens when your ship arrives +in London. I read of your fortunate escape from the cyclone, and +congratulate you. I dare say I shall be having a few friends to +stay when you are with me, so you need not fear dulness. Yours +affectionately,<br /> “MARIAN +HARRINGTON.</p> +<p>“P.S. - I always suspect you of having, consciously or unconsciously, +possessed yourself of the affections of a young lady who shall be nameless. +A word to the wise: make good use of your opportunities, for there are +other aspirants in the field - a certain brilliant young naval officer +not unknown to you. Moreover his chance appears to be a good one. +You must waste no more time.”</p> +<p>It happened that Luke FitzHenry was in a dangerous mood when he read +this letter. He had been up half the night. The captain +had been cross-grained and unreasonable. Even the mildest of us +has his moments of clear-sightedness when he sees the world and the +hollowness thereof. Luke saw this and more when he had read Mrs. +Harrington’s evil communication. He seemed to have reached +the end of things, when his present life became no longer tolerable. +It must be remembered that this man was passionate and very resolute. +Moreover he had been handicapped from the beginning of his life by a +tendency to go wrong. He was not a good subject for ill-fortune.</p> +<p>It was his duty to go ashore with papers to be delivered at the agent’s +office. He delivered his papers and then he went to the cable +office. He telegraphed the single word “Milksop” to +Willie Carr in London. When he got back to the <i>Croonah</i>, +worn out, dirty, and morose, the passengers were not yet astir. +He had an unsatisfactory breakfast, and went to his cabin for a few +hours’ necessary sleep. He had given way to a great temptation, +not as the weak give way, on the spur of the moment, with hesitation, +but as a strong man - strong, even in his weaknesses.</p> +<p>He did it after mature deliberation - did it thoroughly and carefully, +without the least intention of regretting it afterwards. He was +desperate and driven. He could not think of life without Agatha, +and he did not see why he should be called upon to do so. Ill +fortune had dogged him from his childhood. He had borne it all, +morosely but without a murmur. He was going to turn at last. +The <i>Croonah</i> must go. She was well insured, he knew that. +That the cargo was fully covered against loss he could safely suppose. +As to the passengers and the crew, none of them should suffer; he thought +he was a clever enough sailor for that.</p> +<p>So he laid him down in his little cabin to sleep, while the sun rose +over the blue Mediterranean, while some passengers went ashore and others +came on board, while the single word “Milksop” was spelt +over a continent; and he was still sleeping when the anchor was jerked +up from its muddy bed, and the watchers on pier and harbour looked their +last on the grand old <i>Croonah</i>.</p> +<p>A breeze was blowing out in the open, one of those bright westerly +breezes that bring a breath of the Atlantic into the Mediterranean, +and often make the short passage from Malta to Gibraltar the worst part +of the voyage from India to the Channel.</p> +<p>None of the passengers took any interest in the morose second officer, +and few of them remarked his absence from table during the two days’ +passage. The <i>Croonah</i> arrived at Gibraltar after dark, took +her mails and passengers on board, and proceeded down the Straits about +eight o’clock in the evening. It was late autumn, and the +breeze from the cool Atlantic still hurried in over the parched lands +of Africa and Southern Europe.</p> +<p>Tarifa light was sighted and left twinkling behind. Trafalgar +stared out of the darkness ahead, and in its turn was left behind. +A few of the passengers had recovered their Mediterranean ill-usage +sufficiently to dine in the Straits, but the Atlantic swell soon sent +them below. The decks were deserted, for many of these people +were returning to England after long years in India, and the first chill +northern breeze they met made them shiver while it delighted them.</p> +<p>Luke FitzHenry was on the bridge from eight o’clock till midnight, +motionless at his post - a mere navigating machine, respected and feared +by all who worked with him, understood of none.</p> +<p>When midnight came he exchanged a few words with the first officer, +and together they superintended the shaking out of the foresails before +the watch went below. The wind was on the quarter, strong and +steady. Almost immediately the good steamer felt the canvas, leaning +gently over to leeward, adding another mile to her great speed. +The sea was black, and the air seemed to be full of the sounds of waves +breaking and hissing. Ahead the mast-head and the side-lights +shone down on the face of the waters and lighted up an occasional white-capped +wave. In the air, brisk and masterful, there was a sense of purpose +and tension which sailors understand, while mere printed words cannot +convey it to landsmen. It was a very dark night.</p> +<p>“St. Vincent,” said Luke tersely, as he turned to leave +the bridge. The first officer, a man grown old at his post, followed +the direction of his junior’s gaze, but some seconds elapsed before +he distinguished the light twinkling feebly low down on the horizon.</p> +<p>Luke went to his cabin and lay down on his berth all dressed. +He was due on the bridge again at four o’clock. The <i>Croonah</i> +sailed by time-table, subjecting the winds and seas, as the great steamships +do nowadays. Luke FitzHenry had calculated this to a minute before +he telegraphed the single word “Milksop” to Willie Carr +in London.</p> +<p>He was on the bridge a few minutes before eight bells rang, and found +the captain. He knew his chief’s customs. He knew +that this wise old sailor was in the habit of accumulating as much sleep +in his brain as possible before passing Ushant light, because he lived +on the bridge when the <i>Croonah</i> had once turned eastward up the +Channel. Whenever the captain took a night’s rest, he broke +it at four o’clock, at the change of the watch. He stood +muffled in a big coat over his pyjamas, and exchanged a few words with +his subordinates. After the first officer had gone below, Luke +went to his post at the starboard end of the bridge, while the captain +walked slowly backwards and forwards. They remained thus for half +an hour. The ship was all quiet. The breeze had fallen a +little. There was as yet no sign of daybreak towards the east. +A steamer passed, showing a red light and a white mast-head light.</p> +<p>Presently the captain paused in his walk near to Luke.</p> +<p>“Call me,” he said, “when you raise the Burling +light.”