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diff --git a/old/grld10h.htm b/old/grld10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac4b0de --- /dev/null +++ b/old/grld10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7335 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Grey Lady</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Grey Lady, by Henry Seton Merriman</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Lady, by Henry Seton Merriman +(#3 in our series by Henry Seton Merriman) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: 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 +</pre> +<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> +<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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