</p> +<p>Luke answered with a monosyllable, and the elder sailor went towards +the ladder.</p> +<p>No one had heard the order given. Luke followed him to the +ladder, and watched him go down into the darkness. They had sailed +together six years in fair weather and foul; they had fought and conquered +a cyclone in the Bay together from that bridge; but Agatha Ingham-Baker +was stronger than these things. Woman is the strongest thing in +a man’s life.</p> +<p>There was still no sign of daylight, no faintest gleam in the eastern +sky, when the Burling light was sighted right ahead. The look-out +on the forecastle did not “sing out” the lights on board +the <i>Croonah</i>, but sent a companion aft to the bridge with the +report. This was done for the comfort of the passengers.</p> +<p>Luke altered the course half a point. From the wheel-house +the men could not see the light, which was hidden by the fore-mast. +Luke went aft and looked at the patent log. His calculations were +all correct. He glanced at his watch - he had to go to the wheel-house +to do this, and the binnacle-lights showed his face to be still and +pale. He moved and had the air of a man upon whose shoulders an +immense responsibility was weighing. He was going to wreck the +<i>Croonah</i>, but he had two hundred and ninety lives to save. +He carefully studied the eastern sky. He did not want daylight +yet.</p> +<p>The Burling light is not a very big one - not so big, some mariners +think, as it should be. It is visible twenty-five miles away; +but Luke’s knowledge told him that in thick and misty weather, +such as hovers over this coast in a westerly wind, the glare of the +revolving lamp could not be distinguished at a greater distance than +ten or twelve miles.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> raced on, a ship full of sleeping human beings. +There came a faint blue tinge into the eastern sky, a gleam over the +eastern sea.</p> +<p>The Burling light - an eye looking round into the darkness, seeming +to open and shut sleepily - grew brighter and brighter. It was +right ahead! it rose as they approached it until it stood right above +the bowsprit.</p> +<p>Then Luke FitzHenry changed the course. The <i>Croonah</i> +turned her blunt prow half a point out into the Atlantic, and she raced +on; she passed by Burling Island, leaving the slowly winking eye on +her starboard quarter. Ahead lay the complete darkness of the +north-west horizon.</p> +<p>Luke stood at his post, his eyes hidden by his binoculars. +He was studying the horizon in front of him - in front of the <i>Croonah</i>. +There was a little lump on the horizon, like the top of a mountain sticking +out of the sea; this he knew to be the rock called the Great Farilhao. +Again he altered the course, still seeking the Atlantic, another quarter +point to the west. He was going to pass the Great Farilhao as +he had passed the Burling, within a stone’s throw. This +he actually did, the rugged outline of the barren rock standing out +sharply against the eastern sky. There was now nothing ahead; +the horizon lay before him, clear, unbroken.</p> +<p>Luke moved a few paces. He went and stood by the engine-room +telegraph. The engines throbbed merrily, but the steamer was still +asleep. There was no sound but the thud of the piston-rods and +the whispering swirl of the water lashed by the huge screw.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> raced on, her sails set, her engines working at +full speed. Suddenly Luke FitzHenry grasped the handle of the +engine-room signal. He wrenched it to one side - “Stand +by.” Instantly the gong answered, “Stand by.” +“Half speed ahead.”</p> +<p>And half speed ahead it was. Luke FitzHenry was clever even +in his crime; he had three hundred lives to save. He stood motionless +as a statue, gazing at the smooth unbroken water in front of him; he +grasped the rail and set his teeth; he stood well back with his feet +firmly planted. And there was a grinding crash. The <i>Croonah</i> +seemed to climb up into the air, then she stopped dead, and below - +inside her - there was a long, rumbling crash, as if all that was inside +her had been cast forward in confusion. She had run on to the +sunken rocks that lie north-west of the Farilhoes.</p> +<p>A great silence followed and immediately the pattering of bare feet. +A confused murmuring of voices rose from the saloon gangway - a buzzing +sound, like that of a hive disturbed. A single voice rose in a +shriek of mortal terror, and immediately there followed a chorus of +confused shouts.</p> +<p>Luke already had his lips at the speaking-tube. He was telling +the engineer on watch to steam ahead; he knew the danger of the <i>Croonah</i> +slipping back into deep water and sinking.</p> +<p>In a marvellously short time the decks were thronged with people, +some standing white-faced and calm in the dim light of early morning; +others, mad with terror, rushing from side to side.</p> +<p>The strange part of it was that Luke remained alone on the bridge. +The captain and the other officers were busy with the passengers. +The second officer remained motionless at his post; he commanded the +steersman by a wave of the arm to stay at the wheel, although he knew +that the <i>Croonah</i> would never answer her helm again; her travelling +days were done.</p> +<p>In the dim light now increasing momentarily, Luke FitzHenry looked +down upon the wildly confused decks and saw discipline slowly assert +itself. He saw the captain commanding by sheer force of individual +power; he saw the quartermasters form in line across the deck and drive +the passengers farther aft, leaving room to get out the boats.</p> +<p>In a few moments - in a marvellously short space of time - the work +of saving life began. A boat was lowered, the crew slipped into +their places, and a certain number of lady passengers were hastily handed +down the gangway. The first boat eased away. The oars were +thrown out. It was off, and some of the passengers cheered. +One can never tell what men, especially Englishmen, may do when they +actually see death face to face. The boat was headed to the south-east, +towards the Carreiro do Mosteiro, on Burling Island, the only possible +landing-place.</p> +<p>Luke felt a touch on his arm and turned sharply. It was a quartermaster, +breathless but cool.</p> +<p>“Captain wants you, sir. I’ll take the bridge.”</p> +<p>Luke turned to obey orders.</p> +<p>“Keep her steaming full speed ahead,” he said, jerking +his head towards the engine-room telegraph.</p> +<p>“Ay, sir,” the man replied.</p> +<p>“Until the water gets to the furnaces,” he added to himself, +“and then we’re dead men.”</p> +<p>Luke ran lightly down the iron ladder to the lower bridge, which +was deserted. From thence he made his way aft to the quarter-deck. +As he passed the saloon staircase he ran against two women; one was +dragging the other, or attempting to do so, towards the group of passengers +huddled together amidships.</p> +<p>“You go,” the younger woman was saying, “if you +want to. I will wait.”</p> +<p>Luke stopped. The elder woman was apparently wild with terror. +She had not even stopped to put on a dressing-gown. Her thin grey +hair fluttered in the breeze. She was stout and an object of ridicule +even with death clutching at her.</p> +<p>“Go on, mother,” said the younger woman, with contempt +in her voice.</p> +<p>“Agatha!” cried Luke. “You here?”</p> +<p>“Yes; we came on board at Malta.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XII. THE END OF THE “CROONAH”.</h3> +<p> <i>Our life is given us as a blank;<br /> Ourselves +must make it blest or curst.</i></p> +<p>A man came running along and clutched at Luke’s arm.</p> +<p>“Captain wants you, sir, immediate!” he cried.</p> +<p>“All right,” answered Luke. “Here, take this +lady and put her into a boat.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Ingham-Baker was clinging to him.</p> +<p>“Luke,” she said firmly, “you must provide us with +a lifeboat - a safe one. I will not stand this neglect.”</p> +<p>“Here!” cried Luke to the man. “Take her +away.”</p> +<p>“You come along o’ me, marm,” said the man, with +a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll pervide ye with a lifeboat, +bless yer heart!”</p> +<p>And in the dim light of the saloon stairhead lamp, Luke and Agatha +were left facing each other.</p> +<p>“Why did you not let me know you were coming?” he asked +sharply. He looked round with haggard eyes; they were quite alone.</p> +<p>“I had no time. We just caught the boat by an hour.”</p> +<p>She was singularly quiet. Both of them seemed to forget that +every moment lost increased the danger of their position.</p> +<p>“Why did you come?” he asked.</p> +<p>She looked at him, and there was that in her eyes that makes men +mad.</p> +<p>“Because I could not stay away from you.”</p> +<p>His breath came sharply with a catch.</p> +<p>For a few moments they forgot such things as life and death. +They did more, they defied death; for surely such love as this is stronger +than the mere end of life. Again it was the possibility of something +good and something strong that lurked hidden behind the worldliness +of Agatha Ingham-Baker, and Luke FitzHenry, of all men, alone had the +power of bringing that possibility to the surface.</p> +<p>All around them the wind moaned and shrieked through the rigging; +the waves, beating against the sheer side of the doomed <i>Croonah</i>, +filled the air with a sound of great foreboding - the deep voice of +an elemental power that knows no mercy. Within twenty feet of +them men and women were struggling like dumb and driven animals for +bare life - struggling, shouting, quarrelling over a paltry precedence +of a minute or so in going to the boats; within a hundred yards of them, +out over the dark waters, Agatha’s mother, thrown from an overturned +boat, was struggling her last struggle, with her silly old face turned +indignantly up to heaven. But they saw none of these things.</p> +<p>All the good men were wanted for the boats, and the captain, with +two officers only and a few stewards, defended the gangway against the +rush of the panic-stricken native crew.</p> +<p>“FitzHenry! FitzHenry!” the old captain shouted. +“For God’s sake, come here!” For Luke alone +was dreaded by the lascars.</p> +<p>But Luke and Agatha heeded nothing. These people, these lives, +were nothing to them, for a passionate love is the acme of selfishness.</p> +<p>They heard the sounds, however; they heard the captain calling for +the man who had never failed him.</p> +<p>“I wrecked her for you,” said Luke, in Agatha’s +hungry ears. “I did it all for you.”</p> +<p>And at last the woman’s vanity was satisfied; it was thrown +a sop that would suffice for its eternal greed. Luke had done +this thing for her. She was quick enough to guess how and why, +for she knew Willie Carr. She knew that good ships are thrown +away for money’s sake. The <i>Croonah</i> had been thrown +away for her sake - the <i>Croonah</i>, the patient, obedient servant +to Luke’s slightest word, almost an animal in its mechanical intelligence, +filling that place in the sailor’s heart that some men reserve +for their horses and others for their wives. Women have been jealous +of a ship before now. Eve was jealous of the <i>Terrific</i>; +Agatha had always been jealous of the <i>Croonah</i>. And now +the ship had been thrown away for her, and with his ship Luke had cast +away his unrivalled reputation as a seaman, his honour as a gentleman, +his conscience. He was a criminal, a thief, a murderer for Agatha’s +sake. She, true to her school, to her generation, to her training, +was proud of it; for she was one of those unhappy women who will not +have their lovers love honour more.</p> +<p>There was a sudden roar far down in the bowels of the vessel, and +immediately volumes of steam issued from every skylight. The inrushing +sea had broken down the bulk-heads, the water had reached the engine-rooms. +In an instant Luke was alive to the danger - the good sailor that was +within the man all awake. His trained ears and the tread of his +feet on the deck told him that the screw was still.</p> +<p>“Come,” he cried to Agatha, “you must get away +in the next boat.”</p> +<p>But Agatha resisted his arm. That which had hitherto been mere +pertness in her manner and carriage had suddenly grown into a strong +determination. The woman was cool and fearless.</p> +<p>“Not without you,” she answered. “I will +not leave the ship until you do.”</p> +<p>“I must stay till the last,” he said.</p> +<p>She looked at him with a little smile, for women love courage, though +it sometimes frightens them. She never dreamt of danger to either +of them. Her trust in Luke was all-sufficient, without reserve, +without hesitation.</p> +<p>“Then I will stay too.”</p> +<p>For a moment his iron nerve - a nerve which had deliberately planned +all this destruction - wavered.</p> +<p>“Why did you not let me know you were coming?” he asked +desperately.</p> +<p>“I had no time,” she answered, with a singular shortness, +for she could not tell him that a letter from Mrs. Harrington to her +mother - the companion to that received by Luke at Valetta - had brought +about this sudden decision. She could not tell him that, egged +on by a transparent hint from Mrs. Harrington that Luke was to be her +heir, she and her mother had taken the first boat to Malta; that she +had deliberately planned to marry him for the money that was to be his. +Such a confession was impossible at that time; with his arms still round +her, the mere thought of it nauseated her. For a moment, she saw +herself as others had seen her - a punishment which for some women is +quite sufficient.</p> +<p>At this moment a man came running along the deck - the same quartermaster +who had taken charge of Mrs. Ingham-Baker. He was a man of no +nerves whatever, and of considerable humour.</p> +<p>“Any more ladies?” he was shouting as he ran. “Any +more for the shore?”</p> +<p>He laughed at his own conceit as he ran - the same fearless laugh +with which he sent Mrs. Ingham-Baker down the gangway to her death. +He paused, saw Luke and Agatha standing together beneath the lamp.</p> +<p>“Captain’s callin’ you like hell!” he cried. +“Engine-room’s full. The old ship’s got it this +time, sir.”</p> +<p>“All right, I know,” answered Luke curtly; and the man +ran on, shouting as he went.</p> +<p>At this moment the <i>Croonah</i> gave a shiver, and Luke looked +round hastily. He ran to the rail and looked over with a quick +sailor’s glance fore and aft. He turned towards Agatha again, +but before he could reach her the steamer gave a lurch over to starboard. +The deck seemed to rise between them. For a moment Agatha stood +above him, then she half ran, half fell, down the short steep incline +into his arms. Luke was ready for her, with one foot against the +rail - for the deck was at an angle of thirty and more; no one could +stand on it. He caught her deftly, and the breeze whirling round +the deck-house blew her long hair across his face.</p> +<p>She never changed colour. There was the nucleus of a good and +strong woman somewhere in Agatha Ingham-Baker. She clung to her +lover’s arms and watched his face with a faith that nothing could +shake. Thus they stood during three eternal seconds while the +<i>Croonah</i> seemed to hesitate, poised on the brink. Then the +great steamer slowly slid backwards, turning a little as she did so.</p> +<p>There was a sickening sound of gurgling water. The <i>Croonah</i> +was afloat, but only for a few seconds. There was no time to lower +another boat, and all on board knew it. There were not many remaining, +for the passengers had all left the ship - the stokers, the engineers. +Amidships the captain stood, surrounded by his officers and a few European +sailors - faithful to the end. They had only one boat left, and +that was forward, half under water - out of the question. So they +stood and waited for the ship to sink beneath them.</p> +<p>In the distance, on the rough sea, now grey in the light of a sullen +dawn, two boats were approaching, having landed their human freight +on Burling Island.</p> +<p>“Now, my lads,” cried the captain, “if any of you +are feeling like going overboard, over you go.”</p> +<p>One man slowly took off his coat. He stooped down and unlaced +his boots, while the others watched him. It seemed to take him +hours. The bows of the great steamer were almost buried in the +broken seas; her stern was raised high in the air, showing the screw +and the rudder.</p> +<p>The man who preferred to swim for it looked round with a strange +smile into the quiet, rough faces of his undismayed companions. +It seemed to be merely a choice of deaths.</p> +<p>“Well, mates,” he said, “so long!”</p> +<p>He dived overboard and swam slowly away.</p> +<p>Luke watched him speculatively. He knew that had he been alone +he could have saved himself quite easily. With Agatha his chances +were less certain. Agatha it was who had spoilt his careful calculation. +Without conceit - for he was a stubbornly self-depreciating man - he +knew that his absence from his captain’s side had just made the +difference - the little difference between life and death - to twenty +or thirty people. Had he been beside the captain and the other +officers the native crew would have worked quietly and intrepidly; there +would have been time for all hands to leave the <i>Croonah</i> before +she slipped back into deep water.</p> +<p>The great steamer rolled slowly from side to side, like a helpless +dumb animal in death agony, but she never righted herself, her decks +were never level. At length she gave a roll to leeward and failed +to recover herself. From some air-shaft there came a ceaseless +whistle, deep and sonorous, like the emission of air from the bunghole +of a beer-barrel. The engines were quite still, even the steam +had ceased to rise.</p> +<p>Luke stood holding Agatha with one arm. He was watching the +two boats making their way through the choppy sea towards them, and +Agatha was watching his face.</p> +<p>The <i>Croonah</i> was now lying right over on her beam ends. +Luke was standing on the wire network of the rail. Suddenly he +threw himself backwards, and as they fell through space Agatha heard +the captain’s voice quite distinctly, as from the silence of another +world.</p> +<p>“She’s going!” he cried.</p> +<p>They struck the water together, Luke undermost, as he had intended. +Agatha shut her eyes and clung to him. They seemed to go down +and down. Then suddenly she heard Luke’s voice.</p> +<p>“Take a breath,” he gasped short and sharp. His +voice was singularly stern.</p> +<p>With his disengaged hand he put her hair from her face. She +opened her eyes and saw him smiling at her; she saw a huge piece of +wreckage poised on the edge of a wave over his head; she saw it fall; +she felt the shock of it.</p> +<p>Luke’s arm lost its hold; he rolled over feebly in the water, +the blood running down his face, a sudden sense of sleep in his brain. +He awoke again to find himself swimming mechanically, and opened his +eyes. Close to him something white was floating half under water. +Spread out over the surface of the wave Agatha’s long hair rose +and fell like seaweed, almost within his grasp. It was like a +horrible nightmare. He tried to reach it, but his arms were powerless; +he could not make an inch of progress; he could only keep himself afloat. +Agatha’s face was under water. On the rise of a wave he +saw her little bare foot; it was quite still. He knew that she +was dead, and the blessed sleepiness took him again, dragging him down.</p> +<p> . + . . + . .</p> +<p>So the last of the <i>Croonah</i> was her good name written large +on a yellow telegram form, nailed to the panel of the room technically +known as the Chamber of Horrors at Lloyd’s.</p> +<p>Around this telegram a group of grave-faced men stood in silence, +or with muttered words of surprise.</p> +<p>“The <i>Croonah</i>!” they said, “the <i>Croonah</i>!” +as if a pillar of their faith had fallen. For once no one had +a theory: no carpet mariner could explain this thing.</p> +<p>Against the jamb of the window, behind them all, Willie Carr stood +leaning.</p> +<p>“Done anything on her?” some one asked him.</p> +<p>“Yes, bad luck,” he answered. “Had friends +on her, too.”</p> +<p>It was a long and expansive telegram, giving the list of the lost, +twenty-nine in all, and among the names were mentioned Mrs. Ingham-Baker +and her daughter.</p> +<p>“Ship in charge of second officer,” said the telegram. +And lower down, at the foot of the fatal list: “Second officer +picked up unconscious. Doing well.”</p> +<p>Suddenly Willie Carr moved, and, turning his back somewhat hastily, +looked out of the window.</p> +<p>Fitz had just come into the dreary, fateful little room, conducted +thither by the Admiralty agent. He read the telegram carefully +from beginning to end.</p> +<p>“Luke on the Burlings!” he muttered, as he turned to +go. “Luke! I can’t understand it. He must +have been mad!”</p> +<p>And after all Fitz only spoke the truth; but it was a madness to +which we are all subject.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII. AT D’ERRAHA AGAIN.</h3> +<p> <i>There +is no statute so sublime<br /> As Love’s +in all the world; and e’en to kiss<br /> The +pedestal is still a better bliss<br /> Than +all ambitions.</i></p> +<p>Three years later Eve was sitting on the terrace of the Casa d’Erraha. +It was late autumn, and we who live in Northern latitudes do not quite +realise what the autumn of Southern Europe is. Artists and others +interested in the beauties of nature love a dry summer for the autumn +that is sure to follow it. In Spain and in the islands of the +Mediterranean every summer is dry, and every autumn is beautiful.</p> +<p>The Casa d’Erraha has not changed in any way - nothing changes +in the Balearics. The same soft Southern odours creep up from +the valley to battle with the strong resinous scent of the pines that +crown the mountains.</p> +<p>Eve had been a year in D’Erraha - the whole of her married +life. The Count de Lloseta placed the house at their disposal +for the honeymoon. Fitz and she came to stay a month; they had +remained twelve. It is often so in Majorca. A number of +Spaniards came six hundred years ago - nine families; the nine names +are there to-day.</p> +<p>Fitz had taken D’Erraha on the Minorcan rotas lease, so the +old valley, the old house, was his.</p> +<p>Eve was not alone on the terrace, for a certain small gentleman, +called Henry Cyprian FitzHenry, a prospective sailor, lay in a pink +and perfect slumber on her lap. Henry Cyprian fully appreciated +the valley of repose.</p> +<p>Eve was reading a letter - a lamentable scrawl, by the way - obviously +the work of a hand little used to the pen.</p> +<p>“My dearie,” the letter ran; and it bore the address +- Malabar Cottage, Somarsh, Suffolk.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“MY DEARIE, - Please thank your good husband for his letter +to me announcing the birth of your son. I hope the little man +is doing well. Make a sailor of him. Being one myself I +have had opportunity of noticing seafaring men under different circumstances, +and I have never had an occasion to be ashamed of a shipmate, only excepting +when he was drunk, which is human, so to speak. Thanking the captain +kindly for his inquiries, I have to advise that all is going well at +Malabar Cottage. The cottage keeps taut and staunch; and now that +my old shipmate Creary has joined me, we keep to the weather side of +the butcher’s bill without any difficulty. We pull along +on a even keel wonderfully well, Creary being a good-natured man, and +as pleasant a shipmate as one could wish. He has brought his bits +of things with him, and alongside of mine they make a homely look. +I miss your voice about the house, and sometimes I feel a bit lonely, +but being a rough seafaring man I know that Malabar Cottage was hardly +fit for a lady like yourself. The Count de Lloseta has twice been +down to see me, sitting affable down to our bit of lunch with us and +making Creary laugh till he choked. I don’t rightly understand +how it was that the Count and your good husband the captain (R.N.) fixed +up my money affairs, getting so much of it back from Merton’s +while others haven’t had a halfpenny. I asked the Count +to explain, which he did at some length. But I didn’t rightly +understand it, never having had a good head for figures, though I could +always work out my sums near enough to fix her position on the chart +at mid-day. I take it that Mr. Lloseta has got a gift for financials, +leastwise he pays me my money most regular, and last time there was +two pounds more. I am sure I ought to feel thankful that I have +such good friends, and people, too, so much above me. I understand +that the Count de Lloseta is going out to Majorca this autumn. +He is a good man. - Your affectionate uncle,</p> +<p> “WILLIAM +JOHN BONTNOR (Master).”</p> +<p>Eve read this effusion with a queer little smile which had no mirth +in it. She folded the letter carefully and laid it aside for her +husband to see when he returned. Then she fell into a reverie, +looking down over the great silent valley that lay between her and the +sea. She had been out into the world and had come back to D’Erraha +again. In the world she had had a somewhat singular experience. +She had never loved a woman, she had never known a woman’s love. +One man after another had come into her life, passing across the field +of her mental vision when it was most susceptible to impression, each +influencing her life in his own way, each loving her in his own way, +each claiming her love. Here was a woman, the mother of a boy, +whose every thought had been formed by men, whose knowledge had been +acquired from men, whose world was a world of men. She would not +have known what to do with a daughter, so Fate had sent her a son. +From the Caballero Challoner to Fitz, from Fitz to Captain Bontnor, +from Captain Bontnor to John Craik, and from Craik back to Fitz, this, +with Cipriani de Lloseta ever coming and going, in and out, had been +Eve FitzHenry’s life.</p> +<p>These men had only taught her to be a woman, as men ever do; but +from them she had acquired the broader way of taking life, the larger +way of thinking, which promised well for Henry Cyprian lying asleep +on her lap.</p> +<p>She was thinking of these men, for all they had taught her, of all +she had learnt from them without their knowing it, when one of them +came to her. Fitz had dismounted in the patio and came walking +somewhat stiffly through to the terrace. He had been out all day +on a distant part of the D’Erraha property, for he combined the +farmer and the sailor. He had applied for a year’s leave +after having served his country for fifteen. The year had run +into fifteen months, and there was talk of the time when he should go +to sea no longer.</p> +<p>Fitz had changed little. The cloud, however, that had formerly +hung as it were in his eyes had vanished. Eve had driven it away, +slowly and surely. Perhaps Henry Cyprian had something to do in +the matter also by pushing his uncle Luke out of the place he had hitherto +occupied in Fitz’s heart. Luke had voluntarily relinquished +the place to a certain degree. He had left England three years +before to seek his fortune in other seas, and Fortune had come to him +as she often does when she is sought half-heartedly. Luke commanded +one of the finest war-ships afloat, but she sailed under the Chilean +flag.</p> +<p>“Letters,” said Fitz.</p> +<p>Eve smiled and handed him Captain Bontnor’s epistle. +She watched his face as he read - she had a trick of watching her husband’s +face. This was a hopelessly taciturn man, but Eve seemed to understand +him.</p> +<p>There was another letter unopened and addressed to Fitz. He +took it up and opened it leisurely, after the manner of one who has +all he wants and looks for nothing by post.</p> +<p>Eve saw his face brighten with surprise. He read the letter +through, and then he handed it to her.</p> +<p>“Lloseta,” he said, “is coming. He is in +Barcelona.”</p> +<p>Eve read the letter. She leant back in her deep chair with +a pensiveness, a faint suggestion of weariness bespeaking the end of +a convalescence, which was perhaps climatic.</p> +<p>“I have never understood the Count,” she said. +“There are so many people one does not understand.”</p> +<p>She broke off with a little laugh, half impatient.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said her husband quietly. “Whom are +you thinking of?”</p> +<p>“Agatha.”</p> +<p>Fitz was gazing at the fine quartz gravel beneath his feet.</p> +<p>“Agatha cared for Luke,” he said.</p> +<p>A faint flicker of anxiety passed across Eve’s eyes - the mention +of Luke’s name always brought it. She had never seen this +twin brother - this shadow as it were of Fitz’s life - and it +had been slowly borne in upon her - perhaps Henry Cyprian had taught +her - that there is a tie between twins which no man can gauge nor tell +whither it may lead.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said quietly, “I know.”</p> +<p>“How do you know? Did she tell you?”</p> +<p>Eve smiled.</p> +<p>“No; but I knew long ago. I do not think she was good, +Fitz, but that was good in her - quite good. People say that it +sometimes saves men. It often saves women. I think it is +better for a girl to have no mother at all than to have a foolish mother, +much better, I am sure of it.”</p> +<p>“Women like Mrs. Ingham-Baker,” said Fitz gruffly, “do +more harm in the world than women who are merely bad. She made +Agatha what she was, and Agatha made Luke throw away the <i>Croonah</i>.”</p> +<p>“But the Court decided that it was an unusual current,” +said Eve, who had followed every word of the official inquiry.</p> +<p>Fitz shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“He threw the ship away,” he said. “Sailors +like Luke do not get wrecked on the Burlings.”</p> +<p>Eve did not pursue the subject, for this was the shadow on her happiness. +It has been ruled that we are not to be quite happy here, and those +are happiest who have a shadow that comes from outside - from elsewhere +than from themselves or their own love.</p> +<p>Eve, womanlike, had thought of these things, analysing them as women +do, and she recognised the shadow frankly. She was too intelligent, +too far-sighted to expect perfect bliss, but she knew that she had as +near an approach to it as is offered for human delectation, neutralised +as it was by that vague regret which is only the reflection of the active +sorrows of others.</p> +<p>Fitz had handed the Count’s letter to his wife. She read +it slowly and allowed it to drop. As it fluttered to her lap she +caught sight of some writing on the back.</p> +<p>“Did you see the postscript?” she asked.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>She turned the letter and read aloud.</p> +<p>“I saw Craik just before I left. He was, I think, in +better health. His mind is much too brilliant, his brain too active, +his humour too keen to be that of a sick man. When I told him +your good news he quite forgot to be rheumatic. ‘Glad to +hear it, glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘She was much +too good to be a mere writing woman.’ By the way, I imagine +Eve never learnt that all the Spanish articles, except the first, passed +through my hands as well as Craik’s before publication. +I knew who wrote them, and am still one of their profoundest admirers, +but, like John Craik, I am well content that the gifted author should +turn her attention to other things, notably to my godson, to whom salutations. +Did either of you ever meet young Lord Seahampton, an excellent fellow, +with the appearance of a cleanly groom and the heart of a true knight? +He was killed while riding a steeplechase last week. I regret +him deeply. He was one of my few friends.”</p> +<p>Eve laid the letter down with a little sigh, a species of sigh which +she reserved for Cipriani de Lloseta.</p> +<p>“He is a nineteenth-century Quixote,” she said. +“No one ever knows what good he may be doing.”</p> +<p>Then they fell to talking of this man, of what he had done and what +he had left undone. They guessed at what he had suffered, and +of the suffering which he had spared others they knew a little; but +of his own feelings they were ignorant, his motives they only knew in +part. His life had been lived out to a certain extent before them, +but they knew nothing of it; it was a mere superficies without perspective, +and Eve, woman-like, wanted to put a background to it.</p> +<p>“But why,” she persisted, from the height of her own +happiness, which had apparently been so easy to reach, “why does +he lead such a lonely, gloomy life? Why has he so few friends? +Why does he not come and live at Lloseta instead of in the gloomy palace +in the Calle de la Paz?”</p> +<p>“His life is all whys,” answered Fitz; “it is one +big note of interrogation. He said that some day he would tell +us; no doubt he will.”</p> +<p>“Yes; perhaps so.”</p> +<p>Eve reflected, and again she indulged in a short sigh.</p> +<p>“And after he has told us there will be nothing to be done, +that is the worst of it; there will be nothing to be done, Fitz.”</p> +<p>“There never has been anything to be done,” replied Fitz +slowly, as was his wont. “That has been the keynote of his +life as long as I have known him. If there had been anything to +do, you may be sure that De Lloseta would have done it.”</p> +<p>Eve was bending over the small beginnings of a man lying supine on +her knees. She drew Henry Cyprian’s wraps closer around +him preparatory to taking him indoors.</p> +<p>“Then his is surely the saddest life imaginable,” she +said.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV. THE COUNT’S STORY.</h3> +<p> <i>And +yet I know<br /> That tears lie deep in +all I do</i>.</p> +<p>The pine forests on the mountain-tops were beginning to gather the +darkness as the Count de Lloseta rode up the last slope to the Casa +d’Erraha. The sun had just set behind the rocky land that +hides Miramar from D’Erraha. A stillness seemed to be creeping +down from the mountain to the valley. The wind had gone down with +the sun.</p> +<p>The Count rode alone beneath the gloom of the maritime pines which +grow to their finest European stature on the northern slope of D’Erraha. +He had been in the saddle all day; but Cipriani de Lloseta was a Spaniard, +and a Spaniard is a different man when he has thrown his leg across +a horse. The suave indolence of manner seems to vanish, the courtly +indifference, the sloth and contemplativeness which stand as a bar between +our northern nature and the peninsular habit. De Lloseta was a +fine horseman - even in Spain, the nation of finest horsemen in the +world; also he was on Majorcan soil again. He had landed at Palma +that morning from the Barcelona steamer, and he had found Fitz awaiting +him with a servant and a led horse on the quay.</p> +<p>There was a strangely excited gleam in De Lloseta’s dark eyes +which Fitz did not fail to notice. The Count looked around over +the dark wild faces of his countrymen and met no glance of recognition, +for he had been absent forty years. Then he raised his eyes to +the old city towering on the hillside above them, the city that has +not changed these six hundred years, and he smiled a wan smile.</p> +<p>“I have brought a horse for you,” said Fitz, “either +to ride back to D’Erraha with me now or to take you to Lloseta, +should you care to go direct there. Eve has packed up some lunch +for you in the saddle-bag if you think of going to Lloseta first.”</p> +<p>The Count nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “that is like Eve; she would think +of such things.”</p> +<p>He went up to the horse, patted it, measured the length of the stirrup-leather, +and then turned to Fitz.</p> +<p>“I will go to Lloseta,” he said. “It is only +natural after forty years. I will be with you by seven o’clock +to-night at D’Erraha.”</p> +<p>Fitz did not offer to accompany him, and Cipriani de Lloseta rode +that strange ride alone; unknown, an outcast in his own land, he rode +through the most fertile valley in the world, of which every tree was +dear to him; and no man knew his thoughts. The labourers in the +fields, men and women, brown, sunburnt, half Moorish, wholly simple +and natural, paused in their toil and looked wonderingly at the lonely +horseman; the patient mules walking their ceaseless round at the Moorish +wells blinked lazily at him; the eagles of Lloseta swept slowly round +in a great circle far above the old castle, as they had swept in his +childhood, and he looked up at them with his strange patient smile. +He pushed the great olive-wood gate open and passed into the terraced +garden, all overgrown, neglected, mournful. It was a strange home-coming, +with no one near to see.</p> +<p>He spent the whole day at Lloseta engaged in the very practical work +of employing men to labour at the garden and in the house. It +was, he said, his intention to come back to his “possession,” +as these Majorcan country houses are called, to inhabit it the larger +part of the year, and to pass the remaining winter months at his palace +in Palma.</p> +<p>In the afternoon he mounted his horse, and in the evening, as has +been said, he reached D’Erraha.</p> +<p>A servant must have been watching his approach, for the large door +was thrown open and he rode into the patio. Fitz was here to welcome +him; and behind him Eve, with Henry Cyprian in her arms. No one +spoke. It was rather singular. The Count dismounted. +He took off his hat and held it in the Spanish mode in his hand while +he shook hands with Fitz and Eve. He looked round the patio. +He noted the old marble well, yellow with stupendous age, the orange +trees clustering over it, the palms and the banana trees, then he smiled +at Eve.</p> +<p>“After many years,” he said.</p> +<p>There was a little pause.</p> +<p>“I should have wished to see your father,” he said, “amidst +these surroundings.”</p> +<p>Eve gave a little nod. From long association with men she had +learnt a manlike reticence. She moved a little towards the open +archway leading through to the terrace.</p> +<p>“We have some tea,” she said, “waiting for you. +Will you come to the terrace?”</p> +<p>He followed her, while the servant led the tired horse away.</p> +<p>They sat at the northern end of the terrace, where the garden-chairs +always stood, and before, beneath, all around them rose and fell the +finest of all the fine Majorcan scenery - scenery which only Sardinia +can rival in Europe.</p> +<p>Eve poured out his tea, which he drank, and set the cup aside.</p> +<p>They all knew that the time had come for the Count de Lloseta to +tell his story - to redeem the promise made to Eve and Fitz long ago, +before they were married.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta leant back in his deep garden-chair nursing one +booted leg over the other. He was dusty and travel-stained, but +the natural hardiness of his frame seemed to be more apparent than ever +in his native land, on his native mountains.</p> +<p>“My poor little tale,” he said; “you will have +it?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Eve; and Fitz nodded.</p> +<p>Cipriani de Lloseta did not look at them, but down into the gathering +blue of the valley beneath them. His quiet, patient eyes never +turned elsewhere during his narrative, as if he were telling the story +to the valley and the hills.</p> +<p>“When I was quite a young man everything was too prosperous +with me. I was rich, I had health and liberty and many friends; +life was altogether too simple and easy for me. Before I was twenty-one +I met my dear Rosa and fell in love with her. Here again it was +too easy, too convenient. Fate is cruellest when she is too kind. +The parents wished it. The two families were equally old, equally +rich; and lastly Rosa - Rosa was kind enough to be - kind to me.”</p> +<p>He paused, pensively rubbing his clean-shaven chin with his forefinger, +his long profile was turned towards Eve, standing out like brown marble +against the gloom of the valley. Eve wondered about this woman, +this Rosa, who had been forty years in her grave. She wondered +what manner of woman this must have been to have kept the love of a +man through all these years by a mere memory, but she did not wonder +that Rosa had been kind.</p> +<p>“She saw things in me that do not exist,” Cipriani de +Lloseta went on quietly. “It is so with women when - and +men may thank God that it is so.”</p> +<p>He gave a little laugh, unpleasant to the ear - the laugh of a man +who has been right down to the bottom of life and comes up again with +a sneer.</p> +<p>Eve and Fitz made no sign. This story was like wine that has +lain forgotten in the dark for many years, it needed careful handling. +Henry Cyprian turned on his silken cushion, and opening his great dark +eyes watched the speaker with that infantine steadfastness of gaze which +may perchance see more than we suspect.</p> +<p>“We were married” - he paused and gave a jerk of the +head towards Palma, behind him to the left - “in the cathedral, +and were quite happy. At that time the Harringtons were living, +or rather staying, in this house with your good father. Neither +of you ever saw the Honourable George Harrington; your loss is infinitesimal. +For some reason they began to come to Lloseta a good deal - some reason +of Mrs. Harrington’s. She was always a singular woman, with +a reason for all that she did, which I, in my old-fashioned way, do +not think good in a woman. She disliked my wife. I could +see that through her affectionate ways. I do not know why. +Men cannot understand these things. Rosa was very beautiful.”</p> +<p>Eve, who was watching his face, gave a little nod - a mental nod, +as it were, for her own edification. It is possible that she, +being a woman, understood.</p> +<p>“Finally they came to stay a few days - you know the Spanish +hospitality. She forced it on us against our will. I was +particularly averse to it because of - Rosa. I wanted to be quietly +at Lloseta. We intended to live almost entirely in Majorca. +We wanted our children to be Majorcans, and especially a son. +The Harringtons stayed longer than we invited them for. They were +well-bred adventurers. I have met many such in English country +houses - people who shoot, and fish, and hunt at the expense of others. +It suited them to stay at Lloseta, and they did so. They were +people who got the best of everything by asking for it - by looking +upon it in a well-bred way as their right. I did not mind that, +but I wanted them to go, on account of Rosa. Also I disliked the +woman’s manner towards myself; it altered when Rosa was not there, +you understand. We have a word for it in Spain, but I will not +say it because the woman is dead.”</p> +<p>There was a rasping sound as he drew his first and second fingers +across his closely shaven chin. It is a singular thing that cynics +usually reserve their keenest shafts for women.</p> +<p>“At last I informed Rosa that they must be told to go, and +Rosa was very angry. It was her pride - the pride of a new-fledged +hostess, of a young matron. She was Spanish, and hot tempered. +My inhospitality was terrible to her, and she spoke sharply. I +was quicker to feel and to act then than I am now. I answered +her. I would not give way, thinking, as I was, of the son we hoped +for. It was nothing, but we raised our voices. In the heat +of the argument I lifted my hand. Rosa thought that I was going +to strike her - a strange mistake. She stepped back and fell. +You know our marble floors. She struck her temple against the +floor, and she lay quite still. I heard a sound, and turning, +saw Mrs. Harrington in the doorway. She had been listening; she +had seen everything. Rosa never recovered consciousness; she died. +It was terribly easy for her to die. It was equally hard for me +to continue living. Mrs. Harrington helped me in my great sorrow +to a certain extent, but she would not help me by going away. +Then, as soon as Rosa was buried, she told me that unless I gave her +money she would tell all Spain that I had murdered my wife. At +first I did not understand. I did not know that God had created +women such as this. But she made her meaning quite clear. +Indeed to do this thoroughly, she hinted to the neighbours that she +knew more than she had disclosed. All Majorca would turn its back +upon me - all except Challoner. I paid the woman. I have +paid her ever since, and I do not regret it. What else could I +do? After many generations of honour and uprightness I could not +let the name of Lloseta fall into the hands of a low woman such as Mrs. +Harrington. I had to pay heavily, but it was still cheap. +I saved the name. No breath of dishonour has reached the name +of De Lloseta de Mallorca. I got her out of Majorca, and my old +friend Challoner set himself the task of silencing the gossips. +But I found that I had to leave Lloseta - for the name’s sake +I quitted my home.”</p> +<p>He spread out his hands with a patient gesture of resignation.</p> +<p>“Such has been my life,” he went on. “It +has been spent in preserving the name unspotted, in paying Mrs. Harrington, +and in praying the good God to make her life unhappy and short. +In His greater wisdom He prolonged her life, but it was never a happy +one, for God is just. I am the last of the Llosetas. The +name will die, but it has lived for six hundred years, and it dies as +it lived - unspotted - one of the great names of the world.”</p> +<p>He broke off with a little laugh.</p> +<p>“Spanish pride,” he said. “I must beg your +indulgence. My life you know. It has not been a happy one. +I have never forgotten Rosa; I have never even tried. I have had +several objects however in life; it has not been uninteresting. +One of the chief of these objects has been to repay to a minute extent +the true friendship of my dear Challoner. He was a friend in need. +He taught me to look upon the English as the finest race of men on this +planet. I may be wrong, but I shall adhere to my opinion. +In my small way I attempted to repay in part to Challoner’s daughter +all that I owed to him; but I only ran against a pride as strong, as +sensitive as my own. My child, you did quite right!”</p> +<p>He turned to Eve, smiling his patient smile.</p> +<p>“And now,” he went on, “I shall have my way after +all.”</p> +<p>He laid his hand on Henry Cyprian, who was conscientiously putting +the Valley of Repose to its best use.</p> +<p>“After all, this little caballero was born at D’Erraha. +D’Erraha is his; is it not so?”</p> +<p>And Eve, giving up her pride to him - casting it down before his +loftier pride - came round to his chair, and bending over, kissed him +silently.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE GREY LADY ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named grld10h.htm or grld10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, grld11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, grld10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